Secrets and Showgirls

by Catherine McCullagh

  Ushering the pitiful creature through the door, Maurice bolted it firmly behind him and took the little man through to the salon where he reached for a medicinal brandy, pouring a small dram into a glass. Chinon downed the dram in a noisy gulp and passed the glass back, signalling for more. Maurice put the glass carefully to one side; he had no intention of fuelling one of Chinon’s drunken sessions.

  ‘Chinon, what were you thinking?’ he asked in quiet exasperation as the stocky man recovered his wits.

  ‘Maurice, it was you I came to see,’ he began earnestly, looking up at his manager. ‘I came to find you, but that dreadful harpy saw me and took to me with a poker. Mon Dieu, she is a vision from hell. She could have frightened off the entire German army had they just positioned her in the right part of the Maginot Line.’ He paused, shaking his head as if to clear the vision of La Medusa Fresange.

  ‘You frightened her, Chinon,’ murmured Maurice gently, ‘she thought you had come to murder us all in our beds.’ He eyed the little man severely. ‘So why did you wish to see me?’ Chinon looked up and his eyes filled with tears.

  ‘Maurice, I am a good patriot, am I not?’ he wept. Maurice patted the broad shoulder.

  ‘The best, my friend, the very best.’

  ‘I am also a loyal communist, a true believer, I would die for the cause.’

  ‘I believe you, Chinon, who would not?’

  ‘The brotherhood!’ bellowed Chinon in agony as Maurice hastened to quiet him lest he wake Madame Claudette. ‘My comrades in my cell!’

  ‘They have questioned your loyalty?’

  ‘Non, non, they have refused to allow me to help them fight the Germans.’ This, to Maurice, seemed not entirely unreasonable.

  ‘But you are not trained to fight, Chinon.’

  ‘Non, Maurice, that much I know. But they have refused to allow me to work under cover!’

  ‘But why would they do that?’

  ‘They say I am too conspicuous, that people will see me and remember me, that I cannot simply fade into a crowd or sit inconspicuously in a café. They say I stand out!’

  ‘Ah, I see,’ now Maurice felt a certain sympathy for the communist brotherhood, although he felt they could have worded their objections rather more sensitively. Telling a dwarf that he ‘stands out’ was so unfortunate as to be reprehensible in Maurice’s view. ‘But there must be something that you can do for them,’ reasoned Maurice. ‘Could you explain that you could gather information for them, skilfully exploiting your position at Le Prix?’ But Chinon shook his head as angry tears coursed down his face.

  ‘Non, non, they say that even allowing me to meet with a cell member puts us all in danger. They tell me I can serve the cause best by being some sort of sleeper ... to bide my time until the end of the war and to wait until I am told what to do. Maurice, this war could last a lifetime! They deny me the right to fight for what I believe in ... I am lost ... I am worthless!’ And Chinon burst into noisy sobs as Maurice patted him and searched his mind for a solution. Mentally, he berated the communists as tactless zealots who could have constructed a hundred different roles for Chinon all of which would have appeased his fervent patriotism while assuring him of a low profile.

  ‘Chinon,’ he murmured between the noisy sobs, ‘there is much you could do to help fight the Germans.’ The shaggy head rose and the brimming eyes looked into his.

  ‘No, Maurice, I am useless!’

  ‘Ah, but you are not,’ Maurice insisted gently. ‘From your position on stage it is possible to see the whole of the theatre. You would notice any new patrons immediately and remember their faces. Between the girls and me, we could establish their identity and keep a mental record of all who visit Le Prix. One day this information will be very valuable.’ Chinon’s sobs began to subside as he studied this vision.

  ‘I could, couldn’t I?’ Maurice nodded with certainty as the little man continued. ‘I could also watch who they talked to,’ he added, stifling the final sob, ‘and which French bastards were helping the Germans.’

  ‘You could take note of any unusual behaviour — any sign that a raid was imminent or that the Gestapo was particularly interested in Le Prix.’

  ‘I could,’ confirmed the ringmaster, nodding vigorously. He stopped and looked up at Maurice. ‘Do you think the brotherhood would be interested in such information?’

  ‘Information is priceless,’ stated Maurice gravely, ‘and we will find a way to pass it on if we think it is significant. What do you say, mon ami?’

