Secrets and Showgirls

by Catherine McCullagh

  ‘You will have to change her clothes, of course, but I’m sure that you will find a suitable disguise.’ A tiny smile played across her face. Lily was close to speechless, a situation in which she almost never found herself. This was too awful to be true. She cast wildly for some way to persuade Sister Marguerite of the lunacy of such a plan. Then she realised that the nun was smiling at her in a soft, saintly way.

  ‘This is God’s will, my dear, He will help you.’

  Chapter 19

  A rare breed of nun

  Lily, Marguerite and Gabrielle left the dingy little house together, slipping through back alleys to avoid the French police and German patrols until they reached the block closest to Madame Gloria’s apartment boarding house. Marguerite had linked arms with Lily all the way, while Lily nursed the inescapable feeling that the nun was making absolutely sure that Lily did not make a bid for freedom and leave God’s work undone. Having reached what Marguerite clearly considered the point of no return, she gave Lily a hug, patted Gabrielle’s hand and, slipping both arms into the sleeves of her habit, lowered her head and glided off, heading for the more respectable and god-fearing suburbs of Paris.

  Lily sighed and, turning to Gabrielle, who studiously averted her eyes, told her, ‘I’m afraid our situation may come as something of a shock to you. We’re a rather free-spirited crowd, if you take my meaning.’ Gabrielle nodded slightly. Lily took her arm, noting that it felt more muscular inside the sleeve of the habit than Marguerite’s and, at the same time, suddenly aware that Gabrielle was very tall — just a little taller than Lily herself in fact. This was a nun, mused Lily, who was evidently used to hard work and who might prove useful if she could be transformed sufficiently to pass as a simple employee of Le Prix. Thank goodness she would not be staying for too long.

  The pair moved watchfully through the alleyway and slipped into Madame Gloria’s apartment boarding house through the side entrance favoured by Coco’s clients and others who did not wish to be seen. They tripped up the stairs and trotted swiftly to Lily’s room. She blessed her luck in finding the landing sitting area uncharacteristically deserted and closed the door with an enormous sigh of relief. A minute later she heard the clip-clop of Crecy’s heels pass her door. That had been close. But now at least she had the benefit of time to think.

  Gabrielle had moved to the other side of the room and closed the curtains. It was a wise move as the prickly Madame Fresange’s apartment boarding house lay just metres across the narrow divide and the elderly Madame Auguste Dupleix was fond of scanning the surrounding windows with her opera glasses looking for intriguing sights, her heart no doubt still racing at the memory of the bare-bottomed Paul Charbonnier who had dangled into view. Lily leant against the wall, watching as Gabrielle began to remove her veil, her back to Lily and her face firmly fixed on the window. Her movements were clumsy and she was clearly unused to the daily robing and disrobing in which Lily assumed all nuns to be proficient. Lily stifled the urge to move to assist her, watching instead to see what manner of being lay beneath. It was becoming all too obvious that this was no nun. Finally, the pins that held the wimple in place were released and the headpiece that enveloped the nun’s hair was removed with a shake of a tousled head. Lily gasped as a grinning young man turned to face her.

  ‘Captain Guy Raphael at your service,’ he announced in slightly accented French, bowing courteously. Lily stood stock still, emitting a gasp of astonishment.

  ‘You’re English, aren’t you,’ she whispered, the enormity of her situation beginning to dawn. He nodded.

  ‘British to my bootstraps,’ he admitted cheerfully, ‘which I’m afraid puts you in rather a difficult position.’ Lily gazed at him, drinking in the sight of those lively brown eyes. He was very handsome and she was beginning to wonder whether having him around for a few weeks might not provide a welcome mix of business and pleasure.

  ‘Well Guy,’ she replied, ‘those nuns did an extraordinary job hiding you for as long as they did. It can’t have been easy to conceal a fugitive Brit officer in a convent!’ She laughed softly, her relief evident. After all, it would be far easier to hide a red-blooded male in a cabaret than a nun.

  Lily’s first task was to find Guy some suitable clothing. She also wanted to find Monsieur Maurice as quickly as she could and ask what they should do. She picked up Madame Gloria’s parcel of fish, slipped out of her room and sauntered as nonchalantly as possible past the sitting area, glancing quickly for signs of life. Her luck held: there was no-one there. She was just at the top of the stairs when she heard a soft, sing-song coo behind her.

