‘A friend of mine knows the manager and he has guaranteed me work as a maid.’
‘But the place is full of Germans,’ said Papa.
I shrugged, trying to negate their worry. ‘It will be safe. I promise. I am only there to clean their rooms. Lots of girls work there.’
‘But working for the enemy,’ protested Papa.
I had to hold down the bubble of anger. ‘It is no different from you opening the shop to the Germans,’ I said, keeping an even tone. ‘We have to do what we must. And this is too good an opportunity to turn down.’
‘Nathalie is right,’ said Maman. ‘We cannot force her not to work there and we do need the money. I don’t like it any more than you do, but it is a fact.’
Papa nodded. ‘Very well.’
My heart went out to my parents. I had never seen my father look so defeated. The death of Edgar and the loss of the shop were hard for him to deal with. It was a reversal in roles. It was now my mother who was strong and pragmatic, despite the grief of losing Edgar. She understood what needed be done.
Work at the Ritz was harder than I had imagined. Twelve hours a day, six days a week.
The hotel was a magnet for high-ranking German officers and some of the wealthy Parisians who had decided to make the Ritz their home during the war. Of course, the most prestigious guest resided in room 304– Coco Chanel. Her relationships with German officers were well known within the hotel but none of us dared speak about them openly. I remember Marcel telling me to trust no one and I reminded myself of that on a daily basis.
It was the end of September and I still had not had any contact from Marcel. With each passing day, I began to imagine the worst. I swayed from him being captured or returned to England, to him not wanting anything to do with me and that I had been hoodwinked.
The only thing that kept a small flicker of hope alive was the fact that I had been given this position. It had been all arranged and the hotel manager, Monsieur Tache, had given me a minimal interview and I had signed my contract there and then on the spot. He hadn’t of course said anything outright, but I got the feeling from his comments that he was letting me know he was sympathetic to the Resistance.
‘This is your contract. Sign here. That’s if you’re willing to take the position?’
He looked at me and I didn’t miss the weight of his words on the last sentence. ‘I’m more than willing to take the position,’ I replied with absolute certainty. I didn’t know if Monsieur Tache had any idea why he was hiring me or how involved with the Resistance he was, but on the chance he might provide feedback to them, I wanted to be sure my position on the Vichy government and the German occupation and my dedication to my country were crystal clear.
‘The work here is not for the faint of heart,’ pressed Monsieur Tache. ‘The tasks you will be required to undertake are difficult and demanding. At all times you must, however, keep your composure. Our guests must not have an inkling of any hardship. You need to move around the hotel with a ghost-like presence, so you are barely noticeable. You need to fade into the background, unseen. You must carry out your duties in the manner in which I expect.’ He paused again. His gaze drilling into the back of my eyes. ‘You do realise what you’re undertaking, don’t you?’
‘Oui, monsieur.’ My voice was firm.
‘You won’t let me down, will you?’
‘Non, monsieur.’ Even firmer this time.
He held the pen out to me.
I took the pen from his hand and, as I signed my name at the bottom of the paper, I thought of Edgar. I hoped he would be proud of me, and I hoped I would be able to avenge his death in some way.
Three weeks on from that day, after a long shift at the hotel, I lay in bed and stared at the bedroom wall that separated my room from Edgar’s. Just knowing it was empty, and that Edgar would never come back, brought more tears to my eyes. Coming home had only highlighted what we had lost.
I turned my back on the dividing wall, not wanting to acknowledge the depth of my grief. In my heart, my dear younger brother was still with me. His loyalty to France and his determination to fight for his country filled the chasm his presence had left behind.
Instead, I turned my thoughts to someone else I loved: Marcel. I may have only known him a short time, but my heart had no brakes and I had fallen head over heels for this mysterious Englishman who I knew so well and yet knew nothing about at all. If I had learned anything from this war, then it was to love with a fierceness and an intensity that couldn’t wait because we had so little time and life was a fragile gift. My feelings for Marcel had also clarified my feelings for Alphonse insomuch that he wasn’t the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Marcel was the only man for me.
The head housekeeper, Madame Bochette, was turning out to be my least favourite person at the hotel. She was in her mid-fifties, with her dark hair scraped back from her face, accentuating her long sharp nose and pointed chin. The skin around her mouth, where it was pinched, looked like a ploughed field, and the lines splaying from her eyes looked like they had been scoured out with a knife. Her appearance matched her persona. Sharp. Brusque. Harsh.
‘Don’t get on the wrong side of her,’ whispered Collette– one of the maids who I had become friendly with. ‘She’s a witch and a Nazi sympathiser.’
Neither of these statements surprised me. For the first week, I’d shadowed Bochette, while she taught me how to fold the linen, how to make the rooms up, and all the things I might be asked to do at some point. All of which I had to do with ease, without hesitation, with no indication that I was new. I suspected straight away that Bochette was using the first week as an excuse to weigh me up, to gauge what kind of person I was and where my own sympathies lay.
I was careful to answer her questions with just the right amount of deference to the occupying army, balanced with a sadness and patriotism to France so that she didn’t suspect me of being too loyal to my country. Even that felt like a betrayal, but I reminded myself it was all part of the game.
Now I was at the hotel, I would have more chance to find the man who killed my brother so I could plot my revenge.
As it happened, I didn’t have to wait long before a series of events unfolded and fate brought the opportunity several steps closer.
One day I arrived at work and was about to start cleaning my usual set of rooms, when Madame Bochette stopped me.
