Page 1 of The Resistance Book Club

PROLOGUE

Red and gold autumn leaves skittered along the cobblestones past Margot’s bookshop, blown by the cold breeze. Inside, behind the jewel-bright panes of the door, the shop was welcoming and warm. The gleaming brass till behind the counter was momentarily unattended while Margot guided Madame Guerin, one of her most loyal customers, towards the polished shelves. There, a newly arrived edition ofThe Three Musketeersawaited its first reader.

‘I know it looks a bit thin,’ Margot apologised, slipping the narrow volume from the shelf. The cover was plain, almost apologetic. With a pang, she recalled the editions from before the German occupation, with their lively, swashbuckling covers. ‘But it’s such a fun book. Makes you forget about everything else.’

Madame Guerin’s salt-and-pepper curls bobbed as she nodded. ‘Which is exactly what we need these days!’

Margot turned to her friend Esther, who had popped in on her morning walk, with her daughter tucked up tightly in blankets in her pram.

‘Look at those little red cheeks!’ Margot cooed at the baby. ‘Like tiny apples.’

‘I read to Isabelle every night before she goes to sleep.’ Esther beamed, rocking the pram gently. ‘The Three Musketeerswas Daniel’s favourite book. Perhaps I’ll introduce her to the musketeers tonight.’

Busy polishing the shelves as though her life depended on it, Aunt Sandrine paused in her labours. She brandished the feather duster and exclaimed, ‘En garde!’, then hooted with laughter. ‘All those dashing young lads in one book! I could do with a few of them coming by Cordeval!’

Madame Guerin chuckled. ‘We could do with their courage, that’s for sure.’

The bell above the door rang and they all turned. Young Beatrice from across the road burst in from the street, breathless, clutching a newspaper. ‘Have you seen this?’

Her eyes wide, she held it up, the pages trembling. ‘The Nazis are burning books!’

BANNED BOOKS TO BURN IN ROUEN!the headline announced.

For a moment, no one spoke. Margot felt something cold settle under her ribs.

‘Burn them?’ she said, barely above a whisper. ‘They invaded our country…and now they’re burning our books. As if taking them away wasn’t enough.’

She reached for the folded list on the counter, theListe Otto.Names of books she knew, some of which she had grown up with. All banned by the Germans, and she’d had to take them down from her shelves.

Her grip tightened on the list. There had to be something they could do. Some way to fight back.

‘So we’ll read them anyway,’ Margot said, her voice trembling. ‘All these books listed here, we’ll read them. We’ll start a book club to talk about them. Who’s with me?’

Esther met her gaze firmly, her jaw set. ‘I will.’

‘And me!’ Beatrice said at once.

Madame Guerin closed the book in her hands with care. ‘Me too!’

‘Aunt Sandrine? Will you join our book club?’ Margot asked.

Aunt Sandrine gave a resolute nod as she set down her feather duster. ‘Oh, nothing would keep me away.’

A small, fragile smile passed between them all. Margot looked down at the list, then back at the women gathered in the warm, lamplit shop.

‘The Germans have taken away so much from us,’ she said. ‘But they can’t take away our stories. And they’re not getting the final word.’

ONE

LUCY

Cordeval, Normandy, Summer 2025

Lucy slid off her sunglasses, rubbing her eyes as the glare of the sun hit the narrow, cobbled street. The taxi had stopped outside her grandmother’s bookshop, and the scent of salt and seaweed drifted in from the harbour of the small fishing village. She shivered, though the heat was relentless.

The shop’s sign glimmered in curling gold letters across the whitewashed wall:Les Pages d’Espoir.Two rows of windows looked down from the flat above, geraniums spilling vivid crimson from their boxes, petals trembling in the warm, salt breeze. An oval attic window, like a wise owl’s eye, peered over it all.

Lucy’s hand lingered on the old, ornate brass key. It turned smoothly, almost as if the shop had been waiting for her, and she slowly pushed the door open. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass panels, scattering jewel-like colours across the wooden floor. The air smelled faintly of old paper and lavender.