Here are the photographs that Papa took which I promised to send you. Christophe has stolen one of the ones of you in your ball gown and I know he keeps it beneath his pillow! Of all of us, he misses you the most. Maybe he tells you this in the long letters he writes you – he won’t let on what’s in them – or maybe he’s a typical boy who finds it impossible to communicate the truly important things! Don’t tell him I said so: he’s touchy enough on the subject of Ella-from-Edinburgh as it is.
Je t’embrasse, my dear friend.
Bisous, Caroline xx
3 rue des Arcades,
Paris
1 January 1939
Dear Ella,
Bonne année! Let us hope that 1939 brings peace and prosperity for all, although Paris is still being flooded with refugees from the east who are worried that Germany is once again getting too big for its boots. Surely, though, no one wants another war and sense will reign before anything serious develops? Christophe is more pessimistic, but then he is constantly in a bad mood these days, as he detests his job at the bank and misses being with the girl he loves.
At least now we have your visit confirmed for August, and that is something we are all looking forward to. And I especially, for three reasons: reason number 1: I will be able to see my darling friend and show her Paris; reason number 2: we will go to the Île de Ré again; reason number 3: my poor brother will stop moping around the house like a lovesick puppy and cheer up at last.
Maman and Papa send you their love, as do I. (I would send you Christophe’s too, but I know he does that himself – and anyway, I don’t think I could find an envelope big enough to hold it all!)
Your friend,
Caroline xx
Paris
5 July 1939
Ma Chère Ella,
I’m sending you this postcard of the Mona Lisa to whet your appetite for your visit to Paris, I can’t wait to introduce you to her, the Louvre’s most famous inhabitant with her enigmatic smile . . . I’m allowed to work on real paintings now (nothing as important as this one yet, of course), and when you come I will show you ‘my’ cherub in the bottom corner of a work by an unknown renaissance artist: fame at last!
A bientôt (how happy it makes me to write those words!)
Caroline xx
1939, Paris
Ella felt quite the seasoned traveller as she stepped down from the train on to the platform, carrying her cream leather overnight case once again. She scanned the faces in the crowd that surged past her on all sides, eagerly searching for Christophe and Caroline who had promised they’d be here to meet her.
A porter brought the rest of her luggage and set it down beside her. The early August air was hot and stagnant. She breathed in the smell of Paris – a smell distinctively different from the air of Edinburgh or London, composed of coffee and cigarette smoke mingled with top notes of French perfume and a pungent undercurrent of drains. She shrugged off the cardigan that she’d worn to board the train in Edinburgh and stuffed it into her case.
Seconds passed, each one seeming unbearably long as she stood, a sole still point amidst the milling of the crowd, trying not to listen to the niggling voice of doubt within that murmured, ‘What if he doesn’t come? What if he’s fallen in love with someone else? What if it was only the magic of summer on the island that made him feel that way and it’ll all be different in the clear light of a Paris summer’s day?’
And then she spotted him, pushing his way up the platform towards her, determinedly swimming up-stream to where she stood. She ran to him, letting herself be carried in the flow of the crowd, and flung her arms around his neck. All doubts disappeared, dissolving like sea-mist in the sun’s warmth, as he kissed her. The months apart fell away and memories of their last night on the Île de Ré flooded back as Ella buried her fingers in his hair and felt the heat of his lips on hers. In that moment she knew with complete certainty that space and time could never keep them apart: no matter whether it was on a wind-swept beach, or a city street, or a hot and grimy station platform surrounded by disapproving fellow-passengers, they belonged together, two halves of a perfect whole. She smiled up at him and saw the same absolute certainty written in his eyes too.
‘Where is Caroline?’ she asked, as he picked up her luggage in one hand and encircled her waist with the other, drawing her close to his side as they walked slowly towards the exit, the last two figures left on the platform.
‘She’s waiting for us in a salon de thé just across the road. She decided to allow me to meet you on my own, as long as I promised to bring you straight there.’ He grinned. ‘She told me I could have the first five minutes of your company to myself, but hereafter I have to share you with her for the remainder of your stay.’
They crossed the busy street, making for the windows of the tea room opposite. Ella pushed open the door and was immediately enveloped by two things: the first was the delicious sugar-and-almond smell of fresh-baked macarons and the second was Caroline, who flung her arms around her long-awaited friend.
Laughing and chatting, breathless with happiness and the need to catch up with so much news immediately – despite having exchanged what Ella’s father referred to as ‘the daily despatches from across the Channel’ – they ordered fresh tea and a plate of cakes and Ella settled herself happily between her beloved friends.
Caroline poured golden Darjeeling tea into a china cup and passed it to Ella. ‘Here, have an éclair. They’re famous for them here. Now, tell us, did you pass the final tests? Are you officially a fully fledged secretary?’
Ella nodded, cutting into the choux pastry with her cake fork. ‘Mmm, you’re right. These are delicious. Yes, I passed. In fact I graduated with the fastest typing times in my class. My shorthand leaves a little to be desired though, but I’ve learnt enough to muddle through. I’ve told Mother that I’ll see about some job applications when I get back from France in the autumn, but I’m also planning on making some enquiries while I’m here, to see whether anything might be available. The British Embassy might have something. My parents don’t want me to venture further from Morningside than the New Town, so I thought I’d find out what the options might be for me in Paris before I break the news to them that I’m planning on coming here to live for a while. They’re worried enough about everything that’s going on in Europe at the moment as it is. Father says Germany makes him nervous, despite the fact that both Britain and France approved the move into Czechoslovakia.’
‘We understand their concerns.’ Caroline sipped her own tea and then carefully replaced her cup on its saucer. ‘Though, of course, you’ll have us here to support you. And you can stay with us for as long as you like. Maman and Papa will be pleased to have you.’
‘Tell me about the Louvre,’ Ella asked Caroline, and her eyes lit up with interest at the prospect of visiting the museum with all its treasures. Beneath the table, Christophe’s hand sought out hers and held it tight.
‘I can’t wait to show you around,’ Caroline replied. ‘The galleries themselves are fascinating, but it’s even more interesting seeing what goes on behind the scenes. Well, I think so, anyway.’
‘What are you working on at the moment?’
‘A small repair to an Italian Madonna by an unknown renaissance artist. At one point there was great excitement as we thought it might be a Fra Angelico, but now it’s merely attributed to his school. It’s still beautiful though.’
‘And the bank?’ Ella turned to Christophe, squeezing his hand beneath the damask tablecloth. ‘Has Monsieur Dupont forgiven you yet for spilling your coffee all over the ledger the other week?’
He sighed, forking another morsel of chocolate and cream into his mouth. ‘Non, he’s not exactly the forgiving type. What’s worse, of course, he told Papa so I got another lecture about my sloppiness and lack of application. But how can I apply myself to something I loathe? And, adding injury to insult, something that keeps me from my painting. How I envy you, Caroline.’
His sister nodded, wiping the corner of her mouth with her napkin. ‘I know. You tell me so every day,’ she sighed. ‘But you know Papa isn’t prepared to fund you as an artist. You need to stick at the bank for the time being, at least until you’ve saved up enough to be independent and then you can do as you wish. For the time being, try not to antagonise Papa even further. You know how worried he is. Let’s forget our woes while we have Ella with us and enjoy every moment of her stay.’