Page 48 of The Resistance Book Club

Sébastien leaned one elbow on the bar as Galette pottered over. He scratched the dog’s broad head and said, ‘Honestly, Lucy, I had so many teachers when I was a kid who couldn’t get through to me. I’m dyslexic and the more I couldn’t make sense of the books, the more frustrated I got.’ He smiled and admitted, ‘Gran got Arielle involved and I don’t know what it was, but she just got it. She was patient, but she didn’t take any crap, and she really helped me. I won’t pretend to be a big reader, but she got me straightened out. I was halfway to being kicked out of school before she and Gran made me their project.’

Odette nodded. ‘Arielle wanted everyone to love books as much as she and her mother did. When you bear in mind the Nazis even burned books in our village square, it’s no surprise – and I’ve always been curious about their book club. They were resisting in their own small way against the Germans, I know that much. But I don’t even know what books they read.’

‘They read books that were banned,’ Coralie explained. ‘That’s what my mum told me, anyway. Books the Nazis had burned. And they shared them with other people, so they wouldn’t be forgotten.’

Anouk gave an approving nod and murmured, ‘How cool is that?’

Lucy smiled. She’d had an idea.

‘Let’s bring the book club back!’ she announced. ‘All of us, the descendants of the women who were the original Resistance Book Club, who risked so much. Let’s get together and read the banned books, just like they did!’

‘Oh my God!’ Anouk exclaimed. ‘Yes!’

Odette and Sophie beamed.

‘Absolutely!’ Sophie replied. ‘See, you’re Arielle’s granddaughter all over!’

THIRTY-TWO

MARGOT

1941

The candles were flickering in the cellar again as Margot and her friends sat in a circle once more.

But one chair stood empty and Margot couldn’t bear to move it out.

She rocked Isabelle on her knee. It was the first book club meeting since Esther’s death, and her friends’ faces were pale, their eyes reddened.

They had all agreed that they’d help Margot care for Isabelle, moving her from house to house through the tunnels. Henriette had taken a notepad and a stubby pencil from her pocket and together they’d decided a schedule.

‘I will never forget her,’ Sylvie said, her voice strained. She fidgeted with the cuff of her coat. ‘We used to sit together for hours, chatting and gossiping as we sewed. She was so talented, you know. I told her, she should’ve gone to Paris – she would’ve found work at one of the couturiers. But she said her heart belonged here, in Cordeval.’

Sylvie stopped talking and dug in her pocket for a handkerchief.Margot knew exactly how she felt, because she was struggling to put a dear friend’s life into a few words. She couldn’t speak; her throat was tight with tears.

‘She used to come and help me if she saw me picking wildflowers on the cliff path,’ Colette reminisced with a sad smile. ‘Can’t bear the thought of going up there now.’

Margot would have to make sure that these stories were preserved somehow, so that one day Isabelle would come to know her mother. She had a pretty notebook upstairs with flowers on the cover; it’d be perfect to write all the stories in.

With a gentle smile, Aunt Sandrine offered Sylvie her own handkerchief, which she took and dabbed at her eyes.

The silence was broken by the sound of the door that led to the tunnels opening, ushering in the familiar scent of salty damp and the cool breeze that flowed through the village from the sea beyond. Beatrice slipped into the cellar, followed by her mother, who was scarcely lit by the candle flames before Aunt Sandrine was out of her seat.

‘How dare you come here?’ she snapped, jabbing her finger at Joséphine. ‘It’s because of that monster in your bed that this child has no mother!’

‘Don’t say that to her!’ Beatrice said fiercely, reaching out to cling to her mother’s hand. ‘You don’t know?—’

Joséphine hushed her daughter as Aunt Sandrine turned to the other women and said, ‘She’ll have usallshot if he’ll buy her another mink for the information!’

Margot got to her feet, still cradling Isabelle, who had started to whine. ‘Auntie, please—’ The other women glared at Joséphine, their pale faces taut with anger. ‘You must understand – Joséphine was her friend too. It’s not what you think.’

She caught Joséphine’s gaze, wondering if she should have said even that. But Esther had trusted the club enough to tell them that she and her husband were Chevalier. Perhaps Joséphine would trust them too.

‘He is a monster, you’re right,’ Joséphine said. ‘But he’s a monster who likes to show off; he’s a pillow talker, Sandrine. What he tells me, I tell to the resistance. Oh, I know what the women round here think of me. But I did what I had to, to care for my little girl.’

The tension in the cellar softened as the truth percolated through.

Madame Guerin swallowed. ‘It’s not easy, raising a kid on your own. You’ve got a big heart, Jo, and it’s full of courage.’