A Week in Paris (19 page)

Kitty glanced about. Ahead, a field of scrubby green corn rolled away. At the far side was a church tower, a few scattered houses. Passengers milled beside the track, uncertain what to do next, waiting for instructions that didn’t come. Some stood motionless, staring towards the front of the train. When Kitty looked for the object of their gaze she drew in a breath of alarm. Far ahead, the sky hung heavy with a swirling dark fog. As she watched, rockets of flame burst through it, orange and purple, like an evil sunset.

‘
Les Boches
,’ people were murmuring to one another fearfully. Children began to cry and their mothers shushed them. Beside Kitty, the old lady muttered, ‘
Mon Dieu
,’ and crossed herself. In the confusion, it took time to register another noise in the distance. It was the heavy moan of engines above. They were coming nearer and nearer. Suddenly, overhead there appeared great grey shapes, half a dozen of them, trailing plumes of acrid smoke, filling the sky like malevolent insects.

People screamed in horror and suddenly everyone was seizing children, abandoning cases and plunging into the soft soil of the cornfield. Kitty ran too, with Fay clamped, struggling, to her shoulder. The yellowing stalks knifed her legs as she passed and the sharp scent of sap rose all around.

The planes dropped low and followed them in a rush of hot choking wind. Then came the deafening hammer of gunfire. Shouts turned to screams, high-pitched, animal. Some stumbled but staggered on. Others simply dropped in their tracks. Kitty saw the old lady stop to fuss with her dog, but when she went to help, the woman sent her away. Kitty left her crouched in the cornfield, soothing the animal, her fur coat spread about her like a mantle as the bullets darted down.

Kitty ran on as her breath rasped in her chest. Fay clutched on for dear life, her eyes creased tight shut, her mouth open in an anguished screaming O. Then, mercifully, the planes seemed to tire of their sport for suddenly, as one, they swerved up and away, continuing their journey towards the hellish distant smoke. The train and the helpless refugees must have been a momentary dalliance on their way to more serious business. Now, up ahead, at the far edge of the field, Kitty could see a line of villagers hurrying to meet them. And the church bell began to toll, in furious, urgent tones. She set off once more, the full horror of their situation only now breaking on her, her knees beginning to buckle from exhaustion and the shock.

They were led with many other survivors to shelter in the church, with the bell still clanging in their ears. Fay hated the sound – she screamed and screamed as Kitty paced, trying to calm her. Finally it stopped as suddenly as it had begun and when the last echo died away, Fay sobbed for a while before falling into a deep slumber, from which she did not stir for some hours. Still Kitty paced with her, but this time it was to calm herself.

All around the church the wounded were being brought in on makeshift stretchers and laid on the floor, near the altar or in the aisles – anywhere there was a space. There was only one doctor, it appeared, a grizzled man with a pointed beard, who bent stiffly to tend to the worst injured. She saw the brown-eyed family thronged round a small figure on the ground, glimpsed a chubby arm thrown out as in sleep and turned away, not wanting to know any more. The doctor called out for ambulances to be summoned, but it became clear that no ambulances would be found. Kitty scanned the crowd for the old lady, but couldn’t see her.

Time passed agonizingly slowly. If somebody died, the body was covered up and carried outside. Beyond the door she glimpsed the horrifying rows of the dead. She could not bring herself to go and see if the dowager was amongst them. Village women came with soup and thin mattresses. As night fell she settled herself and Fay as best she could. When she awoke at dawn, Fay was sleeping, but the old lady’s dog was nuzzling her face with its cold nose. It pressed itself against her, shivering, its huge eyes full of fear.

1961

‘Your mother told me,’ Mme Ramond went on, her voice sombre, ‘how the next day, most of those who were able to walk were reunited with their luggage, and shepherded on foot to the nearest station. From there, another train took them back to Paris. The train they’d been on,’ she added quickly, seeing Fay’s expression of surprise, ‘had been damaged in the air raid, and anyway would not have been able to continue because of the fighting ahead. The German forces were tightening their noose around Paris. Your mother had left it too late to leave.’

‘So we were trapped here,’ Fay whispered. The realization that she’d been present through these terrifying events was still dawning on her. She’d remembered nothing, of course, she had been too young. Yet, perhaps there was something. That bell in Notre Dame on the school trip. The panic it had awoken in her. Maybe she had been remembering a different bell. She explained this to Mme Ramond now.

