The Girl You Left Behind

black or flashy scarlet, wide brims trimmed with fur or lace.
     Marabou shivered in the disturbed air. The room smelt of dried roses. The woman who
     emerged from the back was wearing a satin hobble skirt; the most fashionable garment on
     the streets of Paris.
    ‘Can I help you?’ Her eyes
     travelled over my three-year-old coat and windblown hair.
    ‘My wife needs a hat.’
    I wanted to stop him then. I wanted to tell
     him that if he insisted on buying me a hat we could go to La Femme Marché, that I
     might even be able to get a discount. He had no idea that this place was a
     couturier’s salon, beyond the realms of women like me.
    ‘Édouard, I –’
    ‘A really special hat.’
    ‘Certainly, sir. Did you have anything
     in mind?’
    ‘Something like this one.’ He
     pointed at a huge, dark red wide-brimmed Directoire-styled hat trimmed with black
     marabou. Dyed black peacock feathers arced in a spray across its brim.
    ‘Édouard, you cannot be
     serious,’ I murmured. But she had already lifted it reverently from its place, and
     as I stood gaping at him, she placed it carefully on my head, tucking my hair behind my
     collar.
    ‘I think it would look better if
     Madame removed her scarf.’ She positioned me in front of the mirror and unwound my
     scarf with such care that it might have been made of spun gold. I barely felt her. The
     hat changed my face completely. I looked, for the first time in my life, like one of the
     women I used to serve.
    ‘Your husband has a good eye,’
     the woman said.
    ‘That’s the one,’
     Édouard said happily.
    ‘Édouard.’ I pulled him to
     one side, my voice low and alarmed. ‘Look at the label. It is the price of three
     of your paintings.’
    ‘I don’t care. I want you to
     have the hat.’
    ‘But you will resent it. You will
     resent me. You should spend the money on materials, on canvases. This is – it’s
     not me.’
    He cut me off. He motioned to the woman.
     ‘I’ll take it.’
    And then, as she instructed her assistant to
     fetch a box, he turned back to my reflection. He ran his hand lightly down the side of
     my neck, bent my head gently to one side, and met my eye in the mirror. Then, the hat
     tilting,he dropped his head and kissed my neck where it met my
     shoulder. His mouth stayed there long enough for me to colour, and for the two women to
     look away in shock and pretend to busy themselves. When I lifted my head again, my gaze
     a little unfocused, he was still watching me in the mirror.
    ‘It is you, Sophie,’ he said,
     softly. ‘It is always you …’
    That hat was still in our apartment in
     Paris. A million miles out of reach.
    I set my jaw, walked away from the mirror
     and began to dress myself in the blue wool.
    I told Hélène after the last
     German officer had left that evening. We were sweeping the floor of the restaurant,
     dusting the last of the crumbs from the tables. Not that there were many: even the
     Germans tended to pick up any strays, these days – the rations seemed to leave everyone
     wishing for more. I stood, my broom in my hand, and asked her quietly to stop for a
     moment. Then I told her about my walk in the wood, what I had asked of the
Kommandant
and what he had asked in return.
    She blanched. ‘You did not agree to
     it?’
    ‘I said nothing.’
    ‘Oh, thank God.’ She shook her
     head, her hand against her cheek. ‘Thank God he cannot hold you to
     anything.’
    ‘But … that does not mean I
     won’t go.’
    My sister sat down abruptly at a table, and
     after a moment I slid into the seat opposite her. She thought briefly, then took my
     hands. ‘Sophie, I know you are panicked but you must think about what you are
     saying. Thinkof what they did to Liliane. You would really give
     yourself to a German?’
    ‘I … have not promised as
     much.’
    She stared at me.
    ‘I think … the
Kommandant
is honourable in his way. And, besides, he may not even want me
     to … He didn’t say that in so many words.’
    ‘Oh, you cannot be so naïve!’
     She raised her hands heavenwards. ‘The
Kommandant
shot an innocent man
     dead! You watched him smash the head of one of his own men into a wall for the most
     minor misdemeanour! And you would go alone into his quarters? You cannot do this!
     Think!’
    ‘I have thought about little else. The
Kommandant
likes me. I think he respects me, in his way. And if I do not do
     this Édouard will surely die. You know what happens in