Page 87 of The Resistance Book Club

‘So many people are here, it’s amazing!’ Lucy said, as she glanced at the crowd. There were locals from Cordeval who had become her friends, and her old friends Hannah and Natalie from London, along with Philip and Diana. Even Polly had come from London, and she was going to write about it in the magazine. ‘I’m so glad you’ve helped me, Sébastien; you’ve been my rock. There’s been so many times when I thought we’d never get here – but we have!’

‘I never doubted you for a moment,’ he assured her. ‘You come from a long line of women who get stuff done. Look at this place, it’s amazing!’

Lucy had tracked down an expert from Paris to revive the wooden shelves and had managed to bring them back to how they must’ve looked when Margot first opened Les Pages d’Espoir in the 1930s. The ladders, which reached up to the top shelves, had been mended and no longer wobbled as Lucy climbed them. The book-nook had new cushions, some covered in reproduction 1930s fabric and others with classic book covers printed on them.

A local carpenter who had been friends with Papi fixed the story-chair that he’d painted for Mémé. Lucy replaced the beanbags with new ones in colourful prints and added fabric-covered foam in geometric shapes that toddlers spent hours clambering over. A glazier made sure the stained glass in the front door was secure in new lead, and Lucy had new lighting put in that shone cosily through the shop.

Lucy’s uncle and cousins had come from Lyon to see the shop and hear the truth about the family, and so did her father’s cousins, the children of Mémé’s younger brother. None of themhad ever known the truth, as Mémé had kept it to herself until she had decided that there were stories that needed to be told before it was too late.

‘I sometimes imagine Margot walking through here,’ Lucy admitted to Sébastien. She always pictured her in the 1940s dress that she’d found in Mémé’s wardrobe. ‘I think she’d like it. And I think, too, that she’d be pleased you’ve helped me get it looking so nice – seeing as your grandma and your great-grandma took care of the shop when she had to go away.’

Sébastien dotted a kiss to Lucy’s cheek and teased, ‘I guess we were just meant to be!’

When it was time for the book club to start, Lucy and Sébastien shepherded everyone through the storeroom and to the stairs that led down to the cellar. Lucy peered down after the last guest and whispered to him, ‘There’s not enough chairs. They’re having to sit on the steps!’

‘I’m so proud of you,’ Sébastien said. ‘And when you’re done reading, there’ll be a feast waiting for you and all your fans. You dad hasn’t stopped complaining that it’s women only at the book club. I reckon he might be after a book club for the boys too.’ He kissed her softly on the lips. ‘I love you.’

Lucy chuckled before kissing him in return. ‘I love you, too. You’re the best boyfriend a girl could ever have.’ She brushed the tip of her nose against his and teased, ‘And your baked Camembert is to die for!’

‘There are a fair few remarkable people looking down on you tonight,’ he said, beaming. Lucy thought again of the first bookshop members, of Margot and Emil, of Daniel and Esther and, of course, of Arielle, whose beloved cuddly toys sat in pride of place on her cosy bed upstairs. ‘And they’re more proud than any of us.’

‘And everyone will know their stories now,’ Lucy said. She gave Sébastien one last kiss on his cheek. ‘Wish me luck!’

Lucy pushed open the door into the candlelit cellar and was met with a round of applause. Beatrice rose to her feet in a standing ovation and as one the other members of her audience joined in. Once the secret gathering in the cellar had been conducted in whispers, but now that secret had been shared with the world.

Theo’s piano now lived in the café upstairs, and as Lucy carefully made her way down the cellar steps, between the friends and new faces who had been waiting for her, she heard the piano spring into life. Sébastien was playing the lullaby that Theo had written for Mémé so many years before, and Lucy swallowed back a sob that threatened to break free.

She reached the chair that had been left for her and picked up the book that they’d be reading that night. She couldn’t quite believe that it was real, but her name was on the cover to prove it.

Not only had she spent the past year opening her new business and finding her way in her new life, but she’d been writing a book, too. All those secret histories that had found their way to her needed to be told; all those tangled pieces of the puzzle that she unteased to discover her family’s secrets.

Between the pages of the book – pages of hope – was the story of the Resistance Book Club.

SIXTY-TWO

MARGOT

1945

Margot had longed for the day that they would return to France. Although she’d been made so welcome in England with Theo and Arielle, it had never entirely felt like home. She knew Cordeval had suffered on D-Day, when the Germans had taken up positions in buildings along the harbour only to be blasted into submission by the Allies. But Joséphine had assured her that most of the town had come through relatively unscathed, including the bookshop.

On the journey across the Channel, Margot and Theo clutched the railings at the bow of the ship, anxiously staring across the blank waves for their first sight of France. Arielle stood between them, their arms protectively round her shoulders. It was the little girl who spotted their home first; a grey, misty shape on the horizon that grew more distinct as the miles past.

Tears rose in Margot’s eyes, and she glanced up at Theo. They could build a life together now, even though she had to call him by a differentname.

They hired a car to take them from the port at Cherbourg to Cordeval. The busy port town had been battered by war, but everywhere Margot looked she saw scaffolding and cranes. It refused to be crushed by the years of occupation and the bombs and bullets of D-Day.

The drive to Cordeval seemed to take for ever, along country roads flanked by trees that were already turning gold at the first touch of autumn. Margot clutched her hands in her lap, her head turning at each remembered landmark on the road; an inn, half blown to bits but still open; a church tower pockmarked with bullet holes; a farmhouse left in ruins.

When they arrived in Cordeval, baskets of early apples were piled up outside the shops, and the village was humming with the sound of hammers and saws. It looked like an enormous building site and Theo carefully piloted their borrowed Citroën past ladders, cement mixers and piles of bricks.

If only they were going to be meeting Daniel today. If only Arielle, now a round-cheeked four-year-old in her prettiest dress, was going to see her father again. Margot and Theo had brought her up on stories about her parents, and Arielle was excited and curious about returning to the country of her birth; a country she couldn’t remember as she’d been so young when they’d had to leave.

But it was too late. Daniel had survived for years, through the occupation, and had sabotaged the Germans wherever he could. But the onslaught of the Allied landings and the viciousness of the German response had been too much. Just as the Germans were being pushed back, away from the Normandy coast, Daniel had died a hero, securing France’s freedom, and liberty for his little girl.

Their return was bitter-sweet, but Margot smiled as they turned the corner into her old road and saw the bookshop up ahead.

‘Are we here?’ Arielle asked from the back seat as Theodrove slowly towards the shop. He glanced at the little girl in the rear-view mirror and smiled when she said, ‘Mama, is this home?’