The Paris Affair

41 Julia

41

Julia

August, 2002 – Paris

Julia woke in the double bed. Someone was knocking at the apartment door. She was about to get up when she heard the door open and a man speak.

‘Good, you’re up.’ It was the concierge. ‘The hospital rang and asked me to let you know that your father is having an MRI scan today.’

Julia sat up. An MRI scan?

‘Oh, I see,’ she heard Daniel reply. ‘Thanks for letting us know. I’m sorry you had to come all this way up.’

‘Not at all,’ the concierge said. ‘I hope he’s okay.’ Julia heard the door close.

A sweet and salty smell filled the air. Lardons and onions. She rubbed her eyes. Daniel must be cooking. She got up, put on her cardigan, and went to find him.

The kitchen was a hive of activity. A frying pan hissed on the hob and there were chopped beans and parsley strewn on the table. Daniel glanced at Julia across the kitchen. The intimacy and tensions of the night before came rushing back, but she pushed them away.

‘Did you hear the concierge come up?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. ‘An MRI. That’s good, I suppose, that they’re investigating everything.’

‘He’ll be okay. He has to be,’ Daniel said. He stirred the onions and lardons. ‘I got up this morning and decided to make the next recipe for him.’

Julia glanced at him, surprised. Last night, she’d wondered if he’d meant what he’d said, but he seemed to be making an effort. She peered over at the recipe book on the counter. ‘Is it Eintopf mit Bohnen und Kartoffeln?’

‘Yes, it’s nearly ready to go in the oven.’

‘He’ll be delighted you made this,’ she said. ‘We can take him some later.’

Daniel nodded. He tipped the potatoes into the pan then leaned against the counter and smiled. ‘You were humming something in your sleep. I heard you when I got up to get a glass of water.’

Julia pulled the sleeves of her cardigan over her hands. ‘Really? I fell asleep thinking of a melody. Maybe it was that.’

He came and sat down opposite her. ‘Do you think you could play it?’

Julia pushed back some loose strands of hair. ‘I don’t know. Why?’

‘In the allotment, after I called you selfish, you said that the piano was your life. That it had been more constant than anyone.’ He held her gaze. ‘After everything that’s happened with your hands, it makes me sad to think of that. It must be so hard not being able to play.’

Julia couldn’t bear the pity in his eyes. ‘It is.’

‘What if you tried playing your own tune?’ Daniel said. ‘Maybe that would make a difference. You won’t be confined to the melodies of others.’

‘I don’t know.’ It was strange to hear these insights from Daniel. He must have really been thinking about it all.

‘You could use the piano here. I can go in the other room, or out for a walk. I won’t disturb you.’

His hands, resting on the table, strong and firm, were almost close enough to touch. Julia swallowed.

‘I don’t want you to go anywhere,’ she said. Better say it now, before the moment was over. ‘It’s not you that brings back bad memories, it’s the pain of what might have been that does.’

Before he could answer, Julia went to the piano. Doubts about playing sprang up inside her. What if she wasn’t ready? The tune had faded in her mind. Her palms became clammy.

Then, she glanced up and saw Daniel, watching her calmly, without expectation or judgement. Whatever she played or didn’t play, it would be okay, his eyes seemed to say. Her breathing slowed. The melody returned. She knew how to begin.

As she played, Julia was aware of a blissful calm. It had been years since she’d experienced this. These were her own notes. As a result, her hands didn’t falter once. When the music ended and Julia came back down to earth, Daniel’s voice broke the silence.

‘That was extraordinary,’ he said, kneeling by the piano stool. ‘You shouldn’t be breaking your neck trying to compete with other pianists. You should be composing your own music.’

‘Do you think so?’ Julia said.

She closed the piano lid gently. Who knew how long the fluency in her hands would last?

Daniel touched Julia’s cheek. ‘I feel it too, you know, the pain of what might have been. Maybe it’s time we did something about that …’

Julia sucked in her breath. There it was: the warmth of his voice, the light in his eyes. She’d been longing for this affirmation, and now … He slid his hand up her arm, shivers spreading across her skin.

