‘Tell me about your family,’ I said as he played with the heart pendant around my neck. ‘Do you see them? Your mother?’
‘I haven’t been back in two years, since the Occupation. But one day I’ll go back to Nancy,’ he said, taking a swig, ‘and you’ll go with me.’
‘I will?’ I perked up, taking the flask from his hands and a long savoury drink from the spout. ‘Tell me about it—Nancy. What’s it like?’ I lay back listening to him with one hand under my head.
‘There’s a fountain in Stanislas Square, in the city centre, made of gold and wrought iron, and the railings—there’s a reason why Nancy is called the city of the gilded gates, and it’s simply magnificent when you see it in person—Neptune and Amphitrite surrounded by spraying water.’
I breathed in his words, the images of Nancy. At times it felt like he was describing a distant land untouched by war, the armistice, and the Germans.
‘At night the fountain is lit all aglow, golden arches sparkling from the reflection of the water. You might think of Saint Peter when you see it for the first time, Catchfly.’
‘Sounds beautiful,’ I said, though I wasn’t just talking about the fountains. I loved it when he called me Catchfly.
‘Yes, it is beautiful. But that’s not the most intriguing part.’
‘It isn’t?’
‘It’s the Neptune babies. It’s where you make your wish. Everyone in Nancy does it sooner or later—can’t call yourself a local if you don’t.’
‘Make a wish?’
‘Ah, it’s the source of a powerful legend. If you make the same wish for three days straight it will come true. But there’s a catch,’ he said. ‘You only get one wish in your lifetime.’
‘Only one?’ I could practically see the Neptune babes myself and the pool of coins, each one representing someone else’s dreams, with my skin feeling very cool from being so close to falling water. ‘Have you made yours?’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I have.’
‘What did you wish?’ My eyes grew wide, wondering what Luc had wished for.
He rubbed his chin. ‘Well, I’d tell you, but I can’t for the life of me remember what it was!’
‘Oh, you!’ I said, and we laughed and then lay back on the blanket, our legs curled up together and our bodies close. The images of Nancy were so grand in my head, lovely, like a sunny day that smelled of fresh baguette and blooming lilacs. I sighed, enjoying the thoughts, feeling them as I felt the warmth of Luc’s body next to mine.
‘A spring wedding,’ he said. ‘That’s what my mother would like. If it’s all right with you.’
I sat up, blinking like a deer into his eyes. ‘Is that a proposal?’
‘Well, if you want me to take it back I can.’ He smiled.
For the first time in my life the thought of being married didn’t make me shiver with dread, but instead filled me with so much joy I could feel it bulging in my dimpled cheeks.
Luc kissed me warmly, the way a woman ought to be kissed after being proposed to, a bit of our breath blowing softly on each other, a piece of our souls touching with our lips.
‘Well?’ he said, after pulling away.
‘Well, what?’
‘Are you going to accept?’
‘That’s why I kissed you back!’
He exhaled, hand on his chest, taking the last swig of whisky from his flask. ‘You like to make a man sweat, do you?’
‘Only you, monsieur.’ I used my thumb to wipe whisky from his bottom lip. ‘Only you.’
I can’t say why I thought of Marguerite at that very moment, as Luc wrapped his arms around me in a warm embrace. But I remembered what she said about falling in love in the Résistance—her warning tugging at the very arms that held me. I couldn’t tell anyone, not even Mama or Charlotte. My head suddenly felt very heavy.
‘I love you, Adèle.’
His words brought with it a strange tingling deep inside, which left me feeling as fragile as a hollow egg. This must be what love feels like, I thought. Charlotte said it would happen one day, but she never said anything about the crushing weight of it where the hollowness felt so vulnerable.
I squeezed him a little tighter. ‘And I love you.’
23
The outdoor cafés opened after a rash of summer thunderstorms ripped through the hills. Metal chairs had been wiped down, and waiters bobbed around pouring chicory coffee from silver pots, touting it as the best faux coffee this side of Paris. I sat at a table