“Are we?” Clothilde had not particularly noticed it, but if the vague likeness had helped to sell the clothes it was a good thing.
“I am very pleased with you,” Madame Robards said. “You must allow me to give you something – what would you like?”
“There is a coat from last year’s collection,” Clothilde said. “I shall need a coat soon, and I can alter that one to fit me.”
Her employer looked at her, eyes half hidden by hooded lids as she considered. “I should really put you to work in design, Clothilde, but the customers buy more when you show the clothes. I think it is the way you wear them.”
“I am happy as I am,” Clothilde replied, shrugging her shoulders. “I am learning so much here.”
“And one day you will put it to good use on your own account I suppose?” Madame Robards nodded. “You hide your ambitions well, Clothilde, but I know you will not always be content to work for us.”
“Who knows where any of us will be next year. If the Germans march into Paris…”
“God forbid!” Madame Robards shuddered. “It was bad enough the last time. I was a young woman then, but I remember it well enough. My father closed the showrooms rather than serve them, but I am not sure it was a wise thing to do. He lost a great deal of money through it. Others were not so scrupulous.”
“Because you take their money you do not have to give them your soul,” Clothilde said. “Life is a matter of survival, madame.”
“And where did your wisdom come from?”
“From my grandmother. She taught me many things.”
“You never speak of your past. I sometimes wonder who you really are, Clothilde.”
“I am no one important. Just a girl who works for you. So – I may take the coat?”
“Of course. We cannot sell last year’s collection. I shall be interested to see what you make of it.”
“You will be surprised.”
“Nothing you do surprises me,” Madame Robards said under her breath as she went out. “There is much more to you than anyone yet knows…”
Clothilde was smiling as she left the showrooms that evening, her precious coat across her arm. She had been thinking about it for some time, and knew exactly what she wanted to do with it. The reason it had not sold was in her estimation because the shawl collar was too large and had no real shape. With a little cutting and a fur edging, it would become stunning, and she would enjoy wearing it for many years to come. The cloth was so much better than she could afford to buy, even with the generous discount Madame Robards gave her girls, Clothilde could not manage to purchase anything from the new collection.
“Mademoiselle…” Clothilde was surprised as the man emerged from the shadows outside her place of work. “Forgive me if I startled you. I wanted to speak to you and I wished it to be private.”
She stared at the man, recognising him instantly. He was the father of the young girl who had purchased so many of their clothes earlier that day.
“Monsieur Picard?” She looked at him curiously. He was a man of at least fifty, but attractive, his greying hair distinctive, his body still fit and free of ugly fat. “Is there some way in which I might help you? Something your daughter liked that she did not purchase?”
“I think Helene chose everything she wanted, thank you…” He smiled wryly. “This was a personal matter. I was wondering if you would have dinner with me this evening?”
“You are kind to ask, but I am meeting friends this evening,” Clothilde replied. It was a lie, because she intended to work on her coat, and this man was not the first of Madame Robards’ clients to ask her to have dinner. She always refused them as a matter of principle.
“Then tomorrow perhaps – or the following day.” He reached out to lay his hand on her arm. “Please…”
The pleading note in his voice caught Clothilde’s attention. “Why is it so important to you?”
“You remind me of someone I knew once, that is all…” He hesitated. “I know it seems strange my asking you like this but… I would like the chance to know you better…”
It was an excuse, of course. Clothilde saw the look in his eyes and knew that he wanted to sleep with her. She would not sleep with him, but if he wanted to take her to supper - why not?
“Madame Robards does not like her employees to go out with her clients, monsieur. If I had dinner with you it might cost me my job. Especially if she believed I was your mistress.”
“I am not asking for that,” he said and then as she looked at him hard. “At least not yet – perhaps not ever. It would be for you to decide, Clothilde.”
“You will take me to dinner and ask for nothing in return?”
“I have given you my word. All I ask for is a little of your time. Please…”
“It may cost me my job.”
“I am sure it would not,” he said. “I have friends I could bring to the House of Leon. I would bring them only if you were there to show off the clothes, Clothilde. I may call you Clothilde?”
“If you wish…” She smiled at him. “Where will you take me to dinner? Shall I need to wear something special?”
“Anything you wear would be special,” he replied. “But I do not mean to hide you away, Clothilde. We shall dine at one of the best restaurants in Paris…if you will come?”
“You may call for me in an hour – but I shall expect you to keep your word, Monsieur.”
“Of course.” He smiled at her. “One day perhaps you will change your mind?”
“Perhaps,” she said. “But we shall see.”
Clothilde looked at the ring Auguste Picard had just given her; it was a diamond cluster in the shape of a daisy, the stones particularly fine and white. She could see that it was not new and the small leather box that held it appeared shabby and worn, as though it had been handled often.
