Chapter 1 Adele
Chapter 1
Adele
Paris, May 1942
Adele Basset looked up from the piano, calling out the sequence of steps to her dance class. Today was ballet and whilst her students aged between five and ten years old were probably never going to forge a career out of dancing, their unbridled enthusiasm and obvious delight made up for their lack of technical ability and natural grace.
Today the sun was shining in through the bank of full-length windows that lined the side of the studio, spotlighting the children and bouncing off the mirrored wall. The room could really do with a freshen up. The paint was peeling in one corner and two wooden floorboards needed replacing, having been repaired far too many times. However, paint and wood were scarce after two years of German occupation.
‘ Et demi-plié , knees over toes … Rise … Et deuxième . Port de bras , follow your arm to the side.’ Adele called out the instructions above the sound of the piano. ‘ Excellent! Daniel, parfait! ’ Strictly speaking, it wasn’t excellent or perfect, but Adele had always been adamant her after-school dance lessons were not to reach perfection in performance, only perfection in joy.
What more could anyone ask for these children as the war in Europe raged on? The hour after school each day was an escape for them and for her after a long day teaching. Here at the classes, through the medium of dance, they could be anything and anywhere they wanted. Goodness knows, they deserved the little pleasure and respite the hour brought – they had already witnessed horrors children had no right to see.
Adele rose from her position at the piano, gesturing with her hands for the children to carry on with the steps, just the way her own mother had taught her and her sister, Lucille. Their mother, Marianne, had been the most beautiful and skilled of dancers and trained with the Ballet de l’Opéra national de Paris – the Paris Opera Ballet. A career tragically cut short by a motor vehicle accident, and later her life by illness. Adele felt the familiar surge of grief that accompanied any thought of her mother. It had been nearly twelve years since Marianne died, a milestone as she had now been absent from Adele’s life longer than she had been physically present. However, taking these classes and passing on the spirit and love for dance somehow made Adele feel closer to her mother and, in some ways, like she was still with her.
Adele smiled at her class. ‘ Bravo! Allez, tendu . Remember your arms. Don’t let them touch your body. Big circles. That’s it, Margot. Très bien .’
With her back to the children, Adele joined in, demonstrating the steps for those less assured pupils. They weren’t particularly co-ordinated or sharp in their foot placements, but the energy in the room was inspiring. She wasn’t sure where they got their energy from and wished she had some of it. Today she felt tired, weary from being in a continual heightened state of anxiety, fearful of stepping out of line with the Germans. They were easy to rile and quick to retaliate. Adele caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. It shocked her to see the weariness on her face and grey circles under her green eyes. Her usually shiny brunette hair looked lacklustre, tied up in a bun, and she could see her collarbones; the ever-tightening supply of rations was doing nothing for her appearance.
The door to the classroom opened and Gérard Basset, her father and schoolmaster, popped his head around the doorway, pushing his spectacles up onto the bridge of his nose. His gaze travelled the room and he smiled an acknowledgement to his daughter. ‘I’m leaving now,’ he mimed more than spoke so as not to interrupt the class. Adele returned the smile and nodded as her father offered the class a small round of applause before waving a farewell and disappearing back into the corridor.
Forty-five minutes later, Adele brought the class to an end.
‘ Bravo, mes enfants! Bravo! ’ Adele gave a small curtsy to her class, who returned the gesture – a signal that dance class was officially over. As the children gathered excitedly around her, Adele lifted up the lid to the top of the piano and took out a small cloth bag. She put her finger to her lips to hush them.
Ten pairs of eyes looked eagerly up at her as she delved into the bag and brought out a string of apple rings dusted in cinnamon. Adele untied the string and handed out the little treats, watching as the children scoffed them down in seconds, dabbing the tiniest of crumbs from their laps and licking their fingers. They were always hungry these days, and Adele felt compelled to sacrifice some of her own rations to help stave off their hunger pains.
‘Now, quickly change out of your shoes,’ instructed Adele, once they had finished eating. ‘Your mothers will be waiting downstairs for you.’ She noticed one girl looking despondently at her shoe as she untied the ankle ribbons. ‘What’s the matter, Juliette?’ Adele crouched down beside the eight-year-old.
‘My shoe has a hole in the toe.’
