Les Femmes de la Nation—that’s what they’re calling themselves.’
‘Women of the Nation?’ I gasped as soon as I understood what Blanche was saying. I noticed the woman only had knee-high stockings on under her skirt.
‘What’s the metaphor?’ Charlotte said, mouth drawn open. I could tell she wouldn’t allow her own mind to take her to a place that could potentially disrupt her beautiful day.
‘Charlotte,’ I said, touching her shoulder. ‘She was portraying herself as having been raped—Les Femmes de la Nation—by the regime. For her suffering. The armistice. The loss of France. She was dressed head to toe in rags but her bottom half was exposed under her skirt, and aimed at the Hotel du Parc.’
A deafening silence swept through the boutique. The word ‘rape’ did not belong in a boutique that catered to expectant mothers, and I could tell by the way Charlotte’s curls seemed to tighten around her face that she felt very uncomfortable with the topic of our conversation.
‘Are you all right?’ I said.
‘I don’t want to think of such abhorrent things.’ She took a deep, withering breath, rubbing her hands to keep them from shaking. ‘People are incapable of seeing the good, the beautiful—Pétain’s legacy.’
‘The beautiful?’
‘Like a great painting, outshined by a glop of paint brought in from some indigent, unworthy of having his canvas placed alongside real artists. The old woman, she’s the… the…’
Her voice rose with each new word, and I knew she wasn’t only referring to Pétain’s legacy, but something very personal. Before the war, Charlotte’s paintings were on exhibit in Paris. The critics panned everything except the ugly ones painted by men, which she said was because of their bold statements and gall. According to Mama, Charlotte was inconsolable by the end of the exhibition. She never talked about it after, and when someone did ask her how her art worked out in Paris, she’d say she never went.
Blanche snuck out of the boutique while Charlotte and me were talking, and without buying anything. It was the only time I was glad to see Blanche’s backside.
‘Ach!’ Charlotte said, putting the back of her hand to her forehead. ‘I’m exhausted from this conversation. I had some news I wanted to share, but now I have a bad taste in my mouth, and I don’t want to share it anymore.’
‘News?’ Papa had just finished hauling away Charlotte’s old door and was walking in from the back room, rubbing his tired eyes with both hands. ‘What news, ma chérie? Some good news would be nice.’
He rubbed his eyes again after blinking, and I began to wonder why Charlotte would tease him with an announcement if she had no intention of sharing it in the first place. She was shaking and pacing, and I was handling it fine by myself but involving Papa? ‘Charlotte, just tell Papa your news.’
Charlotte picked up a gingham dress fit for a woman having twins and refolded it. Her hands settled into a light tremble. ‘Well, I was going to wait. Then I decided to say something, then… well…’ Her smile broadened and she held her breath before blurting: ‘I’m having a baby.’
Papa’s face perked with life. ‘Ma chérie! That is good news!’
‘Thanks, Papa,’ Charlotte said, beaming as he hugged her. ‘I knew you’d be excited.’
She looked to me, waiting for me to say something, but what was she thinking getting pregnant so soon after a stillbirth? I wanted to ask her, but by the look on her face I knew now was not the time for such a question. I forced a smile, reaching out to kiss both her cheeks. ‘When are you due?’
She caressed the flat area of her stomach just below the belt of her dress. ‘I’m a few weeks pregnant. I told Henri before he left for Paris.’ Tears welled over her bulging cheeks. ‘By the time he gets home I should be as big as this building.’
She laughed and it was good to hear her laugh. I kissed her again. ‘Before you know it you’ll be nice and round.’
Papa raised a finger in the air. ‘I’ll write a letter to Pauline!’ He stepped into Charlotte’s office and began rummaging around her desk looking for a blank piece of paper to write on.
‘No, Papa,’ Charlotte said. ‘I’ll tell Mama myself. I’ll follow Adèle home.’
‘You’re coming out to the estate?’ I knew Mama wouldn’t be pleased to hear Charlotte was pregnant again so soon after a stillbirth. If Charlotte sensed her disappointment, only God knew how she’d react.