In Love and War (17 page)

‘I wonder what will be on the menu today,' Elsie said as they retraced their steps along the rue de Rivoli.

‘I'll give you two guesses, but I suspect the answer will be onion soup.'

Arm in arm they walked on, slipping and sliding as they went but somehow managing to keep upright until Marianne skidded on a particularly icy patch and fell to the ground with a yelp of pain. ‘My ankle,' she groaned.

Elsie made an attempt to lift her, but Marianne was a dead weight and she was obviously in too much pain to help herself. Elsie looked round in desperation but there were only a few people who had braved the icy conditions, and those who had did not seem inclined to help. ‘Try to stand, Marianne. Lean on me.'

‘I'll try.'

Marianne made a bold effort but every movement caused her pain and Elsie was not strong enough to lift her unaided. Then, just when she was becoming desperate, a figure loomed out of nowhere and scooped Marianne up in his arms as if she weighed no more than a sack of feathers. Elsie staggered backwards, staring at him in surprise. ‘Oh. It's you.'

Raoul Dubroc grinned. ‘I saw you having difficulties, mademoiselle.'

‘Put me down, please, monsieur,' Marianne said angrily. ‘You're making a spectacle of me.'

‘Can you walk unaided?'

‘I can try.'

He put her down but her ankle gave way and she would have fallen if he had not supported her. ‘Now what would you like to do?' he said affably. ‘Do you want to stand here and turn into an icicle, or would you like some assistance.'

Elsie tapped Marianne on the shoulder. ‘Monsieur Dubroc has a room on the same floor as us, I think I might have told you?'

‘I'd be grateful for some help,' Marianne said stiffly.

Raoul scooped her up in his arms and marched off, with Elsie desperately trying to keep her balance as she hurried after them.

‘Where are you taking me?' Marianne shot him a sideways glance. ‘I think perhaps I could walk now.'

He said nothing as he headed into the rue de l'Echelle, leaving Elsie little alternative but to follow them. ‘Where are you going, Raoul?' she demanded breathlessly, but either he had not heard or he chose to ignore her, and he continued on his way as if carrying a young woman through the streets of wartorn Paris was an everyday occurrence.

Even in such circumstances, Elsie could not but admire the wide avenue of terraced seven-storey buildings. The elegant façades, embellished with wrought-iron balconies, were a haunting reminder of times before the war when the carriages of the rich and famous thronged the fashionable street. Maybe those days would return when the war ended, but Elsie suspected that life might never be the same for any of them. It was easy to imagine how wonderful it must look in the spring, when the sun warmed the pavements and the stark bare branches of the trees burst suddenly into leaf.

She dragged her thoughts back to the present as Raoul turned left into the rue d'Argenteuil, a much narrower street which, Elsie realised, getting her bearings at last, would lead into the rue Saint-Roch. He stopped suddenly outside a small café. ‘I know the proprietor,' he said brusquely. ‘He'll look after you.' He jerked his head in Elsie's direction. ‘Would you open the door, please?'

The outside looked decidedly seedy and run down. The windows were filmed with condensation and the name above the door, Café Goulet, was barely visible beneath a coating of city grime. Elsie opened the door and was greeted by the now familiar waft of tobacco smoke and the heady tang of red wine, but the pervading aroma was of meat roasting on a charcoal brazier. She could hear the hiss and sizzle of the exploding juices and her mouth watered in anticipation. Raoul carried Marianne to a table close to the bar and set her down on a chair. ‘My friend's wife will take a look at your ankle. She is a nurse.'

‘Thank you. I'm very grateful for your help, monsieur.'

‘It's Raoul,' he said gruffly. ‘Just Raoul.' He bowed from the waist, looming over her like a giant. ‘Think nothing of it. I was just passing by.' He signalled to the proprietor who scuttled out from behind the bar, wiping his hands on a cloth.

‘What can I do for you, Raoul?' His dark eyes flickered over Marianne and Elsie. ‘Are these friends of yours?'

Raoul drew him aside, speaking in a low voice. Elsie had to strain her ears to hear what was being said. ‘They are all right. You need not worry, Raimond.' He nodded his head in Marianne's direction. ‘The young lady had a fall. Is Honorine at home? Perhaps she could take a look at the injury and see if there are any bones broken.'

