Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
MARGOT
Margot hadn’t been able to settle that day.
She’d returned to the shop, removed her handwritten sign and opened up.
As she unpacked a small delivery and placed the thin books with their plain covers on the shelves, her thoughts returned again and again to the ash blowing through the Professor’s ruined cottage, and the photographs in the cellar of his lost family.
She wondered again what he needed his radio for, and what the notes in German said. Was it connected with why he was hiding? Was he pretending to have died?
Monsieur Bernard, Margot’s old schoolteacher, came in, looking for a specific edition of Victor Hugo’s poems. She was always pleased to see him; a frequent customer who never ceased learning about the world.
Margot had eventually managed to find the book of poems, even though her mind kept wandering.
Her thoughts about the Professor alternated with the nightmare prospect of books that would burn in Clarenville that night.
As she began to close up for the day, she glimpsed Joséphine and Beatrice leaving the bar across the road.
Joséphine was wearing a brand-new coat and a hat sprigged with silk flowers that perched on her glossy auburn hair.
Her shoes were shiny, unlike the worn-down, much-repaired shoes that everyone else had to make do with.
Her emerald-coloured dress caught what little light there was like real silk.
Beatrice was, for once, wearing a dress that hadn’t been let down at the hem, and her winter coat was new, with fashionable padded shoulders.
Margot knew very well where their new outfits had come from.
It was surreal to think that Joséphine had dressed her daughter with money from a monster.
But normal life was something that Margot could only dream of now.
She wanted Cordeval to go back to how it’d been before the invasion, before shortages and soldiers marching past her shop; before fear became her default emotion.
Thank goodness for the book club. Although books would be burned in Clarenville that evening at midnight, the club would be celebrating them.
That evening Margot’s friends arrived in the cellar, as they did every week now, and took their places in the flickering candlelight. Beatrice wasn’t there; Margot supposed that Joséphine had taken her out somewhere, both of them in their new clothes.
Each member of the group was holding a copy of Oliver Twist, translated into French.
‘I haven’t quite finished it yet,’ Henriette admitted.
Her tasselled bookmark was poking out a third of the way from the end of the thick volume.
‘Isn’t it sad, though, reading how those poor children were treated at the workhouse?
I was so glad when Oliver found his friends, even if they were a gang of thieves. ’
‘The Nazis have banned this book in every country they’ve taken over,’ Brigitte said in disgust. ‘But then, it’s about a little boy overcoming tyrants, so of course they wouldn’t like it.’
Esther raised an eyebrow. ‘And yet, I would imagine they would find Fagin very much to their tastes,’ she said. ‘An evil, corrupt Jew?’ She shook her head.
Madame Guerin nodded in agreement. ‘I remember reading Oliver Twist when I was younger, and I must admit that had passed me by. But now I’m reading it again, and the way Fagin’s written is shocking – it’s like Nazi propaganda.
’ She glanced at Esther sympathetically and added, ‘I wonder if they just don’t want us reading books with any Jewish characters in them at all? ’
‘They would rather the whole world forgot us,’ said Esther.
Isabelle seemed to pick up on her mother’s emotions at that moment and started to fuss in her arms.
Margot reached out and stroked the baby’s soft hair. ‘Then we carry on reading – books by Jewish authors, books with Jewish characters. As fast as they can ban them, we’ll read them.’
‘But only a few hours ago, they were burning books just along the coast,’ Sylvie pointed out.
‘I saw them building the bonfire when I was in Clarenville this morning,’ Colette admitted. She looked pale with worry, and her knuckles were white where she clutched her copy of Oliver Twist. ‘I was coming back from taking a delivery to the hotel when I saw it. Such an ugly thing.’
Their conversation was moving away from the book they’d been reading. The atmosphere in the windowless, underground room had become tense.
‘There’s so many more Nazis in the village, and they’re burning books in Clarenville.
The question is…’ Margot took a deep breath, then let it go before she continued, ‘Do we carry on? I’ve still got some banned books down here, and who knows what’s on my shelves right now that the Germans will ban next week.
I want to keep going, as long as I’ve got banned books to spare.
I know it’s an enormous risk, but in my heart I know I must. But none of you have to.
I understand. I won’t think any worse of you if you want to leave the book club. ’
Esther had been listening silently, holding Isabelle in her arms. The baby was sleeping peacefully but Esther seemed reluctant to return her to her basket.
Instead she sang her a gentle song that Margot could barely hear, rocking her softly as she sang.
She watched Margot closely, her song quietly fading as she did so, until, as silence fell, she spoke.
‘I have been lying to you all,’ she said. ‘And I need your help. France needs your help.’
Margot’s tension and fear was lost in her surprise. In the candlelight she saw the same astonishment on the faces of her friends.
‘Esther… what are you talking about?’ Brigitte asked. She sounded confused, concerned, even.
‘What is it, Esther?’ asked Margot, leaning forward. ‘You know we’ll help you, whatever you need.’
‘I told you all that Daniel had been lost at sea,’ she whispered. ‘It isn’t true. Daniel is alive.’
Margot stared at her, and someone in the circle gasped.
She drew in a deep breath and said, ‘Daniel and I… we are Chevalier.’