Page 10 of After Paris

Chapter Ten

Sylvia

Tuesday, November 5, 1940

7:00 p.m.

I’d met my initial sewing deadline and was hired as Cécile’s dresser. I’d now been redesigning and sewing new outfits for Cécile for four weeks. My days began early and ended late. But I was grateful for the work and the place I was earning on the production crew. Even Monsieur Archambeau had accepted my talent.

The streets were quiet when I left Cécile’s dressing room and the movie studio. Young Rupert, who had been so silent around me at first, now tended to chat about his ailing mother and his sister, who was attending university. I’d grown fond of the boy.

“Mademoiselle,” he said.

“Yes,” I said, smiling.

“I found something that might be of interest to you.”

He carried a large bolt of fabric covered in muslin under his arm.

“Did you find my red silk?”

He unwrapped the fabric. It was a white silk that was soft, smooth, and perfect.

“Oh, this is amazing! Where did you find this?” I asked.

He grinned, proud of himself. “There’s a butcher shop that sells just about anything on the side.”

“Can you find more fabric?” Supplies were growing scarcer by the day.

“It’ll cost money,” he said.

Monsieur Archambeau had allotted me a generous budget for fabric, but shortages made finding it difficult. “I have money in my dressing room. Follow me.”

We hurried back into the darkened studio. Only a few crew members remained as they repositioned cameras for tomorrow’s shoot. I unlocked a drawer under my sewing machine and removed a roll of francs. “How much for a bolt of silk fabric?”

“One hundred francs.”

“It was twenty last year.”

Rupert shrugged with a youthful arrogance I found very charming. “The black market never has deals.”

“No matter. I’ll transform this fabric into a magnificent dress. Can you get more?”

“Whatever you need.”

I handed him another twenty francs. “For your mother and sister.”

He puffed up his chest. “I’ll find anything for you, mademoiselle.”

“One day, Rupert, I predict you’ll be running an empire.”

A blush warmed his face. “Thank you.”

I left Rupert on the sidewalk by the studio and hurried to the Métro. By the time I arrived, it was almost curfew.

I had a stale baguette from the morning shoot tucked in my pocket. I kept my head low as I moved through the shadows with quick, self-assured steps. Couples were walking hand in hand as they left cafés. Soldiers patrolled in pairs. And policemen stood guard on several corners.

Thanks to Cécile’s hairdresser, my shorter style allowed my blond hair to curl above my shoulders. Cécile had been right. The new look was more sophisticated and drew attention to my green eyes. I’d always been confident in my skills, even in how I dressed and carried myself, but my hair had been a throwback to my past. Now, when I looked in the mirror, I didn’t see the girl from Warsaw but a Parisienne. Oddly, in the realm of moviemaking, which sought the world’s attention, I was beautifully invisible in Cécile’s shadow.

The Marais was the city’s oldest section. I’d chosen it years ago because of its narrow cobblestone streets, centuries-old mansions, and hidden courtyards. They reminded me of Warsaw.

I hurried past a café now filled with German soldiers and headed toward Marc’s boulangerie. The shop was dark now. But when the clock struck midnight, Marc would set aside his inks and stamps, leave his secret room, and rekindle his ovens. He’d spend the next few hours kneading, shaping, and baking dough. The man rarely slept.

I hastened down the back alley, then knocked on the shop’s double back doors four times. It wasn’t a complicated code, but it alerted Marc that it could be me.

Seconds later, a light flickered on, and I saw Marc’s slim figure moving out of the shadows. When he opened the door, he wore a leather printer’s apron smudged with ink over a black collarless shirt rolled up past his elbows, showing muscular arms.

He still regarded me with some skepticism, ever since I’d cut my hair four weeks earlier. “I’ll never get used to it.”

“It’s effective.” I followed him into the kitchen, infused with the scents of yeast and flour. “Is Emile ready to guide my family to the border?”

“Yes. We just received word that German security checks at the border and train stations will be lighter this week.”

The wait had been stressful on the family and me. Each day, we feared discovery. “My charges and I will meet Emile at the Gare de l’Est.” Emile didn’t speak Polish, and we’d found that if I at least accompanied my charges to the station, there was less chance of confusion and discovery.

“Good.”

He walked to a bin marked “Sugar” and opened it. He burrowed his ink-stained hand deep into this familiar hiding spot, now filled with graying sugar. He removed a small cloth bag. “There are four sets of papers. Mother, father, children.”

I accepted the bag, opened it, and thumbed through the four sets. The work was immaculate. Only a very trained eye would spot the forgery. I handed Marc a roll of francs I’d collected from Albin at the brothel yesterday.

He pocketed the money. “How do you like working for them ?”

“I don’t work for them. I dress Cécile.”

He sniffed. “Is there a difference?”

“Emile has confidence in her.”

“Emile loves her sister. She can be blindly loyal.”

“You don’t trust Cécile?” I asked.

His shoulder rose with a shrug. “I trust no one.”

“A good policy.”

“How will refugees find you now? I don’t see you donning a red jacket and wandering the train stations anymore.”

“Slipping away is becoming harder. They watch us.”

“We must be more careful than ever now.”

“If I visit the boulangerie, I’ll see only Emile, my old friend.” When he grunted an approval, I asked, “Where is she?”

“At one of her meetings.”

“Again? The police stopped her last week.”

He rolled his head from side to side as worry weighed down his shoulders. “I’ve warned her. She never listens to me. Forbidding her is a waste of words.”

“Will she be here in the morning? We must leave once curfew ends.” The Germans changed the curfew times often, leaving us guessing and worrying that we’d be out past the deadline.