‘Julia,’ he said. He was so close, and there was nothing she wanted more than the touch of his lips on hers. At last, his lips touched hers. The kiss was gentle at first, exploring, teasing. Then it grew deeper, their tongues entwined. A flame flared in Julia.

‘Should we be doing this?’ she whispered, some rational part of her brain still switched on.

‘Don’t think too hard, Julia. Just let it happen, like the music …’

He took her hand, his eyes smouldering. She followed him to the bedroom. There was nothing to stop them this time. For six years, she’d waited for this.

He closed the door and turned to face her. It was just the two of them, finally, together in this room. He moved towards her and she wrapped her arms around him, desperate to feel his body against hers.

‘I thought this would never happen,’ Daniel whispered, kissing the soft skin on her neck.

She shrugged off her cardigan, smiling with the pleasure of his touch. ‘Me too.’ She ran her fingers through his hair.

His pupils were black with desire. One by one, he undid the buttons on her nightshirt and let it drop to the floor.

He gazed at her in wonder. ‘My God, Julia, you’re beautiful.’

He lifted her up, and laid her on the bed, then bent down and kissed her, gentle kisses that sent delicious tremors across her skin.

Julia drank in his scent, feeling her way with her hands across his shoulders. He moaned, his hand kneading her back then travelling across her belly, lower, and lower. She gasped. A current sparked deep inside.

Her mind cleared of doubts. Now. Here. No more waiting. It was simple. She wanted him. As his hands moved rhythmically, she pulled his T-shirt off, savouring the heat of his chest.

‘Are you sure about this?’ Daniel whispered, their eyes locked, just millimetres apart.

‘It’s taken us long enough.’ She tugged loose the buckle of his belt.

He groaned and kissed her throat. She was ready now, warm and burning, aching for him to take her. He moved above her, her legs widening to let him in. Nearer and nearer until, with a gasp, he entered her.

At each burning thrust, the world opened, her body unfurled like the petals of a flower, until he was inside her, closer and deeper than anyone had ever been before. As the room dissolved into murmurs and shadow and waves of desire, the seams of her heart came undone. She cried out, clutching Daniel, her name on his lips the last thing she heard as the moment overwhelmed them both.

Later, Daniel ran her a bath. When Julia got out, he was gone. A note on the pillow said he’d popped out to get something but he’d be back soon. He’d drawn a heart by her name. She smiled. The bed was still crumpled from where he’d lain. She bent down and savoured the scent of him on the pillow. Her stomach was rumbling so she got dressed and went to find something to eat.

The Eintopf mit Bohnen und Kartoffeln was cold so Julia heated it up on the hob. A deep feeling of wellness flooded her body. She got out two bowls and coffee cups. Regret might come later, but it wasn’t clouding the horizon yet.

The front door clicked open and Daniel walked in, carrying a bag in his hand. ‘I’m back,’ he said, coming over and sliding a hand around her waist. ‘I’ve bought you a gift.’

Julia glanced up surprised. ‘What is it?’

Daniel took out a book of blank sheet music. ‘What you played me earlier was beautiful. I bought you this so that you can write it down.’

Moved by his thoughtfulness, Julia clasped her arms around his neck and kissed him. ‘Thank you, Daniel, that’s so kind. I’m not sure my piece was as good as you think, but maybe it’s time to try composing again.’

Daniel took off his jacket. ‘The soup doesn’t look too bad, considering it was my first attempt at making it,’ he said. ‘I’m looking forward to trying some.’

Julia moved the box of music from the end of the table to make room for the pot. As she picked it up, the underneath collapsed and scores scattered over the floor. She bent down to pick them up. Then stopped. In among the music was a photograph. A woman was standing in front of some rose bushes. She was smiling, but her gaze had drifted to the left. On the back of the photo was written Sylvie, 1942.

‘What’s that?’ Daniel said.

‘It’s Sylvie,’ Julia said. ‘I found it in the box.’

Daniel leaned over Julia’s shoulder to look.

Sylvie’s hair was crimped and pinned up. She wore a fitted white blouse and a pencil line skirt. She was beautiful, but it was her eyes particularly that made her face shine.

