Page 20 of The Last Restaurant in Paris

He continued. ‘It makes sense that it’s hard to breathe whenever you are lying down. I believe it is because there is some fluid build-up in your lungs. If you come to the hospital we can have these drained and then treat you with medication.’

‘My lungs! But I thought it was my heart.’

‘It is both, I’m afraid. But I think the procedure will help both organs function better. It is not a pleasant experience, though,’ he warned.

Berthe sighed. ‘Is it ever?’

But ever since the procedure, which Doctor Cordeau had performed himself, she had been making a remarkable recovery.

Every week her tablets were delivered by the doctor himself, who had become a friend, and she was putting on some weight from the extra food Gilbert brought home from the restaurant, which he shared with their neighbour, Madame Lambert. She had been shocked when she heard how affordable the new restaurant was due to the extra rations and the tokens Marianne was able to provide.

But if Gilbert’s family had come around to the doctor, the same couldn’t have been said for Busch when he decided to check on Berthe’s recovery for himself. But it was soon clear he had another agenda as well.

He arrived at the exact moment Fleur Lambert had come to visit too and after making his enquiries about Berthe’s health he got to the point very quickly – he required their presence at the restaurant.

‘I cannot believe you haven’t yet come, Madame Géroux. Are you not feeling better? Do you not want to come see the restaurant in which your son is working so hard?’

Berthe blinked. ‘Y-yes.’

‘Good. That settles it. Spread the word that us Germans are not quite as fearsome as people believe…’ he said with a smile.

Berthe produced a thin smile in response, but her hands fluttered to her chest. ‘Oh yes, of course, General.’

‘You will be my guests,’ he said, and his genial expression wavered for moment, before they all nodded enthusiastically. He clapped his hands together and the sound, like a bullet, made them startle.

‘I will see you all there tomorrow evening, then?’ His eyes took in the Géroux family, then settled onto Madame Lambert. He raised a brow at her, and she nodded quickly.

After he’d left there was much grumbling, of course. Fleur was nearly purple in the face. But there was never any question of disobeying him. Even so, they found, when they were there, having dinner, that it wasn’t as bad as they imagined. ‘Much like the doctor’s visit,’ Berthe had remarked when Gilbert walked them home afterwards.

‘I’m sure Marianne will take that as a compliment,’ Gilbert said.

‘She should be grateful for even that,’ hissed quiet Madame Lambert in a rare display of pique. She had barely said a word, just sat and chewed, her face like stone. She was like a pot that had simmered all night and now was starting to boil.

‘Well, quite,’ agreed Berthe.

‘Did you see her simpering after them with those cherry lips of hers, running around serving them as if they were kings? It was shameful!’ spat Madame Lambert.

‘I wouldn’t say she simpered,’ said Gilbert, ever loyal.

Madame Lambert and Berthe shared a look. ‘Well, no man would,’ said his mother.

‘I liked her,’ said five-year-old Lotte, rubbing a fist into a sleepy eye, her long blonde hair slightly mussed from where she’d rested it on the table while the grown-ups were talking. ‘She brought a strawberry tart, just for me.’

Madame Lambert touched her daughter’s head. ‘Yes, that was nice of her,’ she admitted.

Gilbert hid a grin. He knew it wasn’t over: as soon as he left and returned to the restaurant to help with the clean-up, they would no doubt be up for a while gossiping. It didn’t matter, Busch was no fool, now that Madame Lambert and Madame Géroux had visited the restaurant it would soon show the other locals that it was safe to do so too.

And he was right, the fact that quiet, reserved, and highly respectable Madame Lambert had attended Luberon was able to do what the Pariser Zeitung had not – spread the word – and by the first week of their second month other locals began to drift in.

Marianne made sure to make an effort with them, showing kindness and patience when they were short with her, even when their conversations were barbed, and designed to hurt. Like the hairdresser, plump, dark-haired, beautiful Madame Duchanelle with her cat-like green eyes, who wore her best dress, and complimented Marianne after Gilbert was sent to fetch her so that, as she said, ‘she could give her compliments to the chef.’

When Marianne arrived smiling with her red lips, shining blonde curls, Madame Duchanelle was the picture of charm.

‘Well, Madame Blanchet, I must say, I can see that you have been working hard. This place is a delight.’

‘Thank you, madame,’ Marianne had smiled, evidently delighted.

‘Ah oui, it could not have been easy to achieve,’ she said, waving a hand towards the back where Busch and his men were seated, dining and drinking, and generally giving off an air of great merriment.

---