us to do. There is hope, you know, Mireille. The tide of this war is turning, I’m convinced of it. The Germans suffered a very bitter defeat when the Russians managed to take back Stalingrad in February. Their armies are stretched on all fronts now and the Allies are making headway. You know, even couture is becoming a victim of the war – there’s just been an edict in Germany that fashion pictures are to be banned from magazines. So you see, the pressure is having an effect at every level. And that makes it all the more important that we keep our contribution going, because each small act of defiance chips away a little more at the foundations of Hitler’s power. Most importantly of all, we have to do it for Vivienne and Claire. Because the sooner there is an end to this war, the greater chance there is that they may still survive it and come back to us.’
She looked at him and saw that his face was drawn with anguish. ‘You love her very much, don’t you?’ she said.
He couldn’t speak for a moment. But then he answered her. ‘I love both of them, Mireille.’
The next day, she walked to the island in the middle of the river and crept in beneath the branches of the willow tree at its downstream end. Once again, she leaned her head against the tree’s rough trunk and let it support her, taking the weight of her worries and her fears for a while. Despite Monsieur Leroux’s words of hope yesterday, it felt as if the war would never end. And if it did, would it still be too late for Claire and Vivi . . .?
As the river flowed past, she saw the faces of the people she loved reflected in its depths. Her mother and father; her brother and sister; baby Blanche; Vivienne; Claire; and the man whose name she still held in her heart, keeping it secret for now. Would she ever be able to say it out loud? Would she ever see him again?
Would there ever be an end to this war?
The journey to the camp was a long one, but Vivi and Claire reassured one another and tried to keep each other’s spirits up, helping the other women crowded into the jolting cattle car as best they could. The train seemed to move slowly, like a snake awakening from its winter hibernation, sluggishly uncoiling eastwards, apparently in no great hurry to get them to their destination.
The carriage was filled with an atmosphere of fear and anguish, as cold and clammy as the fog that engulfed the train for much of the day. Many of the women wept uncontrollably. Some were in a bad way physically, the traumas they had suffered taking their toll.
One morning they woke to find the spring sunshine creeping through the slatted sides of the car. But the slight lifting of spirits that Claire felt at the sight of it was short-lived. The rays of light illuminated the face of an elderly woman who had died in her sleep. ‘If only the rest of us could be so lucky,’ muttered another woman as she helped Claire and Vivienne to cover the body with the old lady’s coat and gently move her to one corner of the carriage. The next time the train stopped, later on that day, a guard slid open the door of the cattle truck and told them they could get out to stretch their legs for a few minutes. Noticing the body, he casually pulled it from the corner and dragged it out to lie beside the tracks amongst the bright tangle of fireweed and poppies that had grown up there.
The others stood watching in silence. One or two crossed themselves and muttered prayers for the lost soul.
But then one woman bent down and took the coat from the corpse, draping her own more worn one back over the body. She looked around defiantly. ‘Well, it’s no use to her now,’ she said.
Some of the others turned their backs on her then, but soon the guard shouted at them to get back on board the train and then they were all crammed in together again, with no room for anyone to turn her back on her neighbour, even if she’d had the will to do so.
The time spent in the prison at Fresnes had allowed Claire and Vivi to recover a little – physically, at least – from their treatment