“She’ll be here.”

If she wasn’t arrested or shot. The Germans were cracking down on Resistance members. A soldier had fired into a crowd last week.

The circles under Marc’s eyes were darker than I’d ever seen. “How are you doing?”

“It’s getting harder to find flour and salt. The costs are rising fast. I’ll have to increase my prices soon.” His patrons couldn’t afford him now, so most made do with fewer baguettes.

“I have a contact in the black market, if you need ...”

“No,” he said. “Keep your distance from those markets. The Germans have spies there.”

My thoughts went to Rupert. I would warn him.

A year ago, this city had been filled with laughter. Now, the shadows whispered betrayals. “Thank you for the papers.”

“Of course.”

I was quiet as I hurried down the alley toward the street. Past the café, I heard the laughter of men and inside saw the Germans sitting as if they were at home. The Nazi banner hung above a fireplace.

I hurried down the street toward the brothel. As I reached for the front door, it opened, and a German soldier was bidding good evening to one of the ladies. The woman saw me and kissed her soldier, giving me time to hide in the shadows until he’d left.

As soon as he was gone, I dashed inside, thanked the young woman, and rushed up to the third floor. I knocked on Albin’s door, and he opened it immediately.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw me. “You got them?”

“Yes,” I said. “We leave at six in the morning, as soon as the curfew ends.” I reached into my purse and pulled out the small cloth bag. “They are all there. I checked, and they look good.”

Albin opened each booklet, studied the pictures, and traced his fingers over the paper. “It feels real.”

“The paper is genuine. And the stamp official. No one will question it.”

He hugged the packet to his chest. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

“We’ll be ready at first light.” He embraced me. “You have saved us.”

“Don’t thank me until you cross into Spain.”

As he unwrapped his arms from around my neck, I removed the bread from my bag. “For you. When you travel.”

Tears glistened in Albin’s eyes. “The children will appreciate this.”

I left him and hurried back to my apartment, located around the corner. When I stepped inside my building, a clock tower chimed ten times, announcing curfew.

I hurried up the center staircase to my fourth-floor apartment. Inside, I drew my thick curtains closed and then turned on a small light. I shrugged off my coat, hung it up, and moved to the kitchen, where I put a kettle on the gas stove. With gas so expensive, I heated up only a cupful of water at a time. As the water warmed, I set out a blue-and-white teacup and filled a small strainer with tea leaves. I switched on my radio and finagled the dial until I found the BBC evening broadcast. Once the water was boiling, I poured it into the cup and shut off the gas.

Sitting by the radio, I sipped the hot tea. Weak orange and allspice flavors warmed my chilled bones. The tea was a moment’s break from the world around me.

Over a year ago, Britain had joined forces with France and declared war on Germany. When the British king had spoken to his people, he’d called for bravery and resolve, even as daily German bombings turned England to rubble.

Last year, Poland suffered similar air raids and bombings. These attacks scattered or killed many citizens before the German army had even entered Poland. Even before the Warsaw Ghetto wall, the Poles had suffered mass executions and arrests. A year ago tomorrow, 183 professors from the Jagiellonian University in Kraków had been arrested. They had been sent to concentration camps or shot.

Tears welled in my eyes as I sipped my tea, which had already grown cold. I couldn’t help the incoming refugees now, but I could do something to help France.

After finishing the last few sips, I rose and set the cup in the kitchen sink. I unfastened the buttons of my jacket and slipped it and my skirt off. I hung both carefully on the back of the chair. I shut off the radio and lights. How much longer before the German noose strangled France to death?

Footsteps sounded in the hallway, followed by four knocks on my door. Wrapping a blanket around my shoulders, I opened the door. Shadows silhouetted Emile’s slim body. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said. “Marc told me that you were worried about me.”

“Curfew must have started.”

“I have a few minutes.”

“Still, it’s not safe out at night,” I said.

“I couldn’t sleep until I spoke to you.”

“Come in.” I closed and locked the door behind us.

Emile pulled up a small chair and sat. “How does it go on the set?”

“Well enough. There’s pressure to finish the film by the end of next month. The producers want the movie in theaters by spring.”

“Have you finished altering the costumes?”

“Almost. I’m also making a dress for Cécile to wear to a party next week.”

“A party?” Bitterness shadowed the words.

“It’s part of the business. It’s important to attend the right events.”

“Where is it?”

“At the German embassy.”

“What kind of dress?” she asked.

“White silk, bias cut and off the shoulder, I think. Her figure is amazing.” Thinking of the rich white silk fabric bolstered my mood.

“She’s had a woman’s body since she was twelve. Men have always noticed her.”

I chose my words carefully, because Emile and Cécile were sisters. “She wants to succeed.”

“Yes, she does. And she will. But I worry she’s sided with hazardous people.”

I allowed the silence between us to linger before saying “You aren’t afraid of danger.”

Emile sighed. “I’m afraid. But what choice do I have? A growing number of students are joining the Resistance.”

Resistance . It sounded so passive. So easy.

I thought about the Kraków professors. Most were likely dead by now. “Be very careful.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “My sister isn’t the only clever Dupont.”

“I need to sleep, and so do you. We meet at the train station at six in the morning.”

“I know. I must hurry home. I only have a few minutes.” She stared at me. “You do know that I’ll never pass on whatever you share with me. I understand the value of silence.”

I had no doubt she meant her words. But the police were as clever as they were brutal. And few people remained silent under such punishment. It was best we shared as little as possible. “The devil is here, Emile. He’s greedy. And he’ll crush us if we aren’t very careful.”