Page 77 of The Last Restaurant in Paris

PROVENCE, 1938

Elodie was making bread, fists pummelling the dough, before she rolled it back up again then slapped it onto the table covered in flour and began the process once more. It was the only thing that seemed to help ease her mind.

Monsieur Blanchet was tending his vines, which at least seemed to be offering some distraction for him.

The kitchen window was open, letting in a cooling breeze, despite the warmth of the early summer sunshine. The roses and lavender had begun to bloom, and she had barely taken any notice. She’d had to close the restaurant because she just couldn’t focus.

She heard a car approaching and looked up in surprise, dropping the dough, and frowning.

It was a very posh-looking black-and-white car and it was slowly making its way up the gravel drive.

She raced around the front, and opened the door, her heart skipping a beat as she saw a man get out.

The sun was in her eyes, as she hastened towards him, her stomach doing flips. He straightened, and she paused. The first thing she noticed was his height. He was too tall. She frowned, shading her eyes, and then she saw it was Freddie.

She blinked, and at first, she almost smiled in welcome, and then she saw the look on his face. It was tight and bleak. She felt her knees begin to give way.

He raced towards her, clasping her by her elbows.

‘Just tell me,’ she begged, looking at his face, searching for anything that she could pin her hopes to. ‘Has he been taken somewhere – captured perhaps?’ Her lips trembled. They had been hearing all sorts of stories of people being sent off to detention centres, people who opposed their views, the Jews, anyone who wasn’t deemed to fit with their view of the world… perhaps they had discovered Jacques’ doctored paperwork. It had been the cold, dark thought at the bottom of her mind, and she had been trying her best not to bring it to the surface just in case it somehow rendered it into being.

Freddie closed his eyes for a moment, as if he were searching for the strength somehow to proceed. Elodie felt her legs give way again.

‘Let’s get you inside,’ he begged.

Her face crumpled, and tears began to race down her cheeks. ‘Freddie,’ she begged.

There were tears in his dark blue eyes. ‘He wasn’t taken, no. Oh, El,’ he whispered and she realised then that sometimes what life had to offer was worse than even your worst fears, and something inside her changed for ever in that moment. ‘He’s dead.’

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