‘She’s got a look of you. The way she’s smiling, you could almost be related,’ Daniel said. He took the photo out of Julia’s hand and studied it closely. ‘I’m sure I’ve seen this woman before. I recognize her face.’

‘What do you mean?’ Julia said.

‘My God, this is worse than I’d thought,’ he said, his voice strained. ‘This isn’t just about the long-lost past.’

Julia gripped his hand. ‘I don’t understand.’

Daniel moved away, struggling to compose himself. ‘Do you remember I told you that my father brought me to Paris when I was eight?’ He stared at the photo, breathing hard.

‘Yes,’ Julia said, wondering where this was leading.

‘Papa and I had been to a café and were standing on the street corner. I wanted to go back to the hotel and watch TV. But he said we had to wait. A woman walked towards us. They talked. I couldn’t understand what they were saying. It was all in French. But then he touched her face. It was such a tender gesture; I’d never seen him do anything like that with Mama. Then the woman looked at me.’

‘At you?’

‘Yes. She had tears running down her face, but she was smiling. She gave him a package, said something to me in French that I didn’t understand, and then she went.’

‘You think this woman was Sylvie?’

‘I know it was,’ Daniel said firmly, pointing to the photograph. ‘She was older than she is here, but I’d recognize her anywhere. After that trip, Papa retreated into his music. I didn’t know what was going on, but the coldness and distance between my parents increased. I’ve always connected that woman from Paris with the reason why my parents weren’t happy, I just didn’t know how she fitted into the puzzle. And now, it turns out she’s Sylvie, the one he wants to find.’

Julia stared at Sylvie’s face. It seemed incredible that Daniel had seen her: alive, here on the streets of Paris.

‘When did this happen?’ she asked. ‘When did you see her?’

‘It must have been around 1978.’

‘If the woman you saw on the street was Sylvie, then she couldn’t have died at Drancy.’

‘But that doesn’t make sense,’ Daniel said. ‘Mama told me that the letter said Sylvie Dubois died in Drancy in 1942.’

Julia stared at him. ‘Dubois? But you said you didn’t know her surname when I asked you.’

Daniel reddened. ‘I’m sorry, I was going to tell you.’

‘Oh, Daniel.’

‘I was still afraid of what we might discover. I should have told you sooner.’ He stared at the photo, then cast it down. ‘I thought we were searching for a wartime fling. Not someone he met again while he had a family.’ Pain filled his eyes.

Julia stared at the photo. Whatever this might mean for Christoph, it was hurting Daniel.

‘I know this is hard,’ she said, touching his hand. ‘It might have been a chance encounter in 1978, nothing more.’

‘Or maybe they were having an affair,’ he said, clearly troubled by it all. ‘I want to help Papa, I really do, but that meeting happening long after the war ended changes things. I was the one who had to pick up the pieces for Mama. Instead of being allowed to be a child, I had to parent her through her anxiety and depression. The root of her fear was that Papa had been unfaithful. And now, it looks like she was right. I was always trying to convince her she was wrong, that of course he wouldn’t cheat on her.’

He rose from the table and looked out of the tiny window, pressing his forehead against the glass. ‘My perpetual travelling the world was an attempt to get away from the tension between Mama and Papa. I’d been putting up with it my whole life.’ He turned back to her, his eyes imploring. ‘Please, Julia, once Papa is well enough, can we just take him home and forget all of this?’

Julia sucked in her breath. Here it was. The moment of choice. Daniel wanted her to stop. Christoph, she knew, would want to continue. It was impossible to please them both. How could she even try? But even as she flailed for a solution, her mind was made up.

‘If there’s a chance that Sylvie is alive, I have to keep searching,’ Julia said. ‘I understand that you can’t help me, and I’m not asking that of you, but in return you need to understand that I have to finish this journey for Christoph.’

Daniel’s shoulders drooped. ‘I know, I get that. Perhaps I just need some time to get my head around all of this. I’m afraid that what we might discover will drive Papa and me even further apart.’