  ‘Lily-pilly ... oh Lily-pilly ...’

  It was Crecy, stretched out on a sofa, his feet on a chair, smoking absently, his voluptuous figure curving sinuously in a silken apricot dress, his hair bouncing in soft, rounded tresses down his back. In her haste, Lily had failed to notice the sultry singer, arrayed like a basking cat the length of the sofa. She backpedalled and glanced down at Crecy whose kohl-rimmed green eyes met hers in an amused gaze.

  ‘I’m just off to give Madame Gloria some fish and look for Monsieur Maurice,’ explained Lily, ‘I’ll be back in a few minutes and then we can have a cosy chat.’ She started to move off again.

  ‘I saw you slip up the back stairs like a naughty husband,’ Crecy spoke deliberately, teasing her, and Lily stopped in her tracks. He paused to draw languidly on his cigarette, eyeing the showgirl, a smile playing on his scarlet lips.

  ‘You had someone with you, didn’t you?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ replied Lily brightly, ‘she’s a ... a relative ... a nun ... come to bless my room ...’ Lily faded as Crecy arched his eyebrows in dramatic disbelief.

  ‘Bless your room?’ The notion was paraded in all its absurdity. ‘What a fascinating idea. Do you think she could perform a little exorcism while she’s here? I heard some rather alarming sounds coming from Coco’s room a little while ago and I’m sure there’s evidence of a restless spirit inside.’

  Lily was well aware that Crecy was playing with her. She was a hopeless liar and hated deceiving a friend. She had lived with Crecy for almost three years and they had built a bond of friendship which Lily was reluctant to destroy. But she had never decided who she could trust and was keenly aware that Guy’s life could be at stake. Crecy watched her, the same amused look playing across his face. He patted the sofa next to him.

  ‘Not good enough, Lily-pilly, come and tell me what’s really going on. After all, you know I can keep a secret.’ This much was true. Crecy surely boasted a repository of secrets that could sink a battleship and spell doom to a number of promising military careers, and yet he had never divulged even a morsel of these sweetest of titbits. Lily did as she was told.

  ‘She’s a nun from the ...’ she began, only to realise that Crecy was shaking his voluminous curls slowly and sorrowfully.

  ‘No, dahling, I saw you walk up those back steps — from behind. Your “nun” gathered her skirts as she climbed the stairs and tucked them around a tight little derrière.’ Crecy’s eyes sparkled. ‘That was no nun with you, Lily-pilly, that was definitely a man.’ His look became authoritative. ‘That was a man’s bottom, dahling — I know a man’s bottom when I see one, I consider myself something of a connoisseur.’ He paused to draw on his cigarette while Lily stifled a giggle despite herself. She gazed at the sinuous blonde and took a deep breath. That was it — the cat was out of the bag, she would have to trust Crecy whether she liked it or not.

  ‘You’re right,’ she whispered, ‘but you can’t tell anyone, he has to remain a secret.’ Crecy was delighted.

  ‘How delicious!’ he exclaimed in a husky whisper, ‘is he a resistance desperado? Or a lost little Jewish boy? Perhaps he’s a gypsy or ...’ his eyes lit up, ‘a poor queer boy on the run from the terrible Gestapo?’

  ‘Sshh!’ Lily was only too aware that they could be overheard. ‘He’s nothing like that, but I can’t let you see him now, he has nothing to wear.’ Now Crecy was re
ally interested.

  ‘Nothing to wear?!’ his hand fluttered to his throat in a flash of scarlet nails and heavy rings. ‘Oh dahling, the very thought!’ He looked positively salacious. ‘Why don’t I look after him until you find him some suitable clothing? I’ll be ever so gentle.’

  ‘No, Crecy,’ hissed Lily immediately, ‘leave him be while I go and find Monsieur Maurice. I need to explain what I’ve done before Coco’s Gestapo clients come knocking on the door and cart us all off to the rue de Saussaies.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ declared Crecy in ringing tones before adding in a low murmur, ‘I’m terribly good in dangerous situations.’ He slid off the sofa and sashayed his way to his room, telling Lily, ‘I’ll just change into something a little more suitable for those nasty boys of Coco’s.’

