Following the crowd, Yvette made her way towards the street and once outside took a moment to acclimatise to the sights and sounds of a city. So many people, even more than on market day in Châteaubriant and cars and trucks everywhere, military, like dark grey elephants emblazoned with swastikas. Yvette suppressed a shudder and then pulled herself together. She didn’t need a map because she had memorised the hand-drawn one that was wrapped around the francs she’d used to buy her tickets. By following the route in her head, Yvette would appear to be familiar with the city and hopefully avoid suspicion, so she strode purposefully onwards.
When she turned into Place d’Aristide, Yvette checked the numbers on the doors to her left and realised that the house she was looking for would be on the other side of the street. She scanned the grand pale-stone houses, with their ornate ironwork and elaborate sculpted columns aside beautifully carved doors. The road was wide and separated along the centre by a pedestrian walkway, grassed on either side. There was actually no need to look for number nine though, because her eye was caught by a figure standing on a second-floor balcony.
Dressed in sky blue, with one arm waving frantically above her head while the other poked at an angle, a cigarette holder dangling from her hand, the figure with the white-blonde hair that called out was unmistakable and Yvette would have known her anywhere. Almost racing across the street, she waved back just as enthusiastically, eager and desperate to reach the other side and her dear friend, Maude.
They met on the first landing, Yvette could hear Estelle’s heels click-clacking down the stone stairs and when they finally stopped hugging, wiped their eyes and calmed down, they climbed upwards to the apartment. Once behind closed doors, one of them decided to be sensible and remind the other of some rules.
Despite it being second nature, in this instance it felt strange to speak only French, like being back in training but this time, their pretend life was for real.
Estelle’s voice was barely a whisper. ‘We must stick to French and our cover names for the whole time you are here. We cannot afford to slip up and as a precaution perhaps while we are in the apartment too. These clunking pipes and ancient floorboards have ears, so do doors, so we have to be vigilant.’
Yvette nodded.
‘I am so glad Vincent allowed you to come, my pestering paid off.’
At this Yvette was astounded. ‘What, you know Vincent? I don’t understand, he never said a word, how, explain?’
Estelle lowered her voice further. ‘Of course I know him, this is a safe house and he has collected evaders from here but it was only last time, when I asked if he’d heard or seen a red-headed agent, that the penny dropped. It was naughty of me, I know, asking, but I have been desperate for news of you.’
On hearing this Yvette was awash with love for her friend, for caring enough to push the boundaries and to Vincent too, for knowing how much it would mean to her. She had told him all about Maude and their bond, and this was like a gift, from Vincent to them both.
‘I had no idea… just wait till I see him, but I’m so pleased you asked, you clever thing.’
Estelle winked. ‘Well don’t think you’re off the hook because I want to know all the gory details because I can tell you are madly in love with him, and I saw the twinkle in his eye too.’
Yvette covered her burning cheeks with her hands, laughing but knowing only too well that Estelle would be true to her word. But for now, the moment had passed, and she was instead scrutinising Yvette’s attire, a horrified look on her face.
‘Now let me look at you… or perhaps not! My goodness what on earth are you wearing? Quickly take off that dreadful coat before it gives me a migraine and then I’m going to banish it for all eternity. The washerwoman will collect my things later so she can take this, too.’ Estelle winked at Yvette as she helped her off with her contraband laden coat.
‘Estelle, you are as bossy as I remembered, and even thinner! Surely you city dwellers don’t starve? But anyway, Tante Helene has sent some of her famous rillette for you and look, a pomander too.’
‘Pah, who needs food when there are cigarettes and wine but, sadly, no coffee? Not the real kind anyway, just that dreadful ersatz. It’s like drinking a tree. But thank you for the rillette, I love it especially home-made. Now, what shall we do first, apart from burn that dress in the fire.’
Yvette stepped back in horror. ‘No, this is my best one! I need it to travel home in.’
Estelle pursed her lips. ‘All right, if you insist. So, what would you like to do? I know, let me pamper you and make you feel glamorous then we can go out, yes, let’s do that. Come on, no time to waste. We have to pack as much as we can into our time together. I’ve been so looking forward to it.’
Yvette laughed because Estelle’sjoie de vivrewas contagious and when she dragged her towards the bathroom, her heart was lighter than it had been for… ever.
Later, as Yvette languished on the bed, wrapped in a silk robe that made her look like she was resting in a field of flowers and peacocks, she watched as Estelle put on a record and then came to sit by her side. Undoing the jar of polish, she began to paint Yvette’s nails a deep red, and for a moment appeared lost in thought. When she spoke it was in English, breaking her own rules as usual.
‘If we speak quietly we’ll be okay in here, the music will drown out our voices and I so long to speak English, I’m starting to think I may forget how… don’t you miss it?’
Yvette nodded. ‘Yes, and I don’t think of myself as Dottie, fancy that. I even dream in French now, do you?’
Estelle’s plucked and well-drawn eyebrows arched but she kept her eyes on the task. ‘I don’t dream, darling, not if I can help it.’
Yvette was curious. ‘What do you mean? I love it if I dream of home. It makes me feel close to them.’
Estelle had finished one hand and signalled for Yvette to hold out the other. ‘Well I envy you, because my dreams are more like nightmares, so I make sure that when my head hits the pillow I’m out for the count… thank God for cheap wine and the black market. I have some lovely cognac for later. That should knock me out.’
This disconcerted Yvette because rarely had Estelle shown weakness or admitted to fear of any kind but now she looked closer, there were dark rings of shadow under her friend’s eyes, not quite concealed by powder. ‘Estelle, that’s awful. What are your nightmares about?’
As usual she attempted to bat away her concern. ‘Oh, don’t mind me, enough of this, we should be jolly, not making one another feel miserable.’
Yvette persisted. ‘No, you have to tell me. Who knows when we will see each other again and if I can help then I will.’ It was then a thought occurred. ‘Are you scared, Estelle?’
Apart from the dulcet tones of Charles Trenet playing on a scratchy seventy-eight, the room was enveloped in a hush. Estelle paused from her artistry, looked up and spoke, a great truth reflected in her eyes. ‘Terrified, Yvette, I am absolutely terrified.’
