The sound of the door closing made everyone turn and stare guiltily at Éliane. No one spoke.
Then Xavier stood up, sliding Yolande from his lap. His tie and suit jacket were slung over the back of one of the chairs. He wore trousers and a shirt that had probably once been pressed and clean but were now wrinkled. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to the middle of his forearms and his antique silver watch looked, in the shabby apartment, like a thieved trinket in a raven’s nest.
“I’d meant to be gone by the time you came home,” he said, glancing ruefully at his watch. His expression exactly matched Angélique’s: that of a person who’d done something wrong and knew they’d been caught.
Éliane turned to Angélique, speechless. Why was Xavier sitting in her apartment reading her sister a story when he should have been at work?
Angélique put down the spoon and placed her hands on her hips. “I went to the gallery and asked him to come,” she said.
“You did what?” Éliane’s eyes flicked from Xavier to her sister.
Éliane had never asked for one single thing from Xavier. And she loved that he had never offered her money, which she would not accept. He occasionally bought small things for her sisters: a kite for Yolande, a book for Ginette, a fresh apple for Jacqueline, a paste hair-clip for Angélique. But to give her money would be pity and charity both and it would make them unequal. It would make her weak. She had so little that she could be proud of but she was proud of the way she cared for her sisters.
“I went to the Louvre,” Angélique said quickly. “But the museum isn’t open so I couldn’t get in. And I…” She paused, remorse coloring her cheeks red. “I caused the problem, so I had to fix it.” Here Angélique glanced at Yolande protectively, affectionately, and Éliane’s heart squeezed.
“What happened?” she asked, relenting a little and moving closer to Xavier.
Angélique shrugged. “I said something to Father that I shouldn’t have.”
“Did he hit you?”
Xavier reached for Éliane’s hand.
As far as Éliane knew, she and her mother were the only ones who suffered the physical blows of her father’s temper. If he started on Angélique, there was no way Éliane could continue to work while he was here. Then they would have no money at all.
“No. But he threw all the food he’d brought upstairs for our dinner on the floor. Yolande was hungry. We were all hungry,” Angélique added, drawing Yolande into her side. “So I went to see Xavier to ask for some food.”
Éliane tried to let go of Xavier’s hand but he wouldn’t let her. In fact, he slid his arm around her waist as if he meant to keep her close to him, always.
“But he didn’t just give me food.” Angélique’s voice was defiant now, as if she expected Éliane to scold her. “He came here and looked after everyone while I cleaned up the mess.”
“Oh, Angélique Éliane said. There was too much anger in her family already. She would not contribute to it. She crossed over to her sister and hugged her. “Thank you,” she said, “for fixing everything.”
And Angélique began to cry. Éliane stroked her hair and shushed her while Xavier ladled soup into bowls and placed them in front of Yolande, Ginette, and Jacqueline, leaving a spare bowl out for Angélique.
“You should eat,” Éliane said to her sister. “And…” She pulled a little of the money Luc had given her out of the envelope and told Angélique to buy all of the children some ice cream after dinner. Angélique stared at her as if she were mad. But maybe one ice cream every six months would give Yolande something lovely to think about whenever food was short. Éliane had Xavier, but Yolande had nothing: no doll to cuddle, just a careworn mother and a five-year-old’s understanding of the world.
“I need to go downstairs,” she said to her sisters. “I’m already late. Sleep tight.”
She left the apartment with Xavier. He stopped on the landing and turned to her, eyes dark with a mix of different emotions: concern, anger, and a tenderness so exquisite it was all she wanted to see.
He touched her temple, threading his fingers through her hair.
She flinched as she waited for him to say something she’d hoped he would never say: let me help you.
Instead he said, “I love you, Ellie.”
God, she was going to cry. But she didn’t want to give him her tears. She reached out for him, felt the heat flare between her body and his before she kissed him more deeply than ever and he stepped her backward against the wall so they could be as close together as it was possible to be.
After a long moment he drew away, face flushed, eyes glittering so brilliantly she could almost see the blue and the gold and the green and the red—all the colors—flaring in the brown. “I can’t keep kissing you, Éliane,” he whispered. “It’s too good.” Then he asked, a little hesitantly, “Does that mean you love me too?”
She laughed and couldn’t stop herself from kissing him again before she answered. “Do you even need to ask? Of course I do. More than anything.”
His smile, that she’d once thought beautiful, was now sublime.
“I love you, Xavier.”
“There are so many things I want right now, Ellie,” he said. “But the thing I want most of all is to walk you out of this apartment and make sure you never come back.”
She stiffened and closed her eyes. The offer of help she dreaded was coming.
But he lifted her chin and kissed her eyelids until she opened them. “I know you can’t,” he said gently. “That’s part of why I love you. You’re the most unselfish person I’ve ever met. But tonight,” his voice was firm, “I’m walking you into the brasserie and staying until there’s at least one other customer there because you’re late and I know what happens when you’re late. It’s only one small thing out of all the millions of things I want to do. So please let me.”
Now she was crying: over the memory of Yolande cuddling into him, her cheek pressed against his chest in a way she’d never sat with her father; over the fact that Xavier somehow loved her; over him trying to do what he could but not doing more than that because he respected her.
“Thank you,” she said.
“I would do anything for you, Éliane.”
And she believed that he would.
THREE
Then came May 1940. The Germans pounced on Belgium and threatened France from the north. A prayer vigil was held at the Notre-Dame, and Sainte Geneviève’s relics were carried through the streets. Éliane stood with her sisters, holding Yolande on her hip, and watched the coffer of holy bones pass by. It was so small; a Panzer would crush it like an ant beneath its armored tracks. Don’t, she told herself as Yolande’s hands squeezed tight around her neck. Don’t think about what else might be crushed by the Germans.
The government promised that, despite some reverses, it would remain in Paris and stand firm. Xavier looked worried, and told her every day that he loved her and she told him the same.