‘I thought it was something about Notre Dame itself that frightened me,’ she ended up. ‘But perhaps I had been mixing up the two experiences. Do you think that could happen?’

Mme Ramond frowned. ‘Possibly, though I’m sure you were correct to think you had visited Notre Dame before. Its atmosphere makes an impression, does it not, even on the very young. The beautiful colours of the windows, the incense, the whispering darkness. The priests know well the power of these things.’

‘What happened next?’ Fay asked. ‘After we returned to Paris?’

Mme Ramond leaned back in her seat and resumed her story.

June 1940

The Paris to which Kitty and Fay returned felt empty and abandoned. It was, however, far from silent. From time to time, dull explosions could be heard in the distance and pillars of black smoke rose into the limitless blue sky. A shower of fine soot like black snow was falling, dusting their heads and shoulders. Hungry, dirty and exhausted, they took refuge in a café before attempting the next part of the journey. The big sad-eyed proprietor explained as he brought Fay warm milk that the French army were blowing up fuel-storage depots.

‘It’s to stop the Germans getting their hands on the fuel. They’ll be here soon, I expect.’

‘I hope not,’ Kitty said, sounding heartier than she felt.

‘Hope is all we have left,’ he said, pulling at his moustache. ‘The government has abandoned us, the rich people have run like rats. We ordinary people are left to our fate.’ He raised his great hands in a lugubrious gesture of defeat.

‘What made you stay?’

He looked around proudly at his neat café with its shining zinc counter, the pastries arranged on doilies in a gleaming glass case. ‘I worked hard for this place. It is all I have. I cannot leave it that easily.’

‘Well, I’m certainly glad you haven’t gone,’ she said with feeling.

After lunch Kitty tried to telephone the hospital, but the operator said the line was dead. There being no sign of a cab, she followed the café-owner’s advice and took the Métro home. There was a long wait for a train, and when it came it was empty. A ghost train stopping at empty stations in a ghost city. At a kiosk, when they came out onto the street at the Gare d’Orsay, was a newspaper billboard. Kitty stared at it for a few seconds, not quite understanding the headline on it, then hurried on her way, desperate to get home.

When she reached the apartment she cursed herself. She’d left her key with Gene. There was no sign of the concierge, who kept a spare, and upstairs, as she feared, there was no answer to her knock. Fay started to cry with weariness, and the old man who lived next door came out to see what was going on. He was a shy but kindly sort. He couldn’t help her gain access to her flat, but he agreed to look after Kitty’s case whilst she went to find Gene. If the phone lines were down there was nothing for it but to go by Métro to the hospital in the west of the city.

At Neuilly, Kitty had to walk a long way in the heat, carrying a complaining Fay past fine houses all shuttered and deserted. And yet not everyone had gone. Kitty smiled at a small boy sitting by himself on the steps of one house, playing with tin cars. An old drunk passed them wearing an ancient military jacket arrayed with medals and singing a marching song in a thin cracked voice. He paused briefly to greet them with a fumbled salute.

When Kitty turned into the elegant drive to the hospital, it was to discover a large, jostling crowd of people surging around the entrance to the building. As she approached, she began to wonder how on earth she would get through. Fortunately she spotted a young American doctor she knew slightly loitering at the top of the steps, smoking and looking down on proceedings. She waved and managed to catch his eye. His eyebrows shot up in surprise. He tossed away the cigarette, then pushed through the crowd to meet her.

‘Mrs Knox, what the hell are you doing? We thought you’d left Paris.’

‘We did, or rather we tried to,’ she said wearily. ‘Alex, I must find Gene. Who are all these people?’

‘It’s crazy, isn’t it?’ He gripped her arm and began to steer her towards the entrance, talking all the while. ‘It’s been like this for the past couple days. Brits, Canadians, anyone with no money and nowhere to run. I don’t know what they’re going to do. We can’t give ’em all jobs.’

As they gained the coolness of the reception area, Fay began to whimper, twisting and turning impatiently in her mother’s arms. Kitty tried to soothe her.

‘Thank you for rescuing us,’ she told the young doctor.

