could you, Adèle?’ He took three chomping bites of his croissant, licking his fingers and gulping it down. ‘We know he’s driven an expensive car at least once. We have investigators looking into many things. Vichy wants him squashed. And they will. Squash him. The head of the Milice carries rank with the Reich. He’ll want to save his face.’
‘It’s just some paint,’ I said. ‘Is it really more harmful than blowing up cars, trains or stealing guns like I’ve heard of résistants doing?’
‘At first it wasn’t, but look around.’ Gérard pointed to the patrons of the café, many talking into each other’s ears so as not to be heard by others. ‘What do you think they are talking about?’
‘The Catchfly?’ I laughed, followed by a gulp. ‘Certainly people have other things to talk about.’
Gérard swallowed the lump of croissant he had in his cheek. ‘How can we be sure? Every mark of paint is mud in the eyes of the Milice, and Vichy. People know it, and they’ve become empowered because of him.’ His eyes wandered off and he gritted his teeth. ‘There’s more résistants than ever, now.’
My hands shook on the table, and I moved them to my lap.
A motorcade of three German vehicles rumbled past us, stopping a few yards away at a document-processing office. Roaring engines turned off one by one. They sat in their parked cars, eyes shifting, studying everyone, before getting out and filing into a building adorned with flapping Nazi flags. ‘They’re checking for illegals,’ Gérard said. ‘Anyone with an expired visa or not of this country will be sought out and punished. The Résistance has a lot of Jews; most will be gone in the coming months. Arrested, dead.’
‘Is that a new form of lawlessness?’
‘What?’
‘Being a French Jew?’
Gérard sat up, catching his tongue. ‘This is war, Adèle, and we’re allies with the Germans.’
Pétain and his regime hadn’t declared French Jews as undesirable. That was the Reich’s position, but I saw it myself in front of Papa’s wine bar and nobody could tell me I had imagined it.
Gérard motioned to the waiter. ‘I heard a bag of real coffee made its way to this café not that long ago. Something just for the Milice, and police?’
The waiter nodded. ‘Several bags were seized from a derelict restaurant now under German control.’
‘Excellent!’ Gérard smiled. ‘Deux cafés.’
‘No,’ I said, and the table rattled from my jerk.
Patrons looked over, one by one, whispering. No matter how badly I wanted a drink, if I took his offer of real coffee—which I hadn’t tasted for so long—I’d get something worse than rosewater thrown in my face.
‘What I mean is, waiter, I’ve had plenty to drink. Nothing more for me.’
‘Your loss, Adèle. I don’t even have to pay anymore. You should enjoy the benefits of having your hands in my pockets.’ He laughed, waving the waiter away.
A dingy white poodle with patches of fur missing from its coat sniffed Gérard’s pant leg before licking something off the toe of his shoe—something a deep crimson red that looked too dark to be from his croissant. She wagged her tail despite the end of it being burnt to a crisp from a fire. I went to pick her up just as Gérard kicked the poor thing in the ribs. ‘No!’ The dog cowered behind a rubbish bin, yelping.
The waiter brought Gérard’s café to the table, setting down a stiff white napkin and a silver spoon for stirring. The aroma wafting from his cup smelled heavenly, conjuring up one of many lost memories of what used to be. I called the dog as Gérard stirred sugar and cream into his cup, but she wouldn’t come.
‘That dog will be someone’s dinner soon,’ he said, blowing into his coffee before taking a sip. ‘Don’t feel sorry for it.’
‘You’re awful, Gérard.’ Fresh meat was hard to come by. Warnings had been issued by the regime on the dangers of eating pets, but that didn’t stop the gypsies. The few who hadn’t been arrested by the French police were kept in resident camps and were known to venture out at night in search of strays—God only knew what the Reich was telling the French to give them to eat.
‘Perhaps the regime should open up the reserves, give the people something to eat.’ I smirked as if I were joking, but inside I was as serious as I could be.
Gérard crumpled up what was left of his croissant in the wax paper, and then pushed it into my