Raimond turned his head. ‘Honorine,' he bellowed. ‘Get yourself out here at once. We have an emergency.'

‘No, really,' Elsie protested before Marianne had a chance to argue. ‘I'm sure it's just a simple sprain.'

‘My wife is an expert in these matters.' Raimond draped the grimy cloth over one shoulder. ‘What can I get you, ladies? A glass of cognac, perhaps?'

Elsie opened her mouth to refuse but Marianne forestalled her. ‘No, thank you. We have to get back to work very soon. It would not look good to turn up the worse for drink.'

Raoul gave a deep belly laugh that rattled the glasses on the shelf behind the bar. ‘The young ladies have only to go as far as the rue Saint-Roch. The British permit office, I believe.'

‘How did you know that?' Elsie demanded, immediately suspicious. ‘I didn't tell you where we worked.'

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Perhaps Jeanne-Marie mentioned it, or even Madame Chausse. Word gets round in a small community.'

Elsie was about to deny ever having disclosed their place of employment to anyone when Honorine Goulet erupted into the bar. ‘Why are you shouting like a wounded bull, Raimond? I'm busy and I have to be at the hospital in an hour.'

‘Your expertise is needed, my love,' he said smoothly. ‘This young person has had a fall in the snow and hurt her ankle.'

Honorine marched over to Marianne. ‘Let me see.' She rounded on her husband and Raoul. ‘Look the other way. Give the poor girl some privacy.' She waved her hand to encompass the male customers who were seated at the small tables. ‘That goes for all of you.' She slid a stool beneath the affected limb and went down on one knee in front of Marianne. ‘I will have to take your boot off.'

‘That's all right,' Marianne said, wincing as Honorine proceeded to untie the laces and ease the boot off. ‘I think it is just a sprain, as Denise said.'

Honorine glanced up at Elsie with a challenge in her grey eyes. ‘You are a nurse?'

‘No, madame. It was just a guess.'

Marianne grimaced as Honorine manipulated the injured ankle. ‘That hurt.'

‘It is just a sprain.' Honorine rose to her feet. ‘I will bind it up for you, but try to rest it as much as possible.' She went behind the bar and returned with a small black bag. ‘This won't take a moment.' She looked up at her husband. ‘Don't stand there like a fool. Hot coffee is needed here, with sugar, and whatever the ladies wish to order for their meal. We all have work to do, Raimond. We can't stand about chatting to our friends all day, like some I could mention.'

Raoul backed towards the door. ‘I'll leave you in Honorine's capable hands.' He left with a wave of his hand and a gust of cold air blew in from the street.

Raimond bustled behind the bar and poured the coffee while his wife expertly bandaged Marianne's ankle. ‘There,' she said, closing the bag with a snap. ‘That should help, but remember what I said about keeping the weight off it.'

‘Thank you very much, madame.' Marianne took her purse from her pocket. ‘How much do I owe you?'

Honorine threw up her hands. ‘It is just a bandage. I wouldn't take your money for such a small service.'

‘Well, I'm very grateful,' Marianne said sincerely.

‘We would like to buy some lunch,' Elsie added. She eyed the prices of the beefsteaks on the blackboard and thought of their dwindling supply of money. ‘Maybe a bowl of soup.'

Raimond served them their coffee. ‘You need sustenance, young ladies. Any friends of Raoul are friends of mine and my good wife.' He went behind the counter and returned moments later with two helpings of grilled meat, fried onions and a generous portion of freshly baked bread. ‘Eat and enjoy,' he said, beaming. ‘Raimond Goulet's beefsteaks are the best in Paris. War or no war, we aim only to please.'

‘And he has the biggest mouth in France.' A working man who had been sitting at a nearby table rose to his feet and took some coins from his pocket. He handed them to Raimond, grinning broadly. ‘And he overcharges, ladies. Be warned. He will lure you in with a discount on your first meal, and then he will charge you extra each time you return.'

‘If what you say is true why do you come here every day for your food?' Raimond demanded cheerfully. ‘He is a liar. Don't pay any attention to Maurice.'

