Dear Paul,
It is so dull now you’ve left. The house is as silent as the grave, which is wholly appropriate as Maman seems to be already in mourning for the loss of you. Don’t be absurd and do anything silly like die on me, darling brother – I would be very annoyed.
Father has been visiting the Hotel Avril a little more than usual but hides his feelings – and the whisky fumes – well … It is strangely quiet here all of a sudden, I’m often bored. My only entertainment is seeing Claudette Dubois pining for you when she moons about in the shop, doe-eyes staring out of that sad little face of hers. Honestly it’s rather repulsive – you must promise me never to marry her, even if you do become old and desperate to settle. As for me, I will definitely be dying an old maid as it seems all the men have left France. And I know it sounds selfish but I wish it would all be over so we could all enjoy a good dance and forget all this gloom.
Do you remember last summer when we snuck out to the little copse by the river and I lit my hair on fire with the gas lamp after you told me that terrifying ghost story and I was only saved when you had the sense to throw me in the river? I can’t remember ever laughing so hard. Oh, you see, you HAVE to come home soon as it is simply no fun without you.
Tell me news – is it terrible? Are you very scared? I know you probably wouldn’t admit it if you were, but I do hope you would be honest with me. Father says Hitler is heading east so maybe he will stay over there and won’t trouble us. I am terribly proud of you, brother dear, and I’m sending you a hundred kisses from here – let me know if we can send anything useful out to you – socks? (I could even try and darn some! ) Bonbons? Caramels? Whatever you want, I’ll make it my personal mission to acquire it.
Your loving sister, Isabelle