‘Oh, let me see.’ Adele inspected the shoe. ‘Hmm, yes, you’ve worn the toe right through. You’ll have to tell your mother.’
‘Maman doesn’t know. She can’t afford to buy another pair.’
Adele ran her hand gently over Juliette’s head and down her plaited hair. ‘Don’t worry, ma petite puce . I will fix it tonight.’ She placed it on top of the piano so she wouldn’t forget it later. Juliette’s mother had three other children to look after and with her husband in a labour camp in Germany, she had no one to help her so fixing a ballet shoe probably wasn’t high on her list of priorities.
She collected in the shoes from those children who weren’t fortunate enough to own a pair. Adele and her younger sister, Lucille, had been dancing since they could walk, according to their parents, and over the years had gained a collection of dance shoes that now came into their own and enabled the little ones to participate.
As Adele helped the children change she picked up five-year-old Daniel’s outdoor shoe and noticed it was nearly worn through on the sole. It was the same for the other one.
‘One moment,’ said Adele and nipped out of the classroom, returning a few minutes later with two pieces of stiff paper, once the cover of an exercise book, now repurposed as insoles. ‘There, that should get you home.’
She went over to the cupboard and lifted out a basket of jazz shoes, sifting through until she found what she was looking for and handed the right-sized pair to the boy. ‘For you.’ She pushed a shoe into each pocket of Daniel’s coat. ‘These used to be mine when I was about your age. Tell your mother they’re a gift.’
Once all laces and buckles were fastened, the children lined up along the barre. Adele was just about to lead them out when the door opened abruptly and to her horror, in marched two German soldiers, immediately followed by an officer and a French policeman.
‘ Mademoiselle Basset? ’ asked the German officer, removing his peaked cap and pushing it under his arm as he referred to his clipboard.
‘ Oui ,’ replied Adele, trying not to focus on the scar that ran from the German’s lower lip and curved its way under his chin, as she placed herself between the officer and the children. She glanced towards the French policeman, who was clearly sweating, which she hoped was from embarrassment and shame. He looked away and Adele felt a small degree of satisfaction for his discomfort as the word ‘traitor’ rattled around inside her head.
The German officer looked up from his paperwork and paused for a moment before speaking. ‘Do not worry, I am just here to gather some information.’
Adele nodded, not convinced she shouldn’t worry. She felt the small hand of one of the children slip into hers. The little body huddled up to her leg. It was Daniel. Adele gave his hand a gentle squeeze of reassurance as she looked back at the officer. ‘How can I help you?’ she ventured.
‘I need a list of all the Jewish children in your class. Names. Ages. Addresses.’ He looked beyond Adele at the line of frightened faces. Then he swiped a piece of paper from his clipboard and held it out to Adele. ‘Complete this form. I shall return for it in twenty-four hours. Do not miss off any names. It will be classed as subversive behaviour, something we will not tolerate. Do you understand?’ He flapped the paper.
Adele nodded. ‘ Oui .’ She took the paper with a feeling of dread in both her heart and stomach. Only yesterday, Manu from the museum next door to the school had told her there were rumours circulating of a round-up of Jewish people. Surely, he didn’t mean children too.
‘Very good.’ The officer looked at the children again as if memorising their faces, then gave a curt nod to Adele before striding from the room.
Adele’s knees felt weak and she put out a hand, grasping the barre to steady herself. She took a deep breath and plastered on a smile as she turned to face the children. ‘Well done for standing so nicely,’ she said. ‘Just wait here a moment.’
Adele poked her head out into the corridor to make sure the unwelcome visitors had left. She could hear their footsteps fading as they went down the stairs. She moved over to the window and watched the figures of the German officer, the two soldiers, and the French policeman leaving the building via the main entrance. A black saloon car was waiting and, once they were inside, it sped away.
Adele heaved a sigh of relief but couldn’t get rid of the feeling of violation. She hated the thought of the German soldiers, not to mention the French policeman, inside the school. It was as if their mere presence could infect and pollute the air in the building, settling on the fixtures and fittings, seeping into the floors and ceilings, spreading like bacteria. She shrugged the thought from her mind.