  ‘Oui, Maurice, you are right,’ Chinon’s face brightened noticeably as he considered the prospect. ‘And I will do my best to save you. I think you have a communist heart, although of course you do not know this yourself.’

  Maurice smiled wryly and nodded at the compliment. He had little faith in Chinon’s ability to save him, and less faith in the communist brotherhood’s ability to survive the war in the face of determined German opposition. Never mind, he told himself, it would not hurt to have a foot in both camps.

  Chapter 18

  God’s inescapable will

  It was a glorious Sunday afternoon and Lily had decided to walk the last few blocks to Le Prix, forsaking le métro with its sweaty crowds, frayed tempers and the war-weary faces of her fellow Parisians as they clip-clopped along in their wooden-soled shoes, the hollow tapping that now characterised occupied Paris. She felt distinctly light-headed as she strolled — no-one had asked to see her papers, she had managed to haggle a good price for some recently liberated fish for Madame Gloria and there had been a conspicuous absence of German uniforms. She drank in the streetscape around her. A little distance ahead, a group of white-clad nuns, their snowy wimples stiff and shining like the helmets of a sacred army, carried small baskets of food for the poor, ready to share what little they had with those who existed on even less. Lily was touched; there was a singular beauty in this rare act of wartime kindness. Their presence added to the serenity of the scene. On this particular afternoon there was absolutely nothing to suggest that there was a war raging somewhere and, if she could manage a brief bout of amnesia, she could perhaps forget that this was an occupied city. She sighed dreamily at the delicious prospect of freedom and normality — surely it must come at some point in time.

  As she rounded the corner, Lily’s delicious dream vanished abruptly as the grey-green uniforms materialised again in a thicket of people on the street ahead. Something had happened and the Germans were shouting orders and brandishing their weapons, corralling all those in sight, including the nuns. Lily stopped, preparing to retrace her steps, well aware of the mantra of wartime Paris: avoid trouble, let others deal with their own problems. But these were nuns and there was something downright sacrilegious about accosting these good women whose impossible task it was to pray for peace on earth. She felt her indignation surge and was determined to help in any way she could.

  By the time Lily reached the knot of people they had been formed into an orderly line by the Germans, the nuns trailing at the back, whimpering protestations.

  ‘We are engaged in God’s work,’ a tall nun at the head of the group told a beefy sergeant who seemed to be in charge.

  ‘No, Sister, we are engaged in God’s work,’ corrected the sergeant, sneering at her, ‘it is our god that has triumphed over yours.’

  The nun drew herself up to her full height, appalled at this blasphemy, and hissed icily, ‘There is but one God, Monsieur, and He is, fortunately, a God of love and forgiveness.’

  ‘Amen,’ chorused the other nuns, crossing themselves hurriedly as if in the presence of the devil himself.

  ‘Excellent,’ rejoined the sergeant, clearly enjoying himself, ‘then He will forgive me if I arrest some of His less cooperative followers and send them to preach their message in Fresnes Prison where there is very little love and forgiveness.’ The soldiers laughed at their sergeant’s witticisms and at the nuns’ increasing discomfort. The tall nun at the front simply pursed her lips and clutched at
the rosary beads knotted around her waist, glaring stonily at the sergeant. His fun over, the German’s face assumed a more menacing look.

  ‘Papers! I want your papers now!’ he bellowed, startling the nuns who exclaimed in fright. ‘And may your god help you if they are not in order!’ He planted himself in front of the tall nun, his hand extended as she fumbled inside her robe for her papers.

  Lily now reached the rear of the group, horrified at the way these gentle women were being treated. As she approached, a generously proportioned nun at the back of the line turned towards her, keeping her face averted and speaking in a low voice.

  ‘Help us please!’ Lily was stunned, but quickly recovered.

  ‘Of course, Sister,’ she whispered, careful to hide her face from the German soldiers at the front of the group, ‘what can I do?’

  ‘This sister’ — gesturing at a slender nun standing close to her — ‘has no papers. The Germans must not find her.’

