Papa there I wouldn’t dare write a coded message. I handed her a coin. ‘For a soirée. Tonight.’
The woman looked a little surprised I’d told her my message instead of writing it down. I nodded once.
Papa and I walked away arm-in-arm to keep warm. Not far from Charlotte’s boutique, Papa stopped, eyes closing. ‘Ma chérie,’ he breathed, ‘why did you have to mention the stillbirth?’
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘It slipped out.’ He looked beaten for having to say the word himself. ‘Have you been to the grave?’
‘Once,’ he said.
‘I’ve asked to go. I want to, but Charlotte won’t take me or Mama either.’
Papa took a deep breath. ‘I’m sure she’ll take you when she’s ready. You know how Charlotte is.’ He patted my hand. ‘Give her some time.’
*
Charlotte’s boutique smelled like flowers, the pungent kind that normally gave me a headache.
‘Where did you get lilies?’ There was something special about Oriental lilies, something god-awful special, and these, these were the worst I’d smelled yet.
Charlotte positioned her blue vase stuffed full of lilies and what looked like a handful of purple weeds in the centre of an oak commode. She smiled pleasantly at them until she saw me with my nose wrinkled. ‘What’s wrong with them?’
‘Nothing. I didn’t say anything. I just asked you where you got them. It’s near winter, after all.’
‘I saw your nose turn up.’ Charlotte’s gaze returned to the flowers and she fiddled with the stems. ‘If you don’t like them just say so.’
My nose tingled, warning a sneeze, but somehow, I was able to hold it in.
‘Henri sent them moments after he left for Paris. He loves me. Don’t you think? I mean, he bought this boutique for me, and he sends flowers all the time. A man who sends a woman flowers… Well, he just has to love me, right?’
Charlotte had dressers set up against the walls, which made the place look like a nursery, an inviting scene for an expectant mother, with lace-bottomed knickers and oversized brassieres folded inside the drawers. Aside from all the clothes, the furniture alone in her shop was worth a fortune; I could only imagine how much her husband paid for it all.
‘He loves you. Why would you question such a thing?’ I said, but I’d seen them eating at La Table, and suddenly felt very uncomfortable talking about their marriage.
Charlotte’s fingers shook arranging the flowers, and I began to understand why Papa wanted me to look after her—she’d become a bag of nerves. I noticed it more so when she looked out the window, as if expecting someone but wasn’t, rubbing her shaking hands. After a long while I realized she’d had no customers come in. I wondered out loud how she was going to stay in business, which she didn’t like.
‘There’s a lag in business right now, as you can see. But things will improve soon.’
‘Because our men are in a German munitions factory.’ I smoothed a pair of silk stockings out on the table, flattening them with my hand. ‘Prison, if we can be honest with ourselves. A woman can’t be having babies with no men around.’
‘Not all the men, Adèle,’ she said, folding the stockings I had touched. ‘As you know with Gérard, the Vichy police is chock-full of desirable men. You’re very lucky he’s giving you a second chance. I know a lot of women who would love to be in your shoes.’
I raised my eyebrows at the stockings, nudging her to talk about the clothes rather than Gérard, and she switched to the things in her boutique, where she stored the extras and how to display the lacy items on the counter, fanning them just right to showcase the intricate details in the patterns. She asked me to fold something, and I did it her way with a pair of lacy, knee-length pantaloons, but I couldn’t keep the ends from dangling off the edge so I crisscrossed them to make them fit.
Charlotte shooed me away. ‘You are doing it all wrong—it’s a wonder you’re even my sister—really, Adèle, the way you handle such delicate things.’ She placed the garment on the counter, running her fingers over the ruffles until the fabric looked fluffy, but in the end the pantaloons didn’t look any better than the way I had them. ‘The display alone is a work of art. There has to be thought put into it, and done just right.’
I snatched them out from under her hands, smiling, holding them in the air just out