The Girl You Left Behind

people.’
    His silence made me bolder. I lowered my
     voice. ‘I know you are a powerful man. I know you have influence. If you say he
     should be released, he will be released. Please.’
    ‘You don’t know what
     you’re asking.’
    ‘I know that if he has to stay there he
     will die.’
    The faintest flicker behind his eyes.
    ‘I know you are a gentleman. A
     scholar. I know you care about art. Surely to save an artist you admire would be
     –’ My words faltered. I took a step forward. I put a hand out and touched his arm.
     ‘Herr Kommandant. Please. You know I would not ask you for anything but I beg you
     for this. Please, please, help me.’
    He looked so grave. And then he did
     something unexpected. He lifted a hand and lightly moved a strand of my hair from my
     face. He did it gently, meditatively, as if this was something he had imagined for some
     time. I hid my shock and kept perfectly still.
    ‘Sophie …’
    ‘I will give you the painting,’
     I said. ‘The one you like so much.’
    He dropped his hand. He let out a sigh, and
     turned away.
    ‘It is the most precious thing I
     have.’
    ‘Go home, Madame
     Lefèvre.’
    A small knot of panic began to form in my
     chest.
    ‘What must I do?’
    ‘Go home. Take the children and go
     home.’
    ‘Anything. If you can free my husband,
     I’ll do anything.’ My voice echoed across the woodland. I felt
     Édouard’s only chance slipping away from me. He kept walking. ‘Did you
     hear what I said, Herr Kommandant?’
    He swung back then, his expression suddenly
     furious. He strode towards me and only stopped when his face was inches from mine. I
     could feel his breath on my face. I could see the girls from the corner of my eye, rigid
     with anxiety. I would not show fear.
    He gazed at me, and then he lowered his
     voice. ‘Sophie …’ He glanced behind him at them. ‘Sophie, I – I
     have not seen my wife in almost three years.’
    ‘I have not seen my husband for
     two.’
    ‘You must know … you must
     know that what you ask of me …’ He turned away from me, as if he were
     determined not to look at my face.
    I swallowed. ‘I am offering you a
     painting, Herr Kommandant.’
    A small tic had begun in his jaw. He stared
     at a point somewhere past my right shoulder, and then he began to walk away again.
     ‘Madame. You are either very foolish or very … ’
    ‘Will it buy my husband his freedom?
     Will … will I buy my husband his freedom?’
    He turned back, his face anguished, as if I
     was forcing him to do something he didn’t want to do. He stared fixedly at his
     boots. Finally he took two paces back towards me, just close enough that he could speak
     without being overheard.
    ‘Tomorrow night. Come to me at the
     barracks. After you have finished at the hotel.’
    We walked hand in hand back round the
     paths, to avoid going through the square, and by the time we reached Le Coq Rouge our
     skirts were covered with mud. The girls were silent, even though I attempted to reassure
     them that the German man had just been upset because he had no pigeons to shoot. I made
     them a warm drink, then went to my room and closed the door.
    I lay down on my bed and put my hands over
     my eyes to block out the light. I stayed there for perhaps half anhour. Then I rose, pulled my blue wool dress from the wardrobe, and laid it across the
     bed. Édouard had always said I looked like a schoolmistress in it. He said it as
     though being a schoolmistress might be a rather wonderful thing. I removed my muddy grey
     dress, leaving it to fall on to the floor. I took off my thick underskirt, the hem of
     which was also spattered with mud, so that I was wearing only my petticoat and chemise.
     I removed my corset, then my undergarments. The room was cold, but I was oblivious to
     it.
    I stood before the looking-glass.
    I had not looked at my body for months; I
     had had no reason to. Now the shape that stood before me in the mottled glass seemed to
     be that of a stranger. I appeared to be half the width I had been; my breasts had fallen
     and grown smaller, no longer great ripe orbs of pale flesh. My bottom too. And I was
     thin, my skin now hinting at the bones underneath: collar bone, shoulder and rib all
     forced their way to prominence. Even my hair, once bright with colour, seemed dull.
    I stepped closer and examined my face: the
     shadows under my eyes, the faint frown line between my brows. I shivered, but not