thump against the lorry’s passenger side door, and my heart practically stopped, watching Marguerite and the driver kissing each other passionately through the window on the other side. He cradled her face, her veil slipping from the pull of his hands as he worked his way from her mouth to her neck.
‘Mother of Christ,’ I said. ‘You’re in love with a man!’
They froze. Not a sound in the world could be heard. He peeped through the window, blurry-eyed with slobbery lips, and caught sight of me before they both raced to straighten themselves. He hopped back into his lorry and peeled off down the road, leaving me and Marguerite staring at each other through the dusty air.
5
The wave of relief I felt was indescribable—I wasn’t going anywhere. A postulant in love with a man—grounds for dismissal Mavis had said. I popped a fresh cigarette into my mouth—my eyes set on Marguerite—and took several drawn-out pulls as I lit it.
‘Nice day,’ I said, closing the lighter with a click, and I imagined a thousand thoughts raced through her mind as I stood there, staring at her, a smouldering cigarette tight between my fingers. ‘Isn’t it, Marguerite?’
Her mouth pinched up like a drawstring bag, and I thought she was about to come after me, but then suddenly Claire came trooping around the corner with a handful of delinquents and interrupted us both.
‘Afternoon crafts are over,’ Claire announced, as the girls fell in line behind her. ‘Mavis wants us to gather for Bible study.’
I took a breath—I hadn’t even noticed I was holding it—and thought about how Marguerite treated me the first day we met, the way she looked at me in the square and that damn Bible of hers she brought with her on the train, pretending to be a saint. I pointed to Marguerite with my cigarette, and she snatched a switch from the ground.
Claire stumbled back, using a stiff arm to keep the other girls out of the way as Marguerite walked toward me. ‘What’s going on?’ Claire said.
Wpssh! Marguerite whipped my knuckles with one very powerful swat. I bent over, cupping my hand as the cigarette slipped through my shaking fingers onto the ground. The little gasp that had come from my mouth turned into a breathless smile—the day I went back to Vichy would be because I decided to, not because of Marguerite.
Marguerite stormed back into the laundry room, kicking dirt up behind her with her shoes. The girls’ mouths hung open, not sure what to make of Marguerite’s devilish behaviour and then my smirking face.
Claire was the only one who had the nerve to ask. ‘Mademoiselle?’
I lifted my head up, trying to appear serious. ‘Don’t smoke at the convent, girls.’
*
I skipped dinner service, stood in the corridor and listened to the nuns slurp watery noodle soup from wide spoons. Every now and then I’d catch a glimpse of the delinquents clearing trays or carrying soup tureens to and from the kitchen for the sisters. All I could think about was Marguerite. And that man. The way he touched her, with his mouth on her neck. I took a breath just thinking about it, loosening my collar. I’d never seen kissing like that before.
The more I thought about Marguerite, the more I thought she was a spy—a German mole, probably sent here to take notes on the sisters, maybe even turn them in. I should have known she was German with those thick ankles and pointed eyes.
Several times I took a step toward the dining room, but each time a restless simmer in my gut held me back. I needed to do something… but what? If I could sneak into Marguerite’s chamber and go through her things, I bet I’d find something—something tangible to use against her. Evidence.
Mavis had been watching me through the gap in the door. I held my stomach, grimacing as if I had an ache, and she went back to eating. Claire had had enough of me standing in the corridor and used a tipped-over a tray as an excuse to leave the room for cleaning supplies and come talk to me.
‘What’s going on?’ She stood a breath away from my face, eyes dilating.
‘Nothing,’ I said.
I wanted to blow her off, but started to think that perhaps I needed some help. She kept staring at me, her eyes shifting from one eye to the other. ‘It’s Marguerite. I know it.’ Claire poked her head into the dining room. A row of black-veiled heads bobbed