  This was no time to ask for explanations and Lily’s mind raced. She watched as the German soldiers moved methodically through the group. There were six soldiers and at least a dozen nuns, and Lily calculated that she had just a few minutes to create a diversion, anything that would force the soldiers away from the nuns. Could she pretend to faint? Burst into song? Break into hysterics to allow the nuns to scamper away? No, these nuns did not look as if they could scamper far, particularly in their long habits — and those wimples looked as if they might send them airborne with little encouragement. Lily began to feel desperate as the soldiers approached, her heart racing and her mind turning over possibilities at a frenzied pace.

  Suddenly a lifeline trotted into view. A dapper gentleman in a neat, pin-striped suit complete with red carnation buttonhole with a stylish woman on his arm approached the group. She was expensively fashionable in a fine silk dress of the deepest green that hugged her figure and was offset by a netted hat bedecked with soft silk roses over dark, coiffured curls. The woman smiled and simpered, clearly delighted to be seen on the arm of the dapper man. The man steered the woman towards the group, his face assuming a look of selfimportance.

  ‘What seems to be the problem, sergeant?’ he asked pleasantly. The sergeant and his men immediately snapped to attention and he saluted smartly.

  ‘No problem, Herr Oberst, we are simply checking the papers of these nuns. A shot was fired in this street and we need to find the culprit.’

  ‘A shot, you say?’ rejoined the Oberst, ‘that is very serious and must be investigated. Carry on!’ He began to move away, but was stopped by a cheery figure who emerged from the back of the pack.

  ‘Well hello, dahling!’ Lily crooned as she slid her way towards the Oberst. ‘I remember you.’ She ran her fingers up the sleeve of his jacket and pulled him close. ‘I’m sure you remember me too!’ She winked coquettishly and smiled her most seductive smile. The Oberst froze and tried unsuccessfully to prise himself from Lily’s grasp. The German soldiers stopped in their tracks and began to gather around, sensing a scene. On the Oberst’s other arm, the young woman sprang immediately to life.

  ‘Manfred? Manfred, who is this woman?’ But before the unfortunate Manfred could launch his defence, Lily leant over to the woman and answered her question.

  ‘I’m Lily from Le Prix d’Amour cabaret,’ she told her in ringing tones, adding gleefully, ‘your Manfred is one of our best customers ... aren’t you, sweetie?’ Now Manfred began to squirm.

  ‘I ... I’ve never seen this woman before ...,

  ‘Well she seems to know you!’

  ‘I ... I ...’

  Now Lily intervened.

  ‘Of course I could be mistaken. It’s so dark in the theatre, there’s so much champagne, so many handsome men and beautiful women ...’ she trailed off, ready to give the hapless Manfred a fighting chance.

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed, spluttering helplessly, ‘you must be mistaken ...’

  ‘I’m so frightened by these big, fierce soldiers that I can’t think clearly. I thought I saw you there last Wednesday night, was it?’ An ear-piercing wail from the woman rent the air.

  ‘Oh Manfred, you told me you were escorting a very important visitor!’ She burst into noisy sobs as Manfred assumed a wild, desperate look and the soldiers nudged one another in barely disguised delight.

  ‘And so I was, my love ...’

  ‘To a cabaret!’ she spat the words at him venomously. Lily took pity on him, throwing him another lifeline.

  ‘But it might not have been you ... I’ll have to think ... I am so distressed by the way these lovely nuns are being treated by your soldiers — and you know these two are my aunties —’ gesturing to the nuns at the rear of the line — ‘I just can’t quite remember. Was it you?’ She peered at his shocked visage, caressing the front of his suit with her fingers. Manfred reacted immediately, grasping her lifeline with both hands.

  ‘Sergeant, get these men out of here!’

  ‘But Herr Oberst, a shot was fired ...’

  ‘Do you really think these nuns look armed and dangerous?!’ The sergeant attempted to protest further but Manfred’s near-death experience had galvanised him into action.

  ‘Go!’ he bellowed. The soldiers came swiftly to attention then stamped on their way, the sergeant muttering darkly as he passed the nuns. The look on the tall nun’s face spoke volumes about whose god was now in the ascendancy.

  Manfred turned to the nuns, doffing his hat and bowing courteously as he addressed the tall nun at the front of the group.

  ‘Sister, I do beg your pardon, my sergeant had no right to detain you in this fashion. Please accept my humble apologies.’ The nun beamed back at him.

