Page 18 of The Dressmaker's Gift
The first model had sniffed. ‘He’s alright, if you like that sort of thing, I suppose. His looks are a little too Germanic for my liking, along with the company he keeps. Ouch!’ She remonstrated, pulling away from Mireille, who knelt at the model’s feet with her pincushion. ‘Watch what you’re doing with those pins, clumsy! If you catch these stockings with one, it’ll cost you a whole week’s wages to replace them.’
And Mireille had ducked her head and smiled to herself as she’d put the last pin in place on the hem of the coat.
If only they could see him now, she thought to herself, as they wandered down the broad, central pathway towards the pond in the middle of the gardens. As if reading her thoughts, he shot her a quick smile before turning his attention to questioning Claire about her family and her home back in Brittany. His tone was casually conversational, but Mireille could sense that he was testing Claire, still making up his mind whether or not she could be relied upon as a member of the network.
They reached the hornbeam avenue and sauntered beneath the straight-cut walls of the trees’ branches. At first glance, the twigs were dead-looking. But Mireille knew that if you looked a little more closely, you could make out the tightly furled buds, waiting to clothe the trees in their summer finery. As the three of them walked down the avenue, they nodded greetings to the few others that they passed who had also decided to skip Mass and enjoy the brightness of a clear spring day instead. After half an hour, they had doubled back towards the Jeu de Paumeand Monsieur Leroux prepared to take his leave before they came back in sight of the guard. He smiled and nodded at Mireille, signalling that he was convinced that Claire would be an asset to the network.
Turning to Claire, he said, ‘Well, Mademoiselle Meynardier, thank you for volunteering to help us. You will make a very useful messenger, I believe. Mireille will advise you, and pass you your instructions from time to time.’
He turned to go, but then stopped. ‘Oh, I almost forgot!’ He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a package, containing three bars of chocolate with the distinctive palm tree and elephant design on the wrappers. ‘You’d better make sure you eat these before Lent begins on Wednesday, mesdemoiselles.’
The girls gasped in delight.
‘Merci, monsieur.Look, Mireille,’ Claire exclaimed, ‘we can give one to Vivi too!’ She turned to Monsieur Leroux. ‘She’s our friend – another of the seamstresses, who lives above the shop with us. She loves chocolate as much as we do.’
‘Indeed?’ he replied. He cast an appraising glance over Claire. Did Mireille imagine it, or was there a flash of amusement in his hazel eyes? ‘Well in that case it’s extremely fortuitous that I managed to lay my hands on three bars for you.’
Then his expression grew serious again and he said, ‘Go well, girls. And be careful.’
Claire’s pulse had fluttered with nerves when Mireille had given her her first assignment – a message to be passed to Monsieur and Madame Arnaud with instructions for moving on a Jewish businessman they’d been harbouring for a few days while an escape plan could be put in place. That first job had gone smoothly and Claire had made it to the safe house and back, encountering just one impromptu road block on the way. She’d managed to smile at the guards as they checked her identity papers and she hadn’t wavered when they asked her to open the attaché case she carried. She had shown them the sheet music inside and explained that she was on her way to a singing lesson, as she’d been briefed to do by Mireille. That time, she’d memorised the addresses and instructions, so there was no risk of the Nazis finding anything as they’d leafed through the papers. They had nodded her through the barriers and one had even wished her a good evening as she continued on her way into the Marais.
So she felt a little more confident the next time, when Mireille handed her the note with a rough map sketched on the back and instructed her to deliver it to Christiane, thepasseusewho lived out to the south-west of the city at Billancourt.
‘Are you sure you’re up for this?’ Mireille asked her, anxiously. ‘It’s a long way to go and you’ll need to keep the note concealed. Take the attaché case again and the sheets of music, and use the same excuse of a singing lesson if you’re stopped. I’d take the note myself, but I have to be at the station this evening ...’
Claire smiled. ‘I’ll be fine, Mireille. I can unpick the facing underneath my coat collar and hide the note there. A few stitches will hold it in place and no one will be any the wiser. And I’ve memorised the directions for where to meet Christiane. Don’t worry, I’ll see you back here in time for the curfew.’
Dusk was falling as the two girls crossed the river. Army trucks filled with soldiers, whose uniforms were emblazoned with stark black and red insignia, rumbled past them, and on the northern horizon the beams of distant searchlights created a false sunrise, sweeping the skies for allied planes. On the right bank, Claire and Mireille embraced quickly and then went their separate ways.
On her return to the Rue Cardinale, as Mireille opened the door of the apartment she was met by Vivi.
‘Oh, Mireille! I’m so glad you’re back. I wasn’t sure where you’d gone ...’ She looked past her into the stairwell. ‘But where is Claire? I thought she’d be with you?’
Mireille shook her head. ‘No. She remembered she had an errand to run. She’ll be back very soon, I expect.’
‘Where did she go?’ Vivi’s face was pale in the light of the hallway. Mireille was taken aback by the urgency of her tone. Vivi never usually asked any questions about the comings and goings of her two flatmates and, until now, she had shown no interest in where they went and what they did in their free time.
‘I ... I can’t say. I mean, I’m not sure ...’ Mireille faltered.
Vivienne grasped her by the arms then, more insistent now. ‘Mireille, you have to tell me. This is crucial. I know about your missions. But tonight ...’ She took a deep breath, stopping herself, choosing her words a little more carefully. ‘Okay, you don’t have to say exactly where she is, but just tell me which direction she’s gone in.’
Mireille’s mind churned, trying to take in what Vivi had just revealed, realising – as the penny dropped – that this must be truly urgent for Vivi to have disclosed the fact that she was in the know about the network.
‘She ... she went south-west.’
Vivi’s eyes widened and seemed to darken in the whiteness of her face. ‘Where south-west?’
Again, Mireille hesitated, and was shocked when Vivi shook her with a strength that belied her apparent fragility. ‘You have to tell me, Mireille,’ she insisted.
Mireille shook her head. She couldn’t give away that information, it had been drummed into her not to. Even sharing details with those on her own side put everyone at even greater risk. And then, out of the blue, she remembered Monsieur Leroux and the look in his eyes when she and Claire had been taking leave of him in the Tuileries that day – Claire had told him that they’d give the third bar of chocolate to their friend Vivi and his eyes had betrayed a glint of amusement. He knew Vivi. She was something to do with him. Mireille remembered, too, how he had questioned her at the Café de Flore, about her work in theatelier, about the seamstresses that lived above the shop, and it dawned on her that he had placed Vivi there in the apartment, with them.
Vivi shook her again, more urgently. ‘Trust me, Mireille. You have to trust me.’
Mireille looked deep into her friend’s eyes and saw a light of pleading in their clear hazel depths. And then she said, ‘Billancourt.’
Vivi released her grip on Mireille’s arms and her hands flew to her own face in horror. ‘No! Not there! They’re bombing there tonight. I’ve only just heard ... The Renault factory ... we have to go, now, and get her back.’
Terror gripped Mireille as Vivi’s words sunk in. ‘But it’s late – the curfew ... Oh, Vivi!’
