The Paris Affair

31 Christoph

31

Christoph

August, 1942 – Paris

Two days after they returned from Normandy, Christoph came up to his room to write to his mother. It had been raining all morning but now the sun shone through the windowpane.

He sat at the desk. Three days ago, he’d swum in the millpond with Sylvie. Two days ago, he’d held her in his arms. Yet, since being back at Le Meurice he hadn’t spent five minutes alone with her.

Rekindling that sense of freedom had proved impossible. Christoph had been handed a new list of farms to identify on the map. Sylvie was always in the kitchen, too busy to talk. Tonight, he decided, when she was clearing up, he’d try and get her alone.

He sighed and sat back in his chair. How could he describe this situation to his mother? Someday, there’d be a reckoning between what he felt now and the life he’d left behind. But he wouldn’t think about that yet.

A short tap sounded on the door. Christoph opened it, and there was Jean.

‘I need your help,’ he said. ‘The leg is infected. I’ve been up to the storerooms and dressed the wound, but it’ll need a new dressing and I’ve got a couple of days off. It’ll look suspicious if I’m here. Will you do it?’

Christoph didn’t hesitate. ‘Of course.’ He took the bandages from Jean and a bottle of disinfectant.

‘ Merci ,’ Jean said.

‘Thank you for trusting me,’ Christoph said.

Jean scowled. ‘I’m not sure I do, not yet. But he does. And that’s enough for me.’

At ten o’clock that evening, Christoph headed down to the kitchen, hoping to see Sylvie. The kitchen was empty and silent. The stainless-steel worktops shone.

‘Sylvie,’ he whispered.

He found her round the corner, near the larder. She was plunging saucepans into a sink full of water. She turned, deep in thought, a frown etched between her eyes.

‘Oh, you startled me,’ she said.

‘I wanted to see you. Is it a bad time?’

‘No, of course not.’ Her voice was brisk. She scrubbed the pot with a brush.

It was like starting over, getting to know her again. And yet, she’d kissed him, twice. Kisses that had kept him awake, burning with desire, ever since.

‘Is everything all right?’ he said, touching her arm.

‘Of course.’ But she still didn’t look at him.

‘I’ve hardly seen you since we came back. Things aren’t the same here as they were at the farm.’

Sylvie lifted the pot on to the draining board.

‘I’ve been busy, that’s all. The farm was a beautiful interlude, but we’ve both got work to do here at Le Meurice.’ She glanced at him, her expression guarded.

He couldn’t bear the politeness of her tone. ‘Then let me take you out to lunch tomorrow,’ he said.

‘I’m sorry, I can’t tomorrow. Perhaps the weekend after. Things might be quieter then.’

Christoph’s heart snagged on her words. Was she making excuses? She rubbed her hand across her forehead, leaving a blossom of foam in her hair.

‘What are you doing tomorrow?’ he said.

‘Now that the Kommandant is allowing me to leave the hotel, I thought I’d catch up with an old friend.’ Sylvie wiped her hands on her apron. ‘I’m sorry. It’s been so busy here and I … well …’

‘An old friend?’ His chest flared with possessiveness. Who was this old friend? Were they male or female? Why would Sylvie prefer to spend her precious time off with this person instead of him?

‘You’re having second thoughts,’ he said, thinking desperately of their kiss. She’d been quiet on the journey back, but he had thought she was just tired.

Sylvie finally looked at him. ‘No, I don’t regret what happened, it’s just … I’m not sure what should happen now.’

Silence filled the space between them. So that was it. She was as nervous as he was about what it all meant.

‘Sylvie …’ Christoph brushed the foam away. He cupped her head and drew her towards him in a kiss.

Sylvie responded, her mouth warm against his, but then she drew back.

‘It’s all happening too quickly,’ she said.

‘Then come to lunch. We can just talk,’ Christoph said. He took her hand. ‘Or I could come and meet your friend too.’

Sylvie frowned. ‘No, I’m sorry.’ She twisted her hand away and turned back to the sink. ‘I’d better get on.’

Christoph woke the next morning to an empty day. He hadn’t slept well, troubled by Sylvie’s evasiveness the night before. She was like a waft of smoke he couldn’t catch. Always that feeling of her being just out of reach. He got dressed, a sense of foreboding pulsing in his head. The question had been vexing him all night – was she really meeting an old friend, or was that an excuse? He splashed his face with cold water from the jug. He couldn’t bear it any longer. He had to find out.

He waited by the door of his office, which had a view of the hotel reception. There was no sign of her at nine o’clock. By ten o’clock, he felt conspicuous. His head still ached from the thoughts swirling round his mind. This was nonsense. Worse still, it was demeaning. He was about to creep back to his room when Sylvie appeared.

She walked out of the hotel and turned left, heading down the rue de Rivoli towards the Louvre. Keeping well back and sticking to the other side of the street, Christoph followed, feeling ridiculous, but insecurity drove him on. At the metro, she stopped to show her papers, then got on a train. Christoph jumped into one of the other carriages, craning his neck at every stop to see where she got off.

Christoph nearly lost her in the station. By the time he caught up, she was stepping into a café in a little cobbled square. He watched from a distance, under the shade of a chestnut tree, as she took a seat by the window.

For a few minutes, nothing happened. Then Sylvie stood up, a cautious smile on her face. A man had arrived, tall, good-looking, with piercing blue eyes. They embraced, a kiss on each cheek. The man held her a fraction too long for Christoph’s liking.

They sat down, drawing their chairs close to each other. The man touched her hair, pulling a strand out of her eyes. Sylvie glanced at him, smiling. Christoph watched them talk. They seemed absorbed, close … intimate . Had she ever talked to Christoph so intently? The man put his arm around her shoulders.

Christoph leaned back against the wall. So she had been lying. Nausea filled his stomach. Sylvie had been an anchor to his true self. Now, seeing her like this with that man, he was adrift again.