Julia went over to Daniel and touched his cheek. ‘It’s a lot to take in,’ she said. ‘but just think, this might actually bring you closer. There’s been a lifetime of secrets between you and uncovering them might heal your relationship.’

Daniel shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’ He stood up. ‘Sorry. I need some time to think about all of this. Would you mind taking the soup to Papa? I’m not sure I can face him just yet after seeing that photo.’

He went off to the bathroom, thoughts weighing heavily in his eyes. Julia heard the water running. He must be reeling from the discovery. She stared at the photo. It was strange to see the face of the woman whose words she’d read in the recipe book.

What would Sylvie decide if she were faced with the choice of hurting Christoph or hurting Daniel? Julia was caught in the middle: between Christoph’s memories and Daniel’s recollections. She needed additional information – cold, hard facts – to decide what to do. If she went to the National Archives, maybe she could find out more.

Before she left, she hovered outside the bathroom door. She lifted her hand to tap on it, then stopped. Maybe she should leave Daniel alone for a while, let him digest things. She sighed, picked up her bag and left, closing the apartment door behind her.

The reading room in the National Archives was quiet. Julia collected the microfiche of the Drancy records for 1942 and went to find a desk. She peered at the litany of names typed in grey ink of people imprisoned in Drancy. They were too numerous to count. It was sickening to think how many had been sent to concentration camps.

Name after name scrolled by. Suddenly, there it was: Sylvie Dubois. Arrived in Drancy in September 1942. Died two weeks later of typhoid. So she’d never even made it out of France.

Julia frowned. If Daniel was correct, and the woman he saw in Paris in 1978 was Sylvie, then she couldn’t have perished in Drancy. Which meant that either Daniel or the records or were wrong.

Julia sat back, trying to puzzle it out. Perhaps she needed to go further back. Why would Sylvie have been sent to Drancy in the first place? She remembered Pierre saying that his father, Jean, had been interrogated about a plot at the hotel. Could it be linked to that?

Julia went to the front desk and asked for the Avenue Foch records.

‘There are reams of them,’ the attendant said, as she handed over the files. ‘The Nazis were nothing if not thorough.’

Julia went back to her desk and sat down with the files. She lost track of time as she focused intently on looking for any mention of Sylvie.

She found Pierre’s father’s records. It stated that Jean Dupont had been accused of intending to poison the guests at a large dinner for a General Winkler. Jean’s interview records didn’t mention Sylvie but there was another name. It caught Julia’s eye because it was so unusual.

The record stated:

M. Jean Dupont, who we suspect was working for the resistance, argued that he’d been betrayed. He named a man named Seraphin. Jean accused Seraphin of being involved with the Special Operations Executive (SOE). He said Seraphin had double-crossed him. No trace of Seraphin’s real identity was later found. Jean was tortured for information, which was unforthcoming, and then sent to Natzweiler.

Julia sighed. She knew from Pierre that his father had survived the war. Unfortunately, though, Jean had now passed away and Pierre didn’t recall him ever mentioning Sylvie. Julia stared at the papers.

So if she wasn’t arrested for being involved in the plot, what had she done? The only other time Sylvie had been in trouble with the German authorities was when she was arrested and questioned over the recipe book, also at Avenue Foch. Nothing had come of it because she’d been released to work at Le Meurice, but still, the interview notes might yield some clue.

She flicked through the papers. Sure enough, there was the account of how Sylvie had been detained. An inexperienced soldier had found her recipe book and arrested her because it contained French and German recipes. The interview directly correlated with Christoph’s account of the misunderstanding, and why Sylvie had been sent to Le Meurice. But one part of the records was intriguing. Something Christoph hadn’t mentioned, or simply hadn’t known.

Mlle Sylvie Dubois was questioned about a woman known to us only as Hélène after leaving an apartment block in rue Clément where Hélène was found to be in possession of wireless crystals. Hélène was arrested and confessed to being an agent for the Special Operations Executive (SOE). Mlle Dubois claimed no knowledge of Hélène at all, nor, when questioned, did she know of Seraphin, the man whom Hélène said had arranged for the crystals to be delivered. Mlle Dubois was released into the hands of the Kommandant’s right-hand man, Leutnant Baumann, and no further action was taken. Hélène was subsequently executed. Seraphin was never found.

