“There is no pressure. We’ll go slowly and stop whenever you wish.”
A smile softened Marie-Louise’s face. “Eh bien, let us begin on your next visit. Shall we say tomorrow afternoon?”
“Perfect! But we will see you this evening for our tour of the Christmas lights.”
* * *
Olivier had thought of everything. At the appointed time, a shiny Mercedes pulled up in front of their apartment. The driver emerged and opened the back doors for them.
“It’s the best way to tour the city,” he said.
Chloe added, “This way we can all enjoy the lights and not worry about other drivers.”
They drove to Marie-Louise’s to collect her. She was happy to sit in the front with the charming chauffeur. The back seat was spacious for the other three. Chloe passed a mug of hot chocolate to everyone, driver included.
All the little boutiques and cafés in Montmartre had been sweetly decorated with boughs, snowflakes, lanterns, and fairy lights. Carolers and musicians strolled along the street. The effect was quaint, artistic, and romantic. Pedestrian traffic was busy around the wooden chalets in the small, festive marché de Noël in Place des Absesses.
Marie-Louise was delighted when they had to go slowly every now and then.
Softly she told them, “The whole city shimmers, and I cannot deny it is beautiful. But what touches me most is not the brilliance itself—it is the way it awakens the child in me, the memory of cold fingers wrapped in wool mittens, of roasted chestnuts on the corner, of my father lifting me to see the lights above the crowd. Paris has changed but its heart still knows how to sparkle at Noël.”
Soon they were cruising Boulevard Haussmann and admiring the elaborate windows of the big department stores. More than once they were able to pull over and park to get a better look for a few minutes before a security guard tapped on the window for them to keep moving. The mood was light and festive.
They continued to Place Vendome and on to the ritzy luxury shops and designer boutiques on Avenue Montaigne, where the festive decorations had everyone gasping with delight. It seemed no expense had been spared to turn their surroundings into a stunning spectacle.
Finally, they drove up the Champs Elysees, sighing at the display of a million lights adorning the trees from Place de la Concorde to the Arc de Triomphe.
Marie-Louise clapped her hands as they made their way home, clearly delighted with the evening’s entertainment.
ChapterFifteen
The next afternoon,Nora took some deep breaths as she and Atticus came to a stop in front of the little home tucked away in the cul-de-sac. This would be Nora’s first conversation with Marie-Louise about her life as a child during the Occupation.
In all her years helping people write their memoirs, nothing could be compared to what she suspected she would hear from this fragile woman, who still possessed a razor-sharp mind.
She didn’t want to doubt her own ability, but she needed to believe she was truly up to the task.I know this will be tough. It makes sense that I feel some pressure about it, but I’ve got this.
Yvette was outside sweeping the front step as they approached. She took a treat from her pocket for Atticus and greeted Nora with a somber expression. “Bonjour, Nora, our dear lady has much to share with you today. She has been speaking about it all morning. I think this is a very good thing she is doing. Thank you for helping her.”
Nora thanked her for being so supportive. “I’m sure Marie-Louise is grateful for your encouragement. I am honored that she’s entrusting me with her story.”
They stepped into the salon, where Atticus went straight to Marie-Louise and snuggled next to her feet with a quiet certainty. Nora felt a familiar warmth in her chest. He always seemed to know where his presence would bring the most comfort.
Marie-Louise’s hands, thin and papery, rested clasped in her lap. “Some things I still cannot say aloud to anyone,” she murmured, almost to herself. “But perhaps they can be written.”
Nora reached for her notebook, her pen hovering just above the page. She turned on her recorder. “We’ll tell it as truthfully as we can.”
Marie-Louise gave a small nod—partly as an assent, partly as a farewell to the silence she had kept for decades. She then spoke in a hushed tone.
“Eh bien, Nora, let us begin.”
* * *
The beginning unfolded as the minutes passed.
“I was born on 11 July, 1933. My family lived in the Pletzl quartier of the Marais, the traditional Jewish neighborhood since the Middle Ages. Pletzl means little square in Yiddish. I remember it as a magical, vibrant place to live, even though my family was not Jewish. My father was a printer and took over the printshop from his father and grandfather. It had been there through many generations.”
She paused to take a sip of tea that Yvette had discreetly brought in on a teacart for them.
