Stern and unyielding-instantly suspicious-the deep brown eyes of one of those two surveyed her. ‘Mademoiselle, que desirez-vous?’
Cook, housekeeper and probably far more than that, the woman looked dependable. ‘A word with your mistress.’
The hand that held the key was abruptly tossed, the words coming in a rush, ‘Il n’est pas possible. The perfume distillates. It’s an important time and the business, it cannot be left untended.’
Not with the demand being what it was, and the implications not good, yet the shopping bag looked heavy and there was a copy of Je Suis protruding. ‘Please tell her Mijnheer Meyerhof sent me.’
‘Josef? That’s impossible.’
Hastily the woman crossed herself, and looking quickly back along the street, found it now empty and said, ‘Vite. The bicycle inside. Fortunately that was Madame Horleau, who has two boys in a prisoner-of-war camp. She’ll not talk to anyone about you until she has had a word with me.’
Instantly relief fled through this girl in the cocoa-brown beret, scarf, serviceable jacket and skirt, so perhaps, felt Claudette, she wouldn’t have been seen by others.
Baccarat crystal and Russian silver scent bottles were mingled shy; with Roman ones, noticed Anna-Marie, and on the walls of the salle de sejour were absolutely gorgeous paintings by Henri-Fantin shy; Latour, Pierre-Joseph Redoute, Jan van Dael and others, all of which served to indicate that Leon Guillaumet must know exactly shy; where to park his money.
Pausing on the staircase to study this girl, Genevieve Guillaumet let her linger over the photos on the mantelpiece, knowing only that she should have hidden them. ‘That is our daughter, Michele, Mademoiselle Veroche. She’s with my brother and sister-in-law, and at school in Taunton, Somerset. When the Blitzkrieg came, Michele was unable to return, and now, of course, we wait for letters.’
The designer suit was perfect and of a soft, warm grey linen, the broad-collared white silk blouse, poise and looks those of a former mannequin, the diamond necklace from any of those on place Vendome, for Mijnheer Meyerhof would have had to repeatedly call on them over the years, but had mention of his name caused her to wear it?
Now in her mid- to late thirties, Madame Guillaumet had the pallor of one who not only hadn’t been out of doors in years but was also very afraid. Unable to resist it, the woman snatched up the copy of Je Suis to hurriedly scan the columns, only to close her eyes in relief and say, ‘You’re not from them. You can’t be, but they will do things like that. Send someone as if from a loved one. Have you news of Josef?’
‘Sadly it’s not good, madame. I have to believe that he and Mevrouw Meyerhof will have been transported, but it’s your daughter I’ve come to see, and I know, because he told me this, that she’s not at school in England.’
Abruptly the woman sat down, and bursting into tears, hugged herself only to finally gain a measure of control and say, ‘Forgive me, please. Every night has its nightmares. Our papers aren’t stamped Juive. We don’t have to wear that star. Leon, he takes care of everything by paying the prefet de police de Neuilly-sur-Seine and others to keep us off the lists, but for how long, since they constantly ask for more?’
Even Mijnheer Meyerhof hadn’t thought of such a thing ever happening in France, but to leave the diamonds with her, wouldn’t be sensible. ‘And Michele, madame, where is she?’
Must this girl persist? ‘We’re both Catholics. We both wear one of these.’
A silver cross, but every district would have its alphabetical list of those to be hunted down. ‘Please, madame, I need to know. It’s what he wanted.’
Trust was everything, but now especially, even that could and often was broken. ‘I can’t tell you. I’m sorry, but I mustn’t.’
‘Both of my parents were taken, madame, because my mother refused to let my father go alone. I’m a metisse.’
A half-and-half. ‘Michele is with Monsieur Laurence Rousel, Josef’s Paris notary, and my husband’s, though with what’s happened to so many of his clients, he decided in protest to retire. She’s in Barbizon, at the former home of his mother. The house, it has no name, but is directly across the rue de la Grande from the little museum of the Barbizon School. From time to time Laurence comes to Paris, and if Michele needs anything, I send it with him. Books that Josef, the “uncle” she has always loved, gave her. Other things, too, and yes, I can see that you consider the arrangement far too fragile, yet what else could we have done? Laurence is a very dear friend. He despises what Vichy and the Germans have done and are continuing to do, but has to remain silent, of course. However, in her day, his mother was midwife to the village. Aloof, oh for sure, but known and both feared and respected since she knew the first moments of so many and could judge them by those, and of course Laurence as a boy grew up amongst them.’
Madame Besnard, the housekeeper, brought le the de France, the china paper-thin and magnificent, thought Anna-Marie, remember shy;ing the Nieumarkt’s Sunday antique fairs and the searches shy; she would make to find something that really, really would surprise her mother.
‘Josef gave that china to her,’ said Genevieve. ‘Always when in Paris, he would take her out and they would find things-concerts, art galleries, museums, so many, many places, and always there would be a little something special for her, the daughter he loves as much as does my husband. That piano. Each of these paintings. If Michele kept returning to gaze at one of a gallery’s paintings as if she couldn’t leave it, he would, without her knowing, have it sent to her, to the daughter I had with and for him, Mademoiselle Veroche, on 9 June 1928.’
‘My father was one of his diamond cutters, myself a trainee borderline sorter.’
‘If you’ve brought diamonds for my daughter, please take them away. We’ve far too much to contend with and those who would destroy us need no such encouragement. The weekend before Poland was invaded, Josef pleaded with us to send Michele to England. Just before the Blitzkrieg we had a last visit, a Sunday, 5 May 1940. Michele and I were at Mass and when we came out, he was waiting. I hadn’t seen him like that since Kristallnacht.* Everything told him there would be war and that, though neutral, the Netherlands and Belgium would also be invaded. We simply weren’t prepared. The German military, of which he knew a great deal because he had had to sell to the Krupps and other industrialists, was just too modern, well equipped, and far too keen. He also begged Leon to leave France and take us to America, but my husband, though he respected the advice, had faith in our generals.’
Like so many others. ‘Did Mijnheer Meyerhof ever speak of diamonds?’
‘Constantly. Ah mon Dieu, he was of diamonds and certainly he told us of what some of the Amsterdam and Antwerp traders were doing or planning to do. But his position as director of the Amsterdam protection committee made things difficult. On the one hand he couldn’t be seen to be running from the threat lest their be a stampede, on the other, prudence demanded that he consider it.’
‘Did he ever ask your husband to hold diamonds for his firm?’
‘The so-called “black” ones? Much as he admired and valued my husband’s friendship and business acumen, Josef would never have put us in such a difficult position. Whatever stocks are hidden, if any, will be found in America just like the paintings, pieces of sculpture and other such things of the lucky.’
There being no way to avoid it, thought Anna-Marie, she would simply have to ask. ‘Do the Germans and their friends know who your daughter’s real father is?’