Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Noise and warmth greeted her as Margarete pushed through the expensive doors of the apartment, and set her purse down onto a dark velvet settee to take off her coat.
"Margot!" she heard a greeting and turned to see Richaud approaching her with a smile as warm as usual, a smoking cigar and a glass of dark whiskey which sploshed around the hard-cut glass with his wide steps.
"Bonsoir, monsieur," she smiled as she hugged the wide, round men whose laugher never dimmed throughout the years of Nazi occupation. Most of Richaud's family fled to the south long ago, yet he refused to abandon the beautiful family home in Paris. While the world on the street occasionally seemed dim, inside the man's salon everything bustled with light, chatter and music.
"Such fine wine!"
"Oh, the song, we must dance!"
Margarete picked up bits of conversation as Richaud escorted her to the main room where couples danced in the middle of a large space, and people stood gathered around, spilling Parisian gossip into the air filled with the thick smell of wine and cigarette smoke.
She could hear Richaud going on about something next to her, but her mind was focused on the faces that slipped past her gaze as she scanned the room.
"Pardon, mon ami, I must powder my nose" she excused herself, making her way across the well-lit room towards the hallway off the side which led to the bathrooms. Someone paid her beige, well-fitted dress a compliment as she passed and she nodded in thanks.
As Margarete approached a group of well-dressed women, she lightly bumped into a brunette with straight, thick hair, which had been brushed back to expose her expensive earrings which caught and reflected brilliant light. Margarete excused herself politely and continued towards the bathroom.
She had washed and dried her hands by the time a light knock came on the door, and Margarete let the brunette slip into the bathroom like an exquisite shadow.
"Pleasure to see you, Margot," she nodded as she approached the mirror, and brushed loose hairs out of her face, "We haven't heard from you in a while."
"I've been laying low," was all Margarete said as she glanced at the bright emeralds in Cecilia's earrings.
"Well, then," said the brunette as she turned around and leaned onto the sink, arms crossed over her chest, "I hope this is good news."
Margarete glanced around the small bathroom, knowing that in times like these, one could never be too cautious. She leaned closer to Cecilia's ear and whispered, "Chanson D'Automne de Paul Verlaine."
"That is the signal, oui?" the woman whispered back, pulling away slightly.
"Oui. And now we wait."
Margarete stood by the drinks table when Cecilia joined her once more, having come out of the bathroom separately. The emerald woman was a permanent and highly dedicated member of the French Underground. Having risked her life countless times in the face of Nazi Germany, she began to funnel Allied Intelligence information into the different branches of the Underground.
"Would you like me to introduce you?" she asked as she approached Margarete with a glass of deep red wine in hand.
"No need, I'm going to leave after I talk to Richaud."
"Pity, Margot, you would do well in high society," shrugged Cecilia.
"I do," replied Margarete to the surprise of the elegant brunette, "But I must be home. I'm departing for Mantes tomorrow morning." Cecilia only raised her eyebrows slightly but said nothing. It was not something to discuss with so many people around.
"I must go too," she winked at Margarete and set her glass on the table between them with a slight clink. As she said her goodbyes and turned to go, Margarete grasped her arm so suddenly, the woman had to bite down her tongue in surprise.
"Margot, mon Dieu, quesque ç'est?" she questioned, turning back with a hand over her heart.
"There," Margarete whispered, pointing to the hallway from which an ever joyful Richaud was approaching with a young man. "What is he doing here?"
Cecilia looked back to see who she was talking about before turning back with a slight smile dancing on her painted lips. "Ah, I see. He is quite handsome, is he not? He brings flowers for the women whenever he comes by."
Margarete's deep green eyes narrowed at Cecilia's coy smile. "He is a German, Cecilia," Margarete whispered when her heart gave a nervous pang, rising in tempo as she laid eyes on the officer she had crossed on the street earlier. He had changed out of his uniform into a clean suit, a bouquet of mixed flowers rested lightly in the crook of his elbow as he chatted easily with Richaud in his broken French.
Cecilia's caramel eyes followed his movements, too, as he began to greet the women closest to him with a hearty smile and flowers. Margarete heard their laughter and swallowed hard. The two women needed to get out of here or there was a large chance that the Underground would never hear the Allied message.
"Relax, Margot, he is Richaud's most recent pet. Something with being more welcoming," Cecilia shrugged as if the German was one of their own, "He won't bring trouble, unless you encourage it, of course."
Margarete could not find the courage to laugh with her. "Please, dear, he is not so bad for a German. Now, I must go. Oh, mon Dieu," Cecilia covered her giggle with an elegant hand, "You really are in luck today. Farewell, cheri."
Margarete watched Cecilia leave, doing her best to keep her eyes off the German officer strolling towards her. There was a predator hidden in his step which did not ease even as he nodded a greeting to the passing brunette. At least, Margarete thought, the message was out.
She tried to breathe, but her lungs began to burn as the German's gaze found hers.
