Papa let out a breath. ‘Nathalie!’ he scolded. ‘That was a very stupid thing to do.’
I shrugged. ‘It made him stop asking about Edgar.’
‘Don’t do that again. What if he had insisted on looking at your finger?’
I hadn’t actually thought that far ahead, but I didn’t want to admit it to Papa. ‘Alors, he didn’t, so no harm done.’
Papa shook his head in exasperation. ‘You are going to get yourself in trouble one day.’ Despite the admonishment, he put his arm around my shoulders and kissed the top of my head. ‘Now, you’d better get on with whatever it is you’re supposed to be doing.’ He gestured to the pile of clothing at the end of the workbench, awaiting my attention.
I felt happier as I set about working my way through the garments. It seemed Papa had forgiven me already about Edgar and that meant Maman would too. Although I was worried about Edgar, I knew he had plenty of connections and he wouldn’t have done anything without preparing properly first. The fact that he’d said he’d contact me in a few days’ time, was also reassuring. I felt a little guilty withholding that nugget of information from my parents, but if Maman knew I was meeting Edgar, she’d want to come or insist Papa meet him and drag him back home. None of that was going to happen. I was proud of Edgar and, not for the first time, a little envious.
I spent the rest of the morning working on the clothes and was pleased with the progress I was making with them. Lunch was another twenty minutes away, so I tidied up the workshop. I kept as many scraps of fabric as possible to save for patching clothing and patchwork blankets, which I would pass on to whoever needed them. What couldn’t be reused, I gathered into a paper bag and took to the outside bin.
Our shop was on the corner of a busy crossroads, with several cafés and restaurants, which proved very popular with the Germans. A high stone wall enclosed the courtyard of the shop and a gate led out onto the street. Before the war, we often would sit outside in the courtyard to have our lunch on sunny days. I had been a keen gardener, and although the space was small, it had become a little piece of paradise in the city. The flowers and shrubs in the pots attracted insects and bees. I often wondered what bees were doing in the middle of the city and liked to think they appreciated the garden I’d created.
But we didn’t sit out in the courtyard anymore. There was a different atmosphere in the city. On the face of it, Paris continued much as it had before the occupation with theatres, cafés, and restaurants open, but instead of French and European tourists, these were now full of German soldiers who treated the city as a holiday destination.
To sit here and listen to German voices laughing and joking in the nearby cafés stuck in our throats, especially when food was becoming more difficult to find and the queues at the bakers and butchers were becoming longer and longer. I could hear the light-hearted conversations going on now in the café as the Germans enjoyed the hospitality of the owners.
I had just put the bag of scrap fabric in the bin and had paused to inspect the flowers that had survived the past couple of years when I heard the distinct voice of Kranz on the other side of the garden wall. He had stopped to greet another German, who I assumed was of equal rank by the easy way they were talking to each other.
I froze on the spot as indecision gripped me. Should I just carry on with what I was doing, or should I quietly sneak back inside? It was when I heard the other German mention propaganda leaflets that I made my decision to stay and listen. Adrenaline coursed through me as I crouched down at a disused flower tub and actively listened, tuning in to the German language and what they were saying.
‘Yes, they were distributed early this morning. They were shoved through people’s doors and nailed up on trees. They were everywhere.’ He went on to say how the Gestapo had demanded the source of the leaflets be found immediately and that those guilty of printing and distributing be arrested for interrogation.
The second German officer didn’t sound very happy about it. There was a note of irritation in his voice. He muttered something that I didn’t quite catch, but it left me with the distinct impression that the pressure he was coming under to find the culprits did not impress him.
‘We’ve had a tip-off about a bookshop in the area,’ he said to Kranz. ‘It’s the one on the corner near the bridge. We’re going to pay them a visit.’
‘Tonight?’ asked Kranz.
‘No. In a day or two. Once the dust has settled and they think they are safe.’ The officer gave a chuckle. ‘Lure them into a false sense of security and catch them when they are not expecting us.’
Kranz laughed. ‘That sounds like an excellent plan.’
‘Get those fucking Gestapo off my back anyway,’ came the reply.
With that, they said their goodbyes and I heard their footsteps depart. I blew out a long breath. I knew exactly which bookshop they meant. It belonged to Monsieur Cadue, an elderly gentleman who Papa knew by sight. I couldn’t believe that he would be involved with the Resistance. He seemed a very unassuming man. He had been old forever, or so it seemed. I would have to warn him about what was happening. I hesitated. Would Monsieur Cadue take me seriously? Would he think it was a trap? People were so wary of each other these days. Neighbours would report one another for the slightest infringement of the rules. If the warning came from the Resistance, he might take it more seriously. I needed to get a message to Edgar and would put the hat on the mannequin in the shop window before we closed for lunch. Hopefully, he would see it or someone who knew the secret sign would tell him I had important information.
Chapter 4
Nathalie
I don’t know if Papa noticed the hat on the mannequin in the shop window or not. If he did, he didn’t mention it. I tried not to give anything away for the rest of the afternoon and evening, even though I felt guilty not telling my parents. I had to keep it that way for everyone’s safety, especially my brother’s. My parents went to bed ahead of me, which wasn’t unusual. I was a night owl and liked the stillness and calm the darkness brought. There was something reassuring and soothing about a silent house, knowing everyone was safely in bed. Of course, that tranquillity had been tarnished somewhat since the arrival of the Germans, but still I found comfort in the darkness.
‘I’m going to read my book for a while,’ I had said to Maman.
‘Don’t strain your eyes,’ she replied, before dropping a kiss on my head.
‘When you come to bed, make sure the downstairs door is locked,’ Papa had said. He had given me a look that I hadn’t been able to decipher and I wondered whether he suspected I might have a plan of some sort.
I didn’t know when Edgar would come or indeed how I would know. We hadn’t discussed that part of the plan. He’d just said I would know when it was him. Again, the less information the better for everyone’s safety. It was difficult to concentrate on my book while I waited, and by the time it got to midnight, I was convinced Edgar wasn’t coming. Maybe he didn’t see the hat or he couldn’t come tonight. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked its way into the next day, and I was just about to go to bed when I heard a noise. It was coming from the kitchen, which overlooked the back of the property.
I sat still. Waiting. Listening.
There it was again.
It was definitely coming from the kitchen. It sounded like tapping on the window.