The children were growing restless and, as she turned to face them, she once again ensured she at least looked like there was nothing to worry about. ‘Is everyone ready to go home? Your parents are waiting for you.’ Adele shepherded her flock of little swans from the classroom and down to the foyer where their mothers were most relieved to see them, except for two parents who seemed to be in the middle of a disagreement.
‘It is getting too dangerous to come,’ said Juliette’s mother. She looked across at Daniel’s mother, Madame Charon. ‘It’s people like you who are making it dangerous.’
Daniel’s mother looked up. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’
‘Jews. You are making it difficult. You should not come here anymore. The Germans would leave us alone then.’
‘Ladies, please,’ interrupted Adele. ‘We should stand together, not fight each other.’
‘I was just stating a fact.’ Juliette’s mother was unrepentant.
‘Please, everyone, go home now.’ Adele adopted her friendly yet authoritative tone in an attempt to emulate her father. He somehow commanded respect without being confrontational.
It had the desired effect and soon the lobby was empty, much to Adele’s relief. She looked at the form in her hand where she was to list the names. The urge to rip it to shreds was great and to avoid temptation, she dumped it on the reception desk. Madame Allard, the school secretary, would find it in the morning. Adele couldn’t bring herself to do it.
The entrance door opened, making Adele jump. It was Manu.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,’ he said, closing the door and briefly touching her arm.
‘Manu.’ She smiled, relieved to see her friend but hoping the small rise in colour to her cheeks went unnoticed. Tonight, his face was etched with concern. ‘Is everything all right?’ she asked.
‘Yes. I was coming to ask you the same question. I saw your visitors.’ His dark eyes looked intently at her.
‘They want a list of names of our Jewish pupils,’ Adele said. Although her father had warned her about speaking out of turn, she knew she could trust Manu. ‘I don’t know why they are targeting the children.’
Manu let out a sigh and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Maybe checking that no one has been missed from the list. There are rumours some families aren’t listing their children. As I’ve mentioned, there are whispers around town that there will be a round-up of Jews soon. Some are talking about going into hiding or leaving the city before it happens.’
‘Where are they taking them?’
‘Work camps, apparently, but who knows what they are really going to do.’
‘Every day I say I can’t believe what is happening to the city I love.’ Adele paced from one side of the foyer to the other and back again. ‘Did you see the police officer today? They sent him along to make us think it is the French government doing this and not the Germans.’
‘I know, but please, Adele, stay calm and do what they say.’
She stopped her pacing. ‘I’m not so stupid as to blatantly go against them, but there are other ways.’
‘Indeed. But for now, I suggest you comply. What use are you to anyone, let alone the children, if you’re arrested?’
Adele knew he was right, but she hated the thought of being so helpless. ‘The parents were arguing this evening. I can’t bear all the fear and mistrust that is around us.’
Manu took Adele’s hand. ‘I know, but you mustn’t do anything rash. Now, I have to go. I too have a list to compile.’
Her heart beat a little faster at the touch of his hand holding hers, but she tried to appear nonchalant about it. ‘You do?’
‘Yes. They want a list of all the artefacts in the museum.’
‘They’re going to take them?’
Manu nodded. ‘Steal them. Steal them from the people of Paris. I know they are not as valuable as your children, but still it fills me with a deep sadness.’ He dipped his head and kissed Adele on each cheek. ‘Goodnight, Adele. Lock the door behind me.’
‘Goodnight, Manu.’ She watched Manu leave, disappointed as always that he couldn’t stay longer, then she slid the bolts into place before taking the key from the reception desk and turning the lock. She would go home soon. Her sister, Lucille, was preparing a meal for them tonight. Their father had gone to meet her where she worked as a secretary at one of the government buildings in the city, now under the rule of the Germans. Lucille working there concerned Gérard and it put his mind at rest to meet her every evening. Adele wasn’t so sure her free-spirited sister totally appreciated this gesture of guardianship.
Back in the dance studio, Adele finished gathering up the ballet shoes into the basket and returned them to the store cupboard. She took a needle and thread from the sewing box and set about darning the toe of Juliette’s shoe. The needle sliding through the pink satin, pulling the matching thread through and gradually healing the wound to the footwear. Adele thought of her mother; she thought of her fractured city, the children in her class and the wounds they would all be left to deal with. Like this shoe, they could be repaired but they would forever be scarred.