  Lily waited nervously, unclear whether having Crecy accompany her to confess her latest indiscretion to Monsieur Maurice was less disastrous than leaving him to ‘comfort’ Guy. No, she decided, that was by far the worse option. Guy needed to be introduced to Le Prix’s more unusual employees a few at a time.

  Chapter 20

  Trussed-up trouble

  If Monsieur Maurice was distressed at this latest complication, he hid it extremely well. Nor did he seem shocked by the fact that Crecy, now dressed in a soft paisley dress with a navy silk scarf which he draped dramatically over the platinum curls and teamed with redframed dark glasses, had slid into the chair next to Lily’s to impart the news, apparently delighted to imbibe an atmosphere of danger. No, Maurice was becoming used to the fact that Le Prix seemed to attract an inordinate number of people with ambiguous pasts and now this young British captain had landed in their lap. What could he do? Simply carry on as before and hope that whoever had been despatched to collect Captain Guy was already on his way. He sighed and turned to Lily.

  ‘So, arrangements have been made to collect this young man soon?’ Lily bit her lip.

  ‘Yes, Monsieur Maurice, so I was told ...’ she trailed off uncertainly.

  ‘But?’ he prompted softly.

  ‘But I don’t know who will collect him and when and I don’t even know where the nuns who harboured him have their convent.’ Put like this, it all sounded so vague and Lily was now desperately sorry that she had placed her manager in such danger. He had been so good to her and this was how she repaid him. Monsieur Maurice shrugged his shoulders and responded wearily.

  ‘Well, we will simply have to follow the nuns’ example and place our trust in God.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Monsieur Maurice, I should never have ...,

  ‘Non, cherie, you had no option.’ He patted her hand and smiled. ‘We can look after Captain Guy until the cavalry arrives, as the Americans say.’ Crecy lowered the dark glasses and arched his sinuous eyebrows, his green eyes smouldering.

  ‘Oh, I do hope some American cavalry arrives soon. I could do with a little more variety.’ Lily and Maurice glanced at him and shared a grimace.

  ‘Lil, you could not have left a convent of nuns in such danger. We will bide our time and, if the cavalry does not appear, we will find another way.’

  Slowly but surely, Guy Raphael became part of the exotic furniture of Le Prix. Alain immediately took him under his wing and those not privy to the truth of his background assumed that he was another wounded French soldier who had to be sheltered from the Germans. Monsieur Maurice suggested that Guy adopt a pronounced limp, just in case he was spotted. His real problem, however, was that he had no identity papers. While he could be quickly hidden in the labyrinthine building that was Le Prix, Maurice was afraid that an informer might catch sight of him and the Gestapo subsequently pay a visit. There were few people who could be trusted in wartime Paris and Maurice was acutely aware that capture might lie just a doorknock away.

  While Guy’s arrival presented enormous dangers should the Germans become aware of his true identity, he also proved a tremendous boon to the morale of the little company. He was persistently cheerful, determined to help in any way he could, and never lost sight of the risk inherent in his tenure at Le Prix, expressing his gratitude to Monsieur Maurice at regular intervals. He became a companion for Alain, swapped stories with Hiram and André and maintained a running banter with Orlando. He was courtly with Madame Claudette, cosy with Madame Gloria and was sufficiently canny to keep away from Coco. The showgirls loved him, particularly Lily, who had quickly embarked on a romance with the handsome Englishman. He also managed to form a friendship of sorts with Crecy although, as he remarked to Lily after meeting the sultry blonde for the first time, ‘I don’t think he’d be legal in England.’ But his biggest coup by far was ingratiating himself with the difficult Madame Fresange who, persuaded that he was simply a lost French soldier with a peculiar accent, had quickly entrusted him with the care of Gaston’s vegetable garden.