“Why are you giving me this? It is not necessary. I do not need expensive gifts. I have told you before that a meal and good company is all I ask of you.”
“You never let me give you things. I would buy you an apartment of your own if you would let me, Clothilde.”
“We are friends because I choose it,” she said. “If I let you buy me it would not be the same.”
“I am not trying to buy you.” He smiled at her across the table of the intimate restaurant in which they had taken supper. The lights were low with red shades that cast a warm glow over the table, but arranged in such a way that each customer had privacy, and it had become their favourite place. “You have made me happy these past months. After Helene’s mother died I thought I could never love again, but you have brought me back to life.”
“Was your wife the only woman you ever loved?” Clothilde was curious. He had told her a great deal about his wife, the way they had met and fallen in love – and the scandal of Helen’s divorce from her first husband that had shocked his family and friends. “Was there never another woman you cared for?”
“One other,” Auguste admitted. “She was my cousin, Elena Dubois. I cared for her very deeply, but not in the same way. We were never lovers, nor did I wish for it.”
“I see…it was a different kind of love.”
“You see so much.” Auguste's gaze was intent on her face. “When you showed the clothes for us that day there was something about you that reminded me of Elena. It was just a fleeting thing and I have not seen it again. Now that I know you, I see that you are not at all like her. She was a shy, nervous girl. You are much stronger.”
Clothilde nodded. She touched the ring in its box with the tip of her finger, looking thoughtful. “Why have you given me this tonight? Are you going away?”
“For a time, yes. I hope it is not goodbye for us, Clothilde – but I have been requested to join a special unit. Germany has signed a pact of non-aggression with Russia. It means that war in Europe is almost inevitable. France must prepare for the worst.”
“Surely you will not be called upon to fight, Auguste?”
“You think I am t
oo old for active service?” He laughed as she pulled a face. “Perhaps I am, but I served in the last war – with the English RFC. That was how I met Helen Kavanagh. I have experience that may be needed, and I must do what I can – however little that may be.”
Clothilde nodded, accepting what he said without further question.
“What of Helene? Madame Robards thought she might be preparing for a wedding when she visited us in the spring…”
“There will be no wedding. Her intended fiancé was an Austrian. It would not be wise for a French girl to make such an alliance at this time. I could not allow it. The wedding was postponed and will not now take place.”
“But that must have been upsetting for Helene…if she loved him?”
“Helene knows her duty. She will meet someone else.”
“Is that fair or kind, Auguste?”
“It was her own decision.”
Clothilde did not press the matter, but she remembered that Helene Picard had been easily guided by her father in the matter of her wardrobe, and might be just as easy to persuade in other matters. Yet she could surely not have loved the man she had expected to marry or she would not have given him up so easily.
Dismissing the thought from her mind, Clothilde sipped her wine, then looked across the table at her companion.
“When must you leave?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Then this is our last evening together.”
“For a while – yes.”
Clothilde put down her wineglass. “Perhaps we should not waste the last few hours, Auguste? Shall we go to my apartment? We could be alone there and talk. I would like to know more about Elena Dubois.”
“Are you ready to leave?”
“Yes, of course.”
She stood up and waited as he settled the account. He took her coat from the waiter who hurried to bring it, placing it about her shoulders himself, his hand just brushing the side of her cheek. She smiled at him, but she did not show any other emotion. They had not yet become lovers, though she believed it might happen one day. She felt more for Auguste than she ever had for any man other than Andre. Perhaps it was love. A different kind of love to that the young Clothilde had felt for her childhood friend, but love just the same.
She was aware that other diners turned their heads to watch as they walked from the restaurant. Auguste Picard was wealthy and distinguished, a man people noticed. People were curious about the woman he had been escorting for the past several months, and naturally everyone believed they were lovers. Why else would he take so much interest in a girl who worked as a venduse?
They were sitting in the back of Auguste's chauffeur-driven car, being taken at speed through the dark streets towards his house when he reached for her hand. There was something in the way he held it that made her turn her head to look at him.
“I know this is not the right time to speak of such things, Clothilde, but if I asked you when I return to Paris – would you marry me?”
“We do very well together as we are, Auguste.”
“I know it is foolish to think that you would want a husband who is almost old enough to be your father – but I would be good to you, Clothilde.”
She hushed him by placing two fingers against his lips.
“I care for you, Auguste. If I married anyone it would be you. Age is nothing. It is not that…”
“But you are saying no?”
“I do not want to marry unless I am sure that I love. Forgive me, Auguste. I do not mean to hurt you.”
“I know you do not love me, but you make me happy. I hope I have made you happy sometimes?”
“You always make me happy. We are good friends, Auguste.” She smiled and leaned across to kiss him. “I shall be waiting when you return to Paris.”
“You could come to the chateau…” He smiled wryly as he saw the answer in her face. “It was foolish to ask. You would not leave your beloved Paris.”
