The Last Hours in Paris by Ruth Druart

Author:Ruth Druart [Druart, Ruth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2022-07-19T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Forty

Paris, August 26, 1944

Élise

The next day was bright and sunny, and when I walked out with Isabelle in the early morning to get some bread, it felt like a new dawn for France. Even the light was sharper, the white stone of the Haussmann apartments gleaming in the late summer sun, the leaves of the tall chestnut trees twisting and turning in the light breeze, showing off shades of green.

That evening, just before dark, I went out into the courtyard to empty the trash. Nathalie was already out there, squeezing some paper into the garbage cans that were full to overflowing. She didn’t smile and neither did she greet me, she just looked at me coldly.

“Bonsoir, Nathalie,” I said, remembering politeness was the best form of defense. I lifted the lid off one of the garbage cans.

“Élise,” she replied in a low voice. “I should tell you something.”

“Yes?” My pulse quickened, dread seeping through me.

“I’ve heard. I’ve heard your name is on the list.”

“What list?” My stomach shrank in on itself, knowing exactly what list she was talking about.

“The list of women who…” She couldn’t finish her sentence. “They’re coming in the morning. You’ve still got time to hide.”

Hide? I shook my head, anger replacing my fear. The thought of them coming to our home, frightening my little sister and Maman, filled me with outrage. “How do you know?”

“Someone told me.”

“Who? Nathalie, who! Who told you?”

She looked at me tight-lipped. “I’m only telling you, to help you.”

I bashed the lid back onto the garbage can. “To help me! Tell me who you’ve been talking to.”

But like a fox, she slipped away, leaving me standing there, trembling with fear and fury. I had harmed no one. I had given away no secrets.

I crept back into the apartment. Isabelle was already in bed, and Maman was reading the paper in the living room. She looked up as I walked in. “Are you all right?” she asked. “You look so pale.” She closed her paper. “I’m worried about you. You’ve been so sick.”

I thought about telling her what Nathalie said, but I couldn’t. I would have to deal with this alone. That night, I lay fully clothed in bed. I almost got up and left, ran away. But the thought of them dragging Isabelle from her bed, demanding to know where I was, terrified me more than anything.

Before dawn broke, I knew what I was going to do. On trembling legs, I slipped out of bed, listening, but the only sound was my raspy breathing echoing back my terror. I walked through to the bathroom and looked in the mirror.

“Courage,” I whispered at my reflection, stroking my smooth dark hair. I opened the cupboard under the sink and took out the little basket. The scissors poked out from under a hairbrush; I pulled them out by their rounded handles, opening them up then closing them with a clean slicing movement. I looked into the mirror again, lifting the lock of hair that fell over my forehead.

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