  ‘Thank you, young man, a little over-zealousness is easily forgiven.’ She turned to her fellow nuns like a shepherdess rounding up her flock.

  ‘Come sisters, there is much work to be done.’ The nuns filed past, smiling meekly at Manfred, whose doffed hat remained raised until the final habit had swished past. Then it was Lily’s turn.

  ‘No,’ she told him decisively, ‘it definitely wasn’t you I saw, the other Manfred prefers blondes.’ She waved cheerily as Manfred, uncertain of the quality of his escape, turned to mollify his sullen brunette who pouted and withdrew her arm.

  ‘You see, liebchen? She said it wasn’t me ...’

  Lily resumed her place at the rear of the posse and the ample nun who had enlisted her help linked arms with her and drew her closer, the nun without papers following close behind.

  ‘My dear Lily, I cannot thank you enough, you saved us!’ They turned into an alleyway as she spoke and Lily found herself whisked into a tiny, dingy house while the remainder of the group ploughed relentlessly ahead. The plump nun turned to her.

  ‘I am sorry for placing you in such a dangerous situation, but I truly had no alternative.’ She paused and smiled at Lily. ‘I knew God would help me and He did — He sent me an angel!’

  ‘Oh sister, I’m no angel!’ retorted Lily, suppressing a laugh with difficulty before her curiosity overcame her. ‘So, why does this sister have no papers?’ She gestured towards the other nun as she spoke. The nun turned slowly towards her and Lily caught a glimpse of a pair of lively, chocolate-brown eyes before they were lowered in the modest way of nuns. The comfortably proportioned nun sighed deeply, her jowls quivering.

  ‘You certainly deserve an explanation after what you did for us, my dear, but I am reluctant to involve you in our troubles. I am Sister Marguerite and this is ... someone we are helping.’ Lily’s heart sank as her gaze moved to the other nun. So this was clearly a Jew, perhaps a gypsy, a political prisoner newly sprung from Fresnes or any manner of individual proscribed by the Germans. Now she understood Sister Marguerite’s reluctance to involve her. But it was too late — she was already involved.

  Marguerite sat down heavily and Lily realised that they were in a small sitting room. The light was so dim she could barely see the nun’s face which had become a suffused haze surrounded by a stark
white halo. Lily sat too, while the mystery ‘nun’ remained upright to one side, as if standing guard.

  ‘Our “guest” — Sister Gabrielle — arrived some weeks ago and sought sanctuary with us. We were prepared to help, of course, but our work takes us into the community and we also frequently look after those who have nowhere to go. Paris is now a city of informers and we could not offer the safety of a hiding place for more than a few weeks. There are those who are arranging to move Sister Gabrielle to safety, but these things take time and we received word this morning that our Bishop is coming to stay for a few days.’ She looked up at Lily wearing a look of disappointment. ‘Our Bishop would not tolerate the accommodation of “guests” such as Sister Gabrielle and would demand that we immediately hand her over to the Germans. So, you see Lily, we had to do something.’

  ‘So where were you taking her?’

  ‘To the house of a friend. Alas this lady is elderly and infirm and can only take Sister Gabrielle for tonight. After that ...’ she shrugged sadly, ‘I have no idea what we will do.’ Marguerite’s face was a mask of despondency and Lily’s heart went out to this good woman.

  ‘Sister Marguerite, if there was anything I could do ...’ she began, preparing to lament the fact that, as a simple showgirl from the seamy side of town, she could offer no more than her sympathies. But she was stopped mid-sentence by the look that came over Marguerite’s generous face.

  ‘But there is ...’ she whispered, ‘it would only be for a few days ...’

  ‘Oh no,’ Lily was suddenly adamant — hide a nun at Le Prix? Had Sister Marguerite taken leave of her senses? But Marguerite was beginning to smile again. Lily flailed weakly.

  ‘Sister, you do understand that Le Prix is a cabaret ... a place where there may be ... a little sin committed from time to time?’ She could not imagine how a nun could fail to see this. ‘It would be very difficult to hide a nun there ...’ Lily was quietly aghast at the very notion. ‘You don’t think she might look just a little bit conspicuous?’ To Lily this was akin to being asked to hide a bottle of cognac in a bucket of water. But Marguerite had sensed a solution and would not be swayed.