“It is better that way,” Clothilde said. “No regrets, Auguste. Enjoy what we have but do not look back.”
“My only regret is that I did not meet you sooner.”
Clothilde held his hand to her cheek in the darkness, but made no reply. He was special to her. She loved him as much as she had ever loved a man, because he had been so gentle and kind to her. She knew that he was lonely…like the Englishman Joel, who had been found dead in his studio one day. He had cut his own wrists in the bath.
Clothilde had wept for her lost friend, but she had also been angry with him for allowing his melancholia to ruin his life.
“He should have fought it,” she had said to Henri when they had met at the funeral that wet afternoon. “Life is precious and should be preserved. It does no good to look back and regret.”
“Joel killed his wife in a boating accident, did you know that?”
“Yes, he told me,” Clothilde said. “He never forgave himself – but it was not his fault.”
“He loved her…but you would not understand that,” Henri said, a touch of bitterness in his voice. He had sold no more paintings after she refused to sit for him. “You do not know how to love, Clothilde.”
“Perhaps not,” she had told him. “No, I think you are right. I do not know how to love and perhaps it is best that way…”
She glanced at Auguste in the car as it sped through the streets.
“I love you in my way,” she whispered. “It may not be enough but it is all I can give you…”
She sat dreaming over her coffee the next morning. Auguste had gone, and Clothilde was not sure that they would meet again, though he had promised he would return. Sometimes she wished that she had given herself to him that last night, but something had made her hold back. They had talked long into the night, Auguste telling her about his cousin.
“You look so sad, Auguste,” Clothilde said as he spoke of Elena. “Tell me what happened to her, please?”
“She disappeared. We do not know what happened to her, she simply vanished after a quarrel with her father.”
“She quarrelled with her father – why?”
“I believe there was a man involved – an older man her family thought unsuitable. I think Dubois threw her out of the house.”
“Did she run away with her lover?”
“It was thought so at the time, but some months later they discovered it was not so. A search was made then, advertisements placed to try and trace her but she had vanished without trace.”
“So it is a mystery,” Clothilde said. “No wonder it haunts you.”
“Yes, it has haunted me,” he admitted. “That is why when I first saw you…” He shook his head and smiled. “But I have already told you that I thought for a moment there was a resemblance…”
For a moment Clothilde hesitated. Should she tell him of the mystery surrounding her own birth? But she had no reason to suppose that there was any connection.
“That is not so strange. Many young girls look alike. What was it that reminded you of Elena?”
“It was your eyes,” he said and shook his head once more. “There can be no relationship. It was just my imagination.”
There was no sense in raising false hopes that could never be proved, Clothilde decided.
“I understand,” she said. “And I am glad that you confided in me, Auguste.”
At that moment the look in his eyes held so much longing that Clothilde had almost told him she would marry him, but in the end she had let him go. Yet there were times when she wished she had promised to be his wife. Perhaps she would when he came back to Paris.
“What are you dreaming over, Clothilde?”
She came out of her reverie at the sound of Madame Robards’ voice. “Forgive me, I should get on with my work.”
“No, no, sit and have your coffee. There is no rush for the moment. Everyone is too concerned about the war to buy dresses.”
“It is coming, isn’t it, madame?”
“I fear it is inevitable.” Madame Robards said. “A
nd when it does it will not be good for Paris or for us…”
A cold shiver ran down Clothilde’s spine. All of a sudden she wished very much that she had told Auguste that she would marry him.
Chapter Twelve
England 1945
“You look wonderful, Christine,” Simon said when she came down the stairs that evening. They were all going to the theatre to a Noel Coward play. She was wearing a long, slim fitting, deep royal blue dress with a dipping neckline and tiny bows on the shoulders ornamented with diamante. “You’re beginning to grow up.”
“Thank you.” Christine accepted the compliment with a blush. He looked extremely elegant and debonair in his dark evening suit. “I’m looking forward to this evening, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am now.” The smile he gave her made her heart turn over. She thought that he was really looking at her for the first time.
“You will come to my dance, won’t you? And it would be wonderful if you have any friends you could ask. We’re going to be woefully short of young men otherwise.” She tucked her arm through his as they all went out to the car waiting to drive them to the theatre.
As they found their seats, Simon took the one next to Christine. Her heart thudded so fast that she was not sure she would be able to concentrate on the play, but once it started she was caught up in the witty dialogue.
It was an enjoyable evening. The play was well acted, and extremely amusing. Rupert took them out to supper afterwards.
It was when they were in the restaurant that they noticed Sir Freddie dining with friends. He saw them and nodded a greeting, then came over a little later to exchange a few words.
“I have already replied to your kind invitation, Christine – but I thought I would just tell you that I shall be pleased to attend your dance.”
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