‘My pleasure. Gene should be down here.’ He led them along a corridor, eventually stopping at a turning that led to one of the wards. ‘This is it. Will you be all right? I must get back to my post. Ask that pretty Sister if you can’t find him, she’ll sort you out.’ Kitty thanked him. He ruffled Fay’s hair and was gone.

In the ward the nurses were all busy, but suddenly Kitty saw Gene and relief flooded through her. Something stopped her, however, from hurrying towards him. He was sitting by a bed in which lay a man, quite a young man, it struck her, though it was difficult to be certain as the upper part of his face was hidden by bandages. Gene was leaning forward, a hand clasping one of the boy’s as he concentrated on what the lad was saying, and then he spoke quietly to him in reply. He didn’t see Kitty, who stood touched by his compassion, the time and care he took with this distressed young man, though he must have had many other patients to see. Then Fay, catching sight of her daddy, gave an impatient cry and he looked up and saw them and his face changed.

‘Kitty.’ It was hard for her to see his shock and dismay. He murmured something to the young man and hurried over. She almost fell into his arms.

‘I’m sorry, we left it too late, after all. It’s been so frightening, I can’t tell you,’ she gasped, just managing to stifle a sob. But already she felt better in the knowledge that she no longer needed to cope all on her own. It felt safe just being here with him.

Gene took Fay from her and put his arm round his wife, holding her close until she was calmer, then he led her out of the ward and into a little side room that was used as an office. Here they sat talking whilst an orderly brought Kitty tea and Fay milk in a bottle. Despite interruptions from the Ward Sister, Kitty unburdened herself of her story, telling him how they’d only been able to reach the outskirts of the city before German planes attacked the train, the awfulness of the aftermath, how they’d passed the body of the old lady, wrapped in her fur coat outside the church. Fay reached for her father, then snuggled into his shoulder and with one small sigh fell deeply asleep.

‘My poor darling,’ Gene murmured, bending to place a light kiss on Kitty’s cheek, but despite the reassurance of his words she sensed he was worried. ‘Whatever happens, we’ll face it together. Though I wish to God you were both safe home in Britain with your uncle.’

‘Safe,’ Kitty repeated. ‘Maybe we wouldn’t have been safe. Anything could have happened.’ She shuddered. ‘We might not have made it to Bordeaux, or found a place on the boat or . . . oh, a hundred things. I’d rather be here with you.’ Then she remembered something. ‘Gene, earlier I read a newspaper headline. Something about Paris being declared an open city. What does that mean?’

He frowned and moved Fay into an easier position in his arms before answering. ‘It’s hard to believe, but that is what has been agreed. The Germans will walk in unopposed. In return there will be no violence, no destruction. We’ve got our Ambassador Bullitt to thank for that. What it means for Brits like that poor guy out there, I’m sure I don’t know.’

‘He’s English?’

‘He’s from Cardiff. That’s Wales, right? Our guys picked him up outside Rouen. His plane had been shot down. If he pulls through then we have to figure a way to get him home.’

‘The Germans wouldn’t come into the hospital, surely?’

Gene pushed his fingers through his hair. ‘We’ve been assured by the Embassy that they won’t, but nothing is guaranteed. Now Kitty, don’t worry about him. It’s you we’ve got to think about. If you’ll take Fay, I’ll find a car for you.’ He rose and gently handed over the sleeping child, then spoke quietly into a phone to make the arrangement.

A few minutes later, he led Kitty down by a back staircase to the waiting car, to avoid the crowds. ‘Now please don’t be anxious. I’ll be home as soon as I can, but you’ve seen what it’s like here.’

She nodded and they embraced quickly before he opened the car door and helped her and Fay inside. Then he waited to wave them off. How different it was from the time before. Now she knew she’d see him that evening.

The car had started to move before she remembered. ‘Stop!’ she cried, and wound down the window. ‘Gene,’ she shouted back to him. ‘I need a door key!’

In the still heat of the apartment, Fay slept on. Kitty unpacked then tried to doze on the sofa while she waited for the baby to wake so that they could go out to buy some food, but she was too wound up to sleep. Everything was too quiet, and every few minutes she would get up and go to the open window to stare down at the empty street. The sun beat down and the air was thick and oppressive.