Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Five

Eve

Paris, July 1946

After forty-eight hours of plunging into melancholic depths and soaring to dizzy heights again, Georges and I decided the best thing we could do was to have a quiet dinner at La Tour d’Argent.

‘Do you mind if we see Aunt Lucile first?’ he asked, opening the car door for me.

‘Of course,’ I told him.

We were both pleased to find that Lucile was up and sitting in the drawing room sorting through her button collection.

‘Ah, Aunt Lucile, you are looking much better than when we saw you last!’ said Georges, kissing her on both cheeks.

Lucile asked Odette to bring us a bottle of champagne. ‘I want to celebrate a second chance at life,’ she said, ‘with two people who are dear to me.’

She looked meaningfully in my direction. ‘I have something for you, Eve,’ she said. She went to the bureau and brought back the ring she had given me for my birthday.

‘Please take it as an apology for how badly I treated you.’ ‘You have nothing to apologise for,’ I told her firmly. ‘You did me a favour. You made me stand on my own feet.’

‘Do you think you might come back?’ she asked hopefully. ‘I miss you.’

I put the ring on my finger and showed it to her. ‘I’ll come back to visit, as a friend. A true friend.’ I looked around at the hideous furniture Sonia had palmed off onto her. ‘And I’ll help you sell these things and return your apartment back to how you liked it – the way it was before the war.’

‘But you thought it was so old-fashioned,’ said Lucile.

‘It doesn’t matter what I think. It’s your home. I’d like to see you happy here.’

Georges watched our exchange with a smile on his face. ‘I hope we shall come to visit you often, Aunt Lucile.’ Then pointing to a box of sterling silver buttons with a lady’s cameo portrait on them he said: ‘Now explain to us what all these buttons are and where they came from. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen these ones before.’

There was a knock at the door and Odette came into the room. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ she said. ‘Monsieur Camadeau, your maid is on the telephone.’

‘My maid?’ replied Georges. ‘What on earth has happened now?’

He went out into the hall and I heard him say, ‘Oh, I completely forgot about it. Thank you for reminding me. Yes, do lay out my suit. I shall be there shortly.’

Georges had overlooked some engagement, that much was clear. I was disappointed, because after all we’d been through, I was hoping to spend some time with him alone. I was still reeling from the shock that Martin La Farge was my uncle.

‘Eve, tonight is the Anglo-French Legal Conference dinner,’ said Georges, coming back into the room. ‘Are you still up to coming with me as my companion?’

‘I don’t have anything to wear.’

‘Yes, you do,’ said Lucile. ‘I didn’t give away any of your clothes. They are in your wardrobe, as well as your shoes.’

‘Good,’ said Georges to me. ‘Why don’t you get ready here? I’ll come back and pick you up in an hour.’

I had serious doubts about going to the dinner, but I didn’t want to disappoint him. I bathed and put on the silver and white lamé evening dress I had worn for Lucile’s fiftieth birthday party.

But when Georges picked me up in his car, nervous butterflies filled my stomach.

‘I don’t think I should go with you tonight,’ I told him. ‘They’ll celebrate you as the lawyer who saved the life of a Resistance hero. But me? They will still see me as the woman who created a scandal at the Fouquets’ ball.’

Georges glanced at me. ‘I think the Fouquets are the ones who should be embarrassed. They were funding a network to help high-profile Nazis escape from Europe. And, I should remind you, that it was you with your dogged determination that saved Serge.’

‘To be Serge Lavertu’s daughter is something to be proud of,’ I said, ‘but I’m plagued by shame at being Martin La Farge’s niece. I went to the library yesterday and looked up Marcus Aurelius. I wanted to know why his statue was outside my ancestral home. I never found that out, but I did discover a quote by him that I wrote down: “The best revenge is to not be like your enemy.” I think that’s what I have to do. To make sure I in no way resemble the other members of the La Farge family.’

‘Eve, we have been over this a dozen times,’ Georges said, reaching across and squeezing my arm briefly before taking the wheel again. ‘What La Farge has done has nothing to do with you.’ Then after a moment’s reflection and with a smirk, he added, ‘On the plus side, you are also related to Marthe and Cyrille de Villiers. Just think of that!’

‘I’d rather not!’ I cried.

‘Well, please stop obsessing that you are some sort of liability to my reputation. I shall be very proud to introduce the associate who worked with me on the most intriguing legal case of the year. Besides, you look very beautiful, and it would be a terrible waste for you to sit at home in that dress.’

I looked out at the view of Paris and the Jardin des Tuileries as we passed by. My life and my beliefs about it had been challenged in the last couple of months. I wasn’t the same cynical young woman I had been when I first came to Paris. A brief picture of Anthony flashed up in my mind, but I pushed it away. ‘That sounded almost sentimental, Georges,’ I said. ‘I thought you were against sentimental attachments?’

He laughed. ‘Did I say such a thing, Eve? What a fool I am. Besides, I should remind you, it was you who resisted me.’

‘I didn’t want to make the same mistake with you that my mother did with Serge, and destroy a friendship that means more to me than gold.’

Georges turned the corner and the grand H?tel du Louvre appeared before us, its second Empire fa?ade shimmering in the fading evening light. He stopped the car and gave his keys to the valet before opening the door for me.

‘Life isn’t as straightforward as we would like it to be,’ he said, guiding me up the red carpet to the entrance. ‘The results of any endeavour can be quite unpredictable. Often we don’t know how things will turn out until we try.’

Spectacular was the word to describe the glittering ballroom we were ushered into by the hotel attendant. My eyes took in the elegant marble columns and gold chandeliers. Tables covered in heavenly white cloths circled a dance floor, and a band was playing Cole Porter songs. The guests were exquisitely turned out in satin and silk. Paris was ready to be glamorous again.

But as Georges and I made our way to our table across the other side of the room, the stares began. There were subdued gasps of surprise and whispers. People moved back at our approach. A sense of humiliation crept across my skin. It was exactly the derision I had feared. They meant to cut me.

Then the room fell completely silent. I stopped in my tracks, mortified. I was a tarred woman, and nothing could save my reputation, not even the company of a celebrated lawyer. I wanted to turn and run away, like Cinderella fleeing the ball. The fairy-tale heroine had been sensible enough to know she was out of her depth.

‘Please, let’s go,’ I begged Georges.

Suddenly, from the silence, came the sound of someone clapping. They were joined by another and then another as people turned around or rose to their feet. Soon the entire room had burst into applause. It was so loud it sounded as if it was bouncing off the walls. Georges and I had no other choice but to acknowledge the veneration with slight bows. I felt both elated and humbled.

‘And there we have it,’ said Georges, turning to me. ‘What I have been trying to explain to you all along. Despite all protestations to the contrary, there is nothing Parisian society appreciates more than a truly memorable scandal.’

The band began to play ‘Let’s Do It (Let’s Fall in Love)’. Couples made their way to the dance floor.

Georges offered his hand. ‘I think they are playing our song,’ he said. ‘Shall we dance, Mademoiselle Archer?’

I took his hand and let him lead me out onto the dance floor. He was right, of course. The results of any endeavour can be quite unpredictable. Often we don’t know how things will turn out until we try.

‘Yes, Monsieur Camadeau,’ I said, leaning into his embrace as we moved to the music. ‘I think we should.’