Elsie managed a smile as she concentrated on eating. The food was delicious and more than welcome. Marianne was also demolishing her meal as if she had not eaten for weeks, but a quick glance at the clock on the wall reminded Elsie that it was time to return to the office. Mademoiselle Dorgebray would not be amused if they were late. She would, no doubt, expect Marianne to crawl back to work even had she broken her ankle. Elsie chewed and swallowed the last morsel, wiping the plate with bread in the French fashion. She smiled to herself. Ma would be horrified if she could see her now. She had taken pains to ensure that Elsie grew up with acceptable table manners and she would consider this behaviour quite reprehensible.

‘Come along, Denise,' Marianne said, rising to her feet. ‘We've got to get back to the office. Stop daydreaming and put your skates on.' She limped over to the bar. ‘What do I owe you, Monsieur Goulet?'

THEY JUST SCRAPED
into work on time. Miss Dorgebray was already at her desk and she glanced at the clock but said nothing. If she noticed that Marianne was limping she did not mention it, and she bent her head over her sheaf of papers with a frown puckering her brow.

Elsie tried to concentrate on translating a report from an agent in Belgium, but now that she had time to herself all she could think about was Henri. He might be anywhere, fighting in the front line and enduring the terrible conditions that Felicia had described in such agonising detail. He might be racked with trench fever or dying from his injuries in a military hospital. He would be just a number to the orderlies on duty: he would be one of many with no one to hold his hand and whisper words of comfort.

She realised with a sudden pang of conscience that she had given little thought to how Guy must also be suffering in the trenches, and that made her feel even worse. She had rejected him because she loved Henri, but she had made Guy suffer as she was suffering now. If she could turn back the clock she might have been able to let him down more gently. She could still see the pain in his eyes when she refused to accept his ring. The closely written lines of handwriting danced up and down in front of her eyes like tadpoles in the village pond, and she blinked back tears. She gathered her scattered thoughts with a concentrated effort. Men's lives depended on the intelligence gathered here and she had an important job to do. She steeled herself to carry on.

They worked in silence with only the ticking of the clock to mark the passage of time, and the occasional rustle of paper or scratch of a pen nib to prove that the three occupants of the room had not fallen asleep.

At three o'clock precisely, Andrée announced that she was going downstairs to make herself a cup of coffee. Marianne leaned over to put her arm around Elsie's shoulders. ‘Cheer up. I know you're worried about Guy, just as I'm worried about Henri, but at least I know that he's still alive.'

‘How do you work that out?'

Marianne gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘Because, you ninny, the staff at the bank would be the first to know if anything had happened to him.'

‘I didn't think of that.'

‘The same goes for Guy. We would have heard if there was bad news, so stop worrying and cheer up. It's bad enough having to plough through all these handwritten notes without you acting as though the end of the world is about to happen.'

‘I just wish we were doing something more active.'

‘We're doing all we can. Remember that.'

‘You sound so casual about it, Marianne. Aren't you worried about Algy and all your other gentlemen friends who've enlisted?'

‘Of course I am, but turning myself into a nervous wreck isn't going to help them. What we're doing might be a bit dull but we might just stumble across a crucial piece of intelligence that will save lives.'

Elsie cocked her head on one side. ‘Shh. She's coming. Better not get caught chatting.'

That evening, in the chilly confines of their lodgings, Marianne sat at the table by the window wrapped in her fur coat and the counterpane from her bed. Elsie was attempting to darn a hole in her stocking by candlelight as the electricity supply had failed yet again. Marianne gave a sudden start and peered out of the window, wiping the frost off the inside with her sleeve. ‘I'll swear there's someone watching us,' she said in a low voice. ‘I thought I was imagining things at first because the gaslight is so dim, but then he lit a cigarette and I saw the flicker of a match.'

‘Where?' Elsie put down the stocking and leaned across the table. ‘I can't see anyone.'

‘In the shop doorway on the other side of the street, directly opposite. Wait until he takes a drag and you can just make out the glowing tip of the cigarette.'

Elsie peered into the darkness. ‘Why would anyone be watching this building?'

‘I think it's us he's watching.' Marianne's voice throbbed with suppressed excitement. ‘We're agents of the British government. He could be a German spy.'