‘What about Yvette’s family?’
‘What about them? She has none. Look, you have no idea how hard it is here now. No doubt, you have some romantic idea about finding the girl’s mother. Well, listen to me. It is not possible. We have better things to worry about. The child will go to the Martin family.’
‘Do the Martin family have children?’ asked Fitz. Somehow it mattered very much to her who she was leaving Yvette with.
‘No. But they will look after her. She will help around the house, and she will have a bed to sleep in and food on the table.’ Margot eyed Fitz. ‘That is more than some children have.’
They had reached the entrance to the château now and Fitz knew they couldn’t talk about it anymore.
Fitz spent the rest of the day with Yvette. It was unlike any Christmas Eve she had ever experienced. She wished she could do something to make it special for Yvette, but it seemedfrivolous given the circumstances. She decided the best she could do was to sneak some cake back for the little girl. She couldn’t stop thinking about the fate that lay ahead for Yvette, and how treacherous she herself felt about leaving her, even though it was the right thing to do. Yvette was French. She needed to stay in France. What was Fitz supposed to do? Whisk her off to England in the plane that night? It was a ludicrous idea.
Ludicrous, yes. But not impossible. No. Fitz dismissed the notion. She would not entertain it for another second. Yvette belonged in France.
Fitz thought of Yvette’s mother. What would she be thinking of Fitz if she knew what she was about to do? Yvette’s mother hadn’t chosen to leave her child. Fitz imagined the woman’s last thought would have been about her daughter and whether she was safe.
Had her own mother had such thoughts and feelings right before she died? Had her last thought been of her daughter?
They stayed in the bedroom, out of the way, playing cards and drawing pictures. Fitz had always been fond of sketching and was soon filling the pages with requests from the little girl. Dogs and cats featured heavily. Fitz noticed Yvette didn’t ask her to draw any houses or families, something she was sure little girls liked. They moved on to flowers and trees, then bigger, more exotic animals. Cars and buses came next. Once they had amassed a wide selection of pictures, Yvette set about colouring them in. Fitz carried on doodling on the paper and was surprised at the feeling of contentment she was getting from simply watching Yvette enjoy herself.
‘What are you drawing now?’ asked Yvette.
Fitz turned the paper around for her to see. ‘An aeroplane.’
‘I’ve never been in an aeroplane,’ said Yvette. ‘Have you?’
‘Yes, I have. In fact I can actually …’ Fitz managed to stop herself from blurting out that she could fly one.
‘Can what?’ asked Yvette.
‘I can remember seeing my friend fly his plane,’ said Fitz quickly. ‘Oh, have you seen the time?’ she said looking at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘I need to start getting ready.’ She shuffled the papers together in a pile and placed them on the dressing table. ‘Do you want to help me fix my hair?’
‘Yes please,’ said Yvette, dropping the coloured crayon back into the pot.
‘We can do yours too,’ said Fitz, glad the child was easily distracted. She silently scolded herself for nearly spilling the beans about being able to fly.
Once Fitz was ready, she settled Yvette in the room. ‘Someone will be back later to make sure you’re all right,’ she said. ‘Now be very good and quiet and stay in the room. The guests will be arriving soon.’
‘Will you be gone all night?’ asked Yvette. There was that glimmer of anxiety in Yvette’s eyes. How could Fitz possibly leave her? Even though there was the promise of a French couple to look after the girl, would they be kind to her? Would they love her? Fitz wasn’t sure.
Fitz put her hand on Yvette’s cheek. ‘Not all night. I’ll be back.’ She stopped short of saying she promised. If something went wrong and she was caught, she didn’t want to have Yvette’s last thought that Fitz had broken her promise. Fitz picked up the teddy bear and tucked it under the covers alongside Yvette. ‘I’ll be back for both of you.’ She kissed Yvette on the forehead. ‘Always know that you are loved,’ she whispered.
She left the room before she choked up with tears. How on earth had she become so attached to the little human in her bed? The weight of responsibility was still there but it had beenreplaced by desire rather than duty. And was Fitz really going to do what she thought she was? The little idea she had tried all evening to ignore? Damn it. Apparently so.
She straightened herself when she saw Margot waiting for her at the top of the stairs.
‘Everything all right?’ asked the Frenchwoman. ‘Have you told the child about the Martins?’
Fitz shook her head. ‘No. There’s no need to upset her now. We don’t want any distractions for this evening.’
‘Good. That is wise.’
This time Fitz didn’t feel any joy or sense of pride from receiving Margot’s praise.
Philippe came up the stairs. ‘Everything is in place,’ he said. ‘At eleven-thirty, the waiters will bring around a glass of champagne for everyone so I can propose a toast. You are to take the glass on the left-hand side – your left – and ensure Hoffmann drinks it.’
‘The one on the left,’ repeated Fitz.
‘Yes, it will be laced with something to help Hoffmann relax,’ said Philippe.
