She slid her hands into her coat pockets. ‘I’m not sure that will be necessary, Madame Hiver.’
Something flickered in Yvonne Hiver’s dark eyes. ‘Well, it’s up to you of course,’ she said lightly. ‘You work in the little perfume shop, don’t you? What’s the name of that place?’
Eva didn’t answer.
Yvonne titled her chin down, watching Eva’s face carefully. ‘You’re not the only one, you know. There are others.’
‘I presume you’re referring to other women.’
‘Naturally,’ Yvonne took another drag. ‘My husband’s quite sentimental. Some girls he’s held on to since we were engaged. Sweet, I suppose.’
‘Or lazy.’
Yvonne exhaled slowly. ‘How did you meet him, anyway?’
Eva nodded to the cigarette she was smoking. ‘Do you have another one?’
Yvonne frowned, irritated. Nevertheless, she took out the gold case again. ‘I suppose rationing has made beggars of us all.’
Eva took one and, leaning forward, lit it from Yvonne’s. ‘I have plenty, thank you. I simply prefer yours.’
Yvonne stared at her then smiled. ‘You were about to tell me how you met.’
‘At the Casino de Paris. He followed me out one night. I’d left my winnings behind. He was under the impression it was a mistake and wanted to return them to me.’
Yvonne eyed her carefully. ‘But it wasn’t a mistake?’
‘I didn’t care about the money. I only go to play cards.’
‘So he gave you your money and bought you a drink, no doubt.’
Eva exhaled. ‘Actually I told him to fuck off. But he took the money back to casino, and had the cashier hold it for me in chips for the next night. When I came back, he was there, waiting.’
Yvonne took a moment to register this information. Clearly, it didn’t fit her imaginings. ‘Do often you go to casinos on your own?’ she asked, as if she were make conversation at a party.
‘Yes,’ Eva answered truthfully. ‘I find it soothing.’ She gestured to the empty apartment. ‘Is this your idea?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
Instead of answering, Yvonne opened the French doors, stepping out on to the terrace. ‘You know, no one is going to have any money to buy perfume any more. Not while there’s a war on. But then I’m sure you already know that. I’m amazed that little shop hasn’t shut down already.’
Eva followed.
Below them, the garden square was like most of the city, relatively untouched by the Germans. It was easy, seductive even, to make believe that nothing was happening. Of all the disturbing aspects of the occupation, Eva found the veil of normalcy the most sinister. Was any wound more painful than the one no one else could see?
‘I’ve done a little research on you, Mademoiselle d’Orsey,’ Yvonne confessed. ‘I know that you have a running tab at the Café Flore that you never quite manage to pay off. I also know that they like to seat you in the back because you drink too much. I’m already aware that you enjoy spending your evenings gambling, in dubious company. And that your business partner, Andre Valmont is a Jew. I also know that my husband is fond of rescuing things – frightened kittens, wounded sparrows, women who’ve misplaced their morals.’
Eva took a long drag. ‘And that’s why you’re offering me an apartment?’
Yvonne leaned forward, resting her elbows on the railing. ‘It occurs to me that you have very little to lose and a great deal to gain. All I want you to do is continue to entertain Jacques and a few of his new friends. Only naturally, I’d like you to be able to do it in fitting style.’
‘And would these new friends by any chance be wearing grey uniforms and jackboots?’
Yvonne stubbed out the half-finished cigarette, tossing the butt over the side of the balcony. ‘None of us has anything to gain by watching Hiver Cosmetics go under. We must cooperate.’
‘Or rather, I must cooperate,’ Eva corrected her. ‘You will keep your distance.’
‘We have never met, mademoiselle. And we never will.’
‘Why are you making these arrangements? Why not Jacques?’
‘I don’t trust him.’ Yvonne seemed to find this amusing. ‘Imagine that?’ she laughed. ‘But some matters are too important, too delicate to leave to his judgment.’
Eva’s head hurt, hunger gnawed at her stomach. She turned, gazing out over the landscape of Paris. She was unused to seeing it from this height, of viewing it spread out in its entirety. Suddenly she felt angry, betrayed. Paris was as beautiful as ever. There was something duplicitous, deeply wrong with this beauty.