The Designer(69)

She found that Catherine could be tempted with sweet things. Apple jelly and stewed fruit were dishes she could absorb, and though there was no wine to be had, Copper made a syrup from raisins that was pronounced a great success. Tapioca puddings and blancmanges also made a regular appearance, sweetened with jam if sugar could not be found. Catherine’s deadly weight-loss slowed, then halted. The triumphant day came when the weight on the scale had to be shifted along the beam a notch, proving that she had started to put on flesh again. They celebrated with a dish her mother had called ‘boxty’ – potato pancakes made on the griddle. This dish had to be accompanied by a song Copper’s mother had taught her:

‘Boxty on the griddle,

Boxty in the pan,

If you can’t make boxty

Sure you’ll never get a man!’



Catherine grew strong enough to take short walks. Because her eyes were weak from malnutrition and suffered in the sunlight, Copper bought her a pair of sunglasses. She often took Catherine, wearing these and a silk scarf to cover her head, to walk slowly through the Tuileries. The burned-out German tank that had sat there had now been removed and the gardens were starting to be gay with flowers.

‘Don’t you want to see your fiancé?’ Copper asked gently. As yet, Hervé had not even been told that Catherine was alive, something Copper had found puzzling.

Catherine grimaced. ‘He thinks I’m dead. And perhaps it’s better that way.’

‘Why do you say that?’ Copper exclaimed.

‘I don’t know if we can continue; if we should continue.’

‘Because of what’s happened to you? You’re beautiful, and you’re getting stronger every day. Your hair will grow. He’ll be overjoyed to see you.’

‘There’s more than that,’ Catherine replied wryly. Leaning on Copper as they walked, Catherine began to tell her some of the story of her love affair with Hervé des Charbonneries.

She had fallen in love with him in a coup de foudre, love at first sight. She’d walked into a shop to buy a radio. Tall, suave and handsome, he had shown her the latest model. Their eyes had met – and her heart had been captured.

‘But there was a catch,’ Catherine went on. ‘Hervé was never my fiancé. That would be impossible. Hervé is married.’

‘Oh,’ Copper said.

‘Yes – oh.’ Catherine imitated Copper’s flat tone. ‘And he has three young children. A man can hardly be more married than that. But I was infatuated and so was he. He was a founder member of the Resistance and he enrolled me at once. So we worked in secret and we loved in secret. Our life was full of secrets. I loved him so much; adored him, in fact. If it were not for that, I think I would have broken under the Gestapo. But I knew that if I gave up Hervé’s name, he would be killed. I endured everything they did to me, and thank God, I was able to protect him.’

Copper’s eyes filled with tears. ‘That’s the bravest thing I ever heard.’

‘Love makes one brave.’ Catherine shrugged. ‘Or perhaps foolish. Who can tell the difference?’

‘Hervé should hear what you endured for him,’ Copper said.

‘Do you think so?’ Catherine shook her head. ‘I think it would put unfair pressure on him. If I asked him to come back to me, I would be asking him to leave his wife and his children. Before all this’ – she made a gesture to encompass her frail state – ‘it was an adventure, an escapade. Now it is serious. So many have died; so many have suffered. I don’t know if I can face any more suffering, or ask others to endure any more for my sake.’

‘So long as he thinks you are still imprisoned or even dead, he’ll be suffering anyway.’

Catherine smiled crookedly. ‘You see things so clearly, my dear Copper.’

‘I try to. Not seeing things clearly has led me into a lot of mistakes.’ She paused. ‘Do you still love him?’

‘I’ve thought of him every hour since the day I was separated from him. Does that answer your question?’

‘Yes, I guess it does.’

‘And what about you?’ Catherine enquired. ‘You are waiting for someone, too, aren’t you?’

‘I suppose your brother has told you about him.’

‘He sounds very glamorous.’

‘Yes, he is that.’

‘He wants to marry you.’

‘Yes.’

‘And you love him?’

‘Yes, I love him. But—’

‘But you cherish your freedom,’ Catherine said, looking at Copper shrewdly.

‘Something like that.’

‘You Americans and your freedom. There are more important things, you know.’

Copper laughed. ‘Is that the opinion of a heroine of the Resistance?’

‘Well, you see where fighting for freedom got me,’ Catherine said, pulling off her scarf to show her bald head. ‘Freedom is precious, but other things may be even more precious.’

‘I’d like to write a story about you, Catherine,’ Copper said.

‘There is nothing remarkable about me,’ Catherine replied.

‘Of course there is. Your bravery, what you’ve been through, how you’ve survived – all that is deeply inspiring.’