Julia closed her eyes and tried to digest the information. Who was this Seraphin mentioned in both Jean and Sylvie’s records? And if he had been involved in the SOE, could it mean that Sylvie was in some way connected to the SOE as well? Surely not if she’d been released and sent to work at Le Meurice. It didn’t make sense.

Julia tidied the papers away and sighed. There wasn’t much to go on, just that unusual name. She thought of Christoph, alone in the hospital, grieving for Sylvie, and of Daniel, alone at the apartment, hating Sylvie and what he believed she’d done to ruin his parents’ marriage. The only way to help them both was to find out the truth.

Christoph was asleep when Julia arrived at the hospital. She sat and watched him, trying to think what to say. Eventually, his eyes opened. Julia took his hand.

‘Christoph, I need to ask you something. During the war, did you ever hear of someone called Seraphin?’

‘Seraphin?’ he said. ‘No, never.’

He was tired. She could see his eyelids drooping. But she had to keep going. His memories were the only way to put the archive records into context.

‘Do you remember Pierre telling us that his father, Jean, was interrogated? Did you ever suspect Jean of being a member of the resistance? I mean, before he was arrested.’

‘Of course I did.’ He tried to sit up, clutching his stomach. Julia bolstered the cushions behind him to make him more comfortable. ‘When I discovered Jacques in the storeroom, I knew Jean had to be in the resistance.’

Julia scribbled in the notebook, then looked up. ‘Wait a minute. Who was Jacques? You haven’t mentioned him before.’

‘No, I suppose I was so focused on Sylvie. Jaques was a Jew Jean was hiding up there. When Jean was arrested, I got Jacques out of Le Meurice and hid him at the apartment.’

Julia stared at him, astonished. ‘That explains why Pierre said his father thought you were a remarkable man. You took such a risk.’

‘It was the only thing to do.’ Christoph reached for a glass of water. His arm was thin and weak. Julia held the glass to his lips.

‘I was at the National Archives, reading Jean and Sylvie’s interrogation records. The name Seraphin came up in both accounts. But, from what you’ve said, it seems it was a dead end.’ She sighed and put down her notebook. ‘Look, I’ve brought you some Eintopf mit Bohnen und Kartoffeln. Daniel made it.’

Christoph raised his eyebrows. ‘Daniel? I thought he didn’t approve of me trying to remember Sylvie.’

‘He was almost coming round to the idea. But then I found this, and Daniel told me her surname: Sylvie Dubois.’ Julia reached into her bag for the photo of Sylvie. She handed it to Christoph.

Christoph stared at the image. ‘It’s her. Her eyes, that smile. Where did you find it?’

‘It was in a box of music in the apartment,’ Julia said. ‘Have you seen it before?’

‘I don’t remember it,’ he said, tracing Sylvie’s profile with his finger. His eyes moistened. ‘Such a gift. To see a photograph of the woman I’ve only glimpsed in my head. Sylvie Dubois.’

Julia opened the container of Eintopf mit Bohnen und Kartoffeln. The smell of the lardons filled the air. She handed it to Christoph. He propped the photo up against a box of tissues and took a tiny spoonful, savouring the flavour.

‘Delicious. I only wish I could eat more.’ He stared at the photo, drinking in the sight of Sylvie. ‘I don’t understand. Why has Daniel changed his mind now he’s seen this photograph?’

Julia sighed. ‘Daniel remembers seeing the woman in this picture in 1978, here with you in Paris. He’s angry because he thinks you were having an affair with her and that’s what caused your family to fall apart, and Hilde’s sadness.’

‘An affair? In 1978? But he said Sylvie died in Drancy.’

‘That’s what the records say. But if Daniel really did see her when he was a child, she can’t have died. And maybe …’ Julia hesitated, unsure whether to raise his hopes.

Christoph’s eyes shone. For a moment, his age and suffering melted away.

‘Maybe she’s still alive,’ he said.