As he prepared for bed Georges considered what his father had told him about the state of his business affairs. Emile had never confided in his son before and he was so obviously preoccupied with his problems that Georges decided not to mention his other piece of news until a more propitious moment. He thought his mother would be pleased with what he had to tell them, indeed he was tempted to confide in her first, but he knew his father must be told before or at least at the same time as she.
Sylvie. Beautiful Sylvie. At the very thought of her Georges felt the blood drum in his head and knew a physical ache for the feel of her: the silky softness of her dark hair piled with demure correctness on her head yet from which a few tendrils escaped to curl so enchantingly at her ears: her smooth skin and her laughing eyes which teased and tempted him as he lay ill in her father’s house. In his matter-of-fact account of his illness and convalescence in the home of the Claviets, Georges had done no more than mention Sylvie in passing; he had not spoken of his love for her nor that it was returned.
He had not told of her calm reassurance and understanding when, assailed by nightmares, he would wake crying aloud, covered in cold sweat and shaking. Gently soothing, she would be at his bedside to wipe his face and hands and soothe his fears. He had not told of the hours she spent reading to him while he still lacked the energy to read to himself; nor of the endless games of chess and backgammon they played when he was well enough to be propped up with pillows. Sylvie. Little Sylvie whom he loved with an intensity he would have considered impossible last summer. His previous loves, so many and varied, slipped from his memory and Sylvie filled his heart and mind. He had asked her father’s permission to address her and when he had proposed, he was enchanted when she cried out, ‘Oh, Georges, what a time you have been coming to the point! I was beginning to think you didn’t love me after all.’ She had held up her face to be kissed and he had pulled her into his arms with a passion which enflamed them both.
What his father would think of his marrying the daughter of a country lawyer Georges did not know, but he was sure his mother would not mind provided she knew Georges was happy. Sylvie had saved his life, that was all Maman would need to know.
Georges’s reveries were interrupted by a soft tap on the door. He opened it to find Hélène outside on the landing, dressed in her nightgown with a shawl thrown over her shoulders.
‘Can I come in, Georges? Can I come in for a while and talk?’
Georges smiled down at her. ‘It’s very late, Hélène.’
‘Just a few minutes. Please? You’ll be off tomorrow and goodness knows when we’ll see you again.’
Georges let her into the room and installed her on the bed, wrapping an eiderdown about her.
‘Just for a minute or two, then you must go back to bed. You look very tired.’
‘Tell me what’s going on in the city,’ begged Hélène once she was comfortable. ‘We’re not allowed out any more, especially since I went to the parade.’ And she recounted her adventure to Georges. Georges laughed when he heard about the fruit and vegetable throwing but he was serious by the end of her tale.
‘I can see why you wanted to go, Hélène, but it was a very dangerous thing to do. No wonder Papa and Maman were so angry.’ Safely at a distance now from their rage, Hélène was able to smile at it, but Georges went on seriously. ‘It would be even more foolish to try and repeat the exercise,’ he warned. ‘There are so many soldiers with no barracks just living in the parks, it would be very dangerous for you to go out now.’
‘I won’t,’ promised Hélène. ‘But,’ she confided, positive her adored brother would not tell her parents, ‘Jeannot still comes here sometimes. I saw him one day. He’d come to see Pierre in the stables. He told me about the Fédérés.’
‘Did he indeed,’ replied Georges.
‘Well, not since we went out,’ conceded Hélène. ‘Last time I only saw him for a few moments, but I’m going to ask him more when I see him again.’
‘I don’t think he should be coming here at all,’ said Georges. ‘Papa dismissed him for leading you into danger.’
‘But he’s nowhere else to go,’ pointed out Hélène. ‘He’s got no home and no family. Pierre just gives him a meal from time to time, that’s all.’
‘Well, I don’t think you ought to go down and meet him. Maman would be most distressed if she found out.’ Georges’s tone was severe.
‘You won’t tell, will you?’ begged Hélène. ‘I wouldn’t have told you if I’d thought you’d tell.’
‘No, I won’t tell,’ agreed Georges, ‘this time. But you’re to promise not to meet this boy again.’
Hélène hesitated, looking mulish.
‘If you don’t promise, I shall have to tell,’ said Georges, ‘and that will get Pierre into trouble too.’
‘All right,’ said Hélène grudgingly, and crossing her fingers under the eiderdown, added, ‘I promise.’
‘Good girl,’ approved Georges and made a mental note to speak to Pierre on the subject of Jeannot. Anxious to turn to a more cheerful topic he went on, ‘Anyway, you may not be staying in Paris much longer, you may be going back to St Etienne.’
Hélène’s eyes lit up. ‘Do you think we might? I hate being shut in here with nothing to do.’
‘Well,’ said Georges, ‘I advised Papa that he should take you all, but—’
‘You advised Papa!’ Hélène gave a shout of laughter at the thought of anyone telling her papa what to do. ‘Will he take your advice?’
‘Hush,’ grinned Georges. ‘You’ll wake them all. I don’t know if he will, but as I shouldn’t have mentioned the subject to you in the first place, you’ll oblige me by being as surprised as the others if and when he makes the announcement. Now, tell me what else you’ve been doing apart from showing the German army your displeasure!’
Hélène sat cocooned in the eiderdown for another half an hour chattering on about her days, but even as she did so she became increasingly aware of an ache behind her eyes and an insistent throbbing in her head. She shivered suddenly and Georges said, ‘Come on, back to bed, you’re getting cold.’ He picked her up in his arms and she nestled against him as he carried her along to the room she shared with Clarice. Clarice was sound asleep, a soft-breathing mound beneath the bedclothes as Georges crept into the room carrying Hélène. He put her into bed and tucked the bedclothes round her. Hélène reached up to hug him and he felt her cheek hot against his own.
‘It’s been lovely having you home, Georges,’ she whispered. ‘Be careful, won’t you?’
Georges returned her hug. ‘Don’t worry about me, chérie, but you remember what I said – no more tricks like the Prussian parade, hein, and no more meeting Jeannot.’
Hélène smiled. ‘I promise. And I’ll be as surprised as anything when Maman tells us about St Etienne.’
Georges grinned. ‘You do that,’ he said, and stealing silently from the room he left her to sleep.
*
That night Rosalie lay in bed unable to sleep as she went over what Georges had been telling them. Two generals murdered by the mob! Surely the army would bring those men to justice, wouldn’t they? Surely the mob wasn’t completely out of control. Even as she lay there, alone in her bed, she thought she could hear distant shouting, then a shot rang out, and the sound of running feet. She felt a stab of fear. Had some of the rioters come into their quiet neighbourhood? She crept out of bed and peeped through the window. She could see no one, but the sounds in the night had heightened her fears. She went back to bed and pulling the covers up round her ears, tried once more to go to sleep, determined that whatever Emile said in the morning, she and the children would take the train and return to the country.