Nathalie
I didn’t sleep well at all that night, despite how tired I felt. My mind was filled with the events of the previous day, the conversation I’d had and the one I needed to have with Alphonse and, most of all, the man I’d spotted in the street.
It was Marcel. I was certain of that. More certain than I had been of anything. He had been following me from the Ritz. It made me both hopeful and fearful.
I had longed for him every day and every night since I had been back in Paris. I had almost given up on seeing him again, but his promise on the last night we spent together, that he would find me, kept that hope alive. But now that he was here, it was the most dreadful timing. Not just because he would have seen me with Alphonse, but because of what Kranz wanted me to do.
I wanted to cry and jump for joy all at once. I didn’t know how to find Marcel and would have to wait for him to come to me.
Of course, I needed to speak to Alphonse at some point and tell him our relationship was over but needed some breathing space before that happened.
I felt like I was being hemmed in on all sides and I didn’t know how to escape.
There was no sign of Marcel when I arrived at the hotel. I had kept a lookout for him, in case he was hiding in a doorway, and I half expected him to appear at my side, but he didn’t and I was more than disappointed.
As I hung my coat up, Monsieur Tache came into the staff quarters. ‘Ah, Nathalie. I’ve been waiting for you. Come this way please.’
I followed Tache along the corridor and up the servants’ staircase. ‘The sewing room Chanel requested is ready. I’d like you to see it. If there’s anything you need that’s not already there, you can let me know.’
The sewing room was amazing. How Chanel had managed to fill it with all the resources I needed in such a short space of time was beyond me. The room was only small– it had been a storeroom– but it contained all that I needed.
‘I’ve had everything moved to another floor,’ explained Tache, standing in the doorway. ‘Sorry there is no window, but it’s the best I can do. It is a very unusual request.’
‘Thank you, Monsieur Tache,’ I said, running my hand along the workbench and inspecting the sewing machine that was next to it. ‘This is wonderful. I appreciate you allowing this.’
Tache cleared his throat and stepped further into the room, closing the door behind him. ‘I couldn’t really say no,’ he said, and then lowering his voice. ‘As it happens, it’s something we can use to our advantage.’
‘Our advantage?’ I gave my superior a questioning look.
From his pocket Tache withdrew a pen and a small vial of clear liquid. ‘This is for you to use,’ he said. ‘It’s invisible ink.’ He eyed me as I took in the implication of what he was saying. I went to speak but he held up his hand. ‘No need to say anything out loud. Of course, you and I are working for the same cause.’
I nodded. All my suspicions about Tache being part of the Resistance were now confirmed. I felt relieved I no longer had to second-guess him. ‘What do I need to do?’
‘Write anything you hear in your sketchbook. Use the invisible ink. Each week, I shall come up to the room and tear out the sheet of paper and pass it on. You will need to write in code and that code is here.’ He passed over a piece of paper to me, which looked like someone had jotted various numbers and equations on it.
‘How do I use this?’ I asked. It reminded me of the notebook Papa had in the shop where he wrote measurements and fabric lengths, and worked out costs.
‘It’s simple. Let me explain.’
Tache spent five minutes showing me how to work out the code using the six times table and the back of a sewing pattern he also provided me with. ‘Cross-reference against this. Keep your message short. Stick to the facts. We can interpret it from there. If clarification is needed, someone will be in touch.’
I had to marvel at the ingenuity and simplicity of the code. In a sewing room where there were pattern pieces, mathematical equations, random numbers and sums dotted about, it would be difficult to work it out.
‘If there’s no new information, leave the book face up, he continued. ‘If there’s information, leave it face down.’
‘It sounds very straightforward.’
‘It is. The best plans are simple.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I must go and you must get on with your work.’ He paused in the doorway. ‘Be careful.’
I looked at the closed door and then back to the pen and ink Tache had given me. It was a stark reminder of what was important. It wasn’t about the dress or the designs or how much Chanel admired my work, this was about life and death. This was about fighting for what was right and fighting against the Germans.
I hid the pen and ink at the back of a drawer, and using the key Tache had left in the door, I locked the room behind me.
It wasn’t long before I was called to action to use the invisible ink and secret code for the first time.
The following evening after I’d finished work, I was in the sewing room working on the dress, when a knock at the door startled me and I was surprised when Monsieur Tache walked in. I rose from my chair.
‘Don’t stand up,’ said Monsieur Tache, waving his hand for me to remain seated.
