of the reception centre and put his pistol to my head. But then, just as he was about to pull the trigger his colleague stopped him. “A bullet is too good for a French whore like her,” I heard him say. “We can get some more work out of her – let her die a slower death.”’ She stopped, struggling for breath as painful coughs seized her body.
‘Hush,’ Claire urged her, ‘don’t try to talk. Rest and get your strength back.’
Vivi continued, as though her friend hadn’t spoken. ‘But I don’t intend giving them that satisfaction, Claire. Now I’m back with you, I’ll be stronger. We’ll keep each other going, you and I, won’t we? Just as we have always done?’ Vivi smiled at her, but even in the darkening hut as night fell, Claire could see that her eyes were deep pools of sadness.
Claire couldn’t bear to remain at her job in the reception centre, sewing the numbers and triangles on the uniforms of new prisoners. After another month, she plucked up her courage and spoke to the senior in the hut, asking to be transferred to work with Vivi.
The woman regarded her with surprise. ‘Do you know what you are asking? Your friend has been allocated to the women’s heavy labour detail, by order of the camp’s Kommandant. It’s a wonder she is still alive. It’s only because the summer has been kind that any of those poor souls have survived. But winter’s on its way now. It will decimate them.’
‘Please,’ Claire said firmly. ‘I want to be transferred. There are plenty of others who are desperate to have a job in the sewing room. Let me be with Vivi.’
‘Very well. But don’t come and ask me for your comfortable job back when the snow begins to fall and you’re expected to spend ten hours a day shovelling the roads clear. I hope you know what you’re doing.’
Claire did indeed realise that it was very likely that neither she nor Vivi would survive the winter working with the cohort of prisoners assigned to hard labour duties. But as she’d watched the work take its toll on Vivi she’d had time to think about what it would mean if Vivi were no longer here. And she knew she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she had to spend those long, dark nights in that crowded bunk without her friend there to whisper, ‘I’m here. We’re together. Everything will be alright.’
Claire had no choice. She would rather die with Vivi than live on without her.
1945
The city had been liberated and Paris returned to French governance, but Delavigne Couture had closed its doors for the final time. Mademoiselle Vannier announced to the seamstresses on the first floor one morning that there would be no more work coming in once they’d finished the commissions they were working on. She told the girls, though, that Monsieur Delavigne had asked around on behalf of his workers and there was an offer from a larger couture house which still had plenty of work coming in. Anyone who wanted to could begin there the following week.
Later that same day, she had a quiet word with Mireille, telling her that the building would be put up for sale, eventually, but that she could stay where she was for the time being, as it would be good not to leave the place completely deserted while things were still so unsettled in the aftermath of the city’s liberation. ‘I hope you will be coming with me to work at Monsieur Lelong’s? You are one of our best seamstresses, Mireille. I know you will be welcomed there.’
Mireille considered for a moment. She longed to go home and see her family, but the war continued to rage across Europe, and there were still skirmishes on French soil as the last of the German troops moved to consolidate their final defence of the eastern border. Travel was risky and the railways were largely destroyed where Resistance fighters had sabotaged the lines to prevent the efficient movement of German troops. It was probably safer for her to stay where she was for now . . . and if she was completely honest with herself, there were other reasons why she was reluctant to leave. She waited, daily, for news from Monsieur Leroux of Vivi and Claire. And then, what if the airman came back to look for her . . .?
And so she agreed. She would work for the new couture