China Blue (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 3) Madalyn Morgan (books to read in your 30s .TXT) 📖

and tree-lined. She took the first left, which Éric had told her was where his grandparents lived. She had to look for a tall arched window at the front. Most of the houses were three-storey and built of white stone. The upper windows had ornate black balconies; the lower and ground floor windows didn’t. On closer inspection Claire could see that most of them had once had balconies on the first and ground floor, but they had been removed. The further down the street she walked the more run down the houses became. Some had smashed windows, doors standing open, and the shutters of some were hanging off, exposing ragged curtains.

Claire stopped in front of the only house with an arched window and climbed the steps to a paint-chipped olive green door. She knocked, but there was no reply. After some minutes she knocked again. She was about to leave when the door opened.

‘Can I help you?’

‘Yes. My name is Claire LeBlanc. I am an associate of Madame Marron’s husband. I was fortunate enough to meet the Professor at the university where he works.’ A slight deviation from the truth, but I lived with her husband – under whatever circumstances – probably wouldn’t get her invited in to meet Madame Marron. She smiled and waited for the girl to decide whether she was going to ask her in or not. She was sure she’d said enough. If she hadn’t it was too bad. She wasn’t prepared to say anything else until she was sure she hadn’t knocked on the door of Nazi sympathisers.

‘Come in. I will see if Madame Marron is at home.’

The bare floorboards of the entrance hall creaked as Claire entered. Shooting Claire a sideways glance, the girl scurried across the unpolished floor and disappeared through a door on the right. Stairs leading from the centre of the hall rose steeply before branching left and right to landings with four doors on each side. The ceiling was high, with a circular pendant in the centre. It had once been a grand residence.

A minute or so later the girl returned. ‘Madame will see you. If you would like to wait in the salon,’ she said. Claire followed her into the room. ‘May I take your coat?’ It was sunny and warm outside, but the house felt damp and cold. Claire thought about keeping it on, but the girl was clearly suspicious of her, so she shrugged it off and smiled reassuringly. ‘Take a seat. Madame will be with you shortly.’ The maid did a little bob and left.

Claire perched on the edge of the nearest armchair and looked around. The shutters were almost closed but there was enough light to see that although the Turkish carpet was stained and threadbare in places, it would have cost a fortune in its day. The curtains, now frayed and hanging off their fittings, were thick velvet, and the tapestry-covered settee next to the chair she was sitting on was the best quality, or had been. A shame to let the place go like this, Claire thought. They might have lost everything in the Depression; many Parisians had. She looked along the wall of empty bookcases to a set of double doors and wondered where they led. Perhaps to more comfortable and better furnished rooms. She was pondering what lay beyond the doors when they opened.

‘Miss LeBlanc?’

Claire jumped up. ‘Yes, how do you do, Madame?’ She offered Madame Marron her hand, which the older woman shook with a guarded smile.

‘I understand you work with my husband?’

‘Yes.’ For the time being she would let Professor Marron’s wife think she worked at the university. To tell her the truth about how she knew her husband was unnecessary – and potentially dangerous. She would tell her the whys and wherefores if she got to know her better. She might even tell her about the work she was doing in France and that safe houses were needed in Paris, if she believed in a free France. With a husband like Professor Marron, it was hard to think she could believe in anything else.

‘Did you meet my children, Miss LeBlanc? Are they well?’

‘The children are very well. Éric is a charming young man. He likes his school. He excels at most of his studies and, as I’m sure you know, hopes to go to university.’

‘And my daughter?’

‘Mélanie is an amazing young woman. She is bright and pretty. She is very clever and has a mind of her own.’ Madame Marron nodded in agreement and laughed. ‘She misses you, of course, but she is a positive girl. She is certain that you will all be together when the war is over, if not before.’ Madame Marron took a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed her eyes.

‘And how is my husband?’ she whispered.

‘He works all the time. He is respected and liked at the university, by his colleagues and his students. We didn’t speak intimately, but his face changed from The Professor to loving father and husband when he spoke of you and the children.’

Madame Marron inhaled and closed her eyes. When she opened them she smiled. ‘Thank you, Miss LeBlanc.’

‘Please call me Claire.’

‘And I am Antoinette. I am pleased to meet you, and pleased to hear about Auguste and the children. I miss them so much. I came to Paris to pack up my parents’ house. We were going to follow my husband to England, but the German High Command stopped Jewish people from travelling, unless it was to work in labour camps for the good of the Fatherland. Many Jewish people have been sent to Germany, or Poland. Repatriation, they call it. They break down our doors and take us from our homes by force.’

‘But they have not taken you, thank goodness,’ Claire said.

‘I have my husband’s name. Marron is a very old French name. My