  As the weeks passed, Lily’s eagerness for him to be moved disappeared completely and she began to dread the arrival of ‘resistance desperados’ as Crecy was fond of calling them, to spirit Guy away. Guy himself battled mixed emotions. He was very comfortable at Le Prix, enjoying the feeling that he could materially contribute to the running of the cabaret and delighting in the company of such varied and exotic personalities. But he remained constantly alert, conscious that the smallest mistake or indiscretion could see the entire cabaret trundled off to the rue de Saussaies where the Gestapo waited in eager anticipation. While he enjoyed his entanglement with Lily, of whom he was becoming increasingly fond, he began to wonder whether he should make some attempt to escape Paris and reach the coast where he stood some chance of being smuggled to England. Lily was predictably horrified when she heard him voice such a plan.

  ‘You can’t Guy, you’ll be picked up by the first German patrol you encounter. You’re far safer here,’ she told him.

  ‘But you’re not, Lily, and nor are all these wonderful people at Le Prix who have taken me in, no questions asked.’ Lily snorted.

  ‘That’s because they have so many secrets of their own it’s too much of a gamble prying into the backgrounds of others.’ She leaned against him. ‘Anyway, I’d miss you too much if you went.’

  ‘I have to go sometime. And it should probably be sooner rather than later.’ He wrapped himself around her and Lily snuggled happily in his arms, praying fervently that the resistance desperados would take some time yet to organise his departure.

  While whatever clandestine lifeline was planning to smuggle him out of France was taking its time to effect Guy’s departure, fate lent a hand in a most unexpected way. In the early hours of one Sunday morning, Coco discovered that she had something of a problem. She sauntered out to the sitting area where she found Crecy and Poppy smoking cigarettes together on the sofa and comparing notes on shades of lipstick. Coco stood for a moment flicking her whip against her thigh. She had tossed a long leather coat over her usual bondage costume and it glimmered dully in the dim lamplight.

  ‘Fag dahling?’ offered Crecy. Coco took the cigarette and leaned forward as Crecy lit the tip for her with a match. She exhaled loudly. Her audience watched and waited. Finally, Coco turned to them.

  ‘I need a man,’ she announced. Poppy and Crecy were flabbergasted. Poppy recovered first.

  ‘I never thought I’d hear you say that!’ she declared in astonishment.

  ‘Have you worn out the last one, dahling?’ Crecy inquired with a raised eyebrow. Coco drew again on her cigarette and a tiny smile flitted across her face.

  ‘You know,’ she eyed them with a wry look. ‘I think I have.’ The listeners sat up. ‘He hasn’t moved for the last ten minutes.’ Poppy and Crecy burst into laughter and then stopped abruptly.

  ‘Truly?’

  ‘Go and see for yourself!’ Poppy and Crecy could not move fast enough, dashing down the corridor and disappearing into Coco’s den.

  ‘What have you done to him?’ called Crecy, ‘he’s trussed up like a Christmas chicken!’

  ‘Coco, he’s not breathing,’ added Poppy, h
er voice charged with alarm, ‘I think you’ve killed him!’

  ‘That’s why I need a man,’ retorted Coco, as if this were obvious to all, ‘to move the body!’ Two heads peered around the corner of Coco’s den to stare at her and then retreated. When they reappeared, Poppy wore a look of utmost gravity.

  ‘I’ll fetch Guy,’ she said, ‘he’ll know what to do.’ Crecy stood next to Coco and lit another cigarette, leaning back to observe the bondage mistress.

  ‘You need to seriously reconsider your routine, sweetie, killing your customers could be bad for business.’ Coco sniffed.

  ‘All men are weak,’ she muttered darkly, ‘this one just couldn’t last the distance.’

  Poppy tapped quietly on Lily’s door.

  ‘That won’t wake her,’ declared Crecy, ‘here, let me do it!’ He tapped more insistently.

  ‘Oh, Lily-pilly, we need that lovely man of yours to help us, we’re damsels in distress and we need Sir Guy’s help in this hour of need,’ he crooned, opening the door and peering in. ‘Ooh, he is lovely, isn’t he, I do wish you’d share him. Guy, dahling, you need to broaden your horizons!’

  Lily emerged in her dressing gown followed by the grinning Guy who was pulling on a shirt. She stood in the passage with her hands on her hips.

  ‘This better be good,’ she told Crecy severely, ‘I hope it’s not just another ploy to steal my man.’ Crecy giggled.

  ‘Never give up, sweetie, that’s my motto.’ It was Poppy who restored some sensibility to the situation.