distinctive rangy silhouette moving swiftly through the shadows cast by plane trees. Her heart had somersaulted and she’d leapt to her feet to call out to him – but when the gentleman raised his right hand to tip his hat at a passing lady, Jessie had turned and blundered her way through the congregation of courting couples, back to the rue du Coq d’Or. Some evenings she’d buy something to eat from one of the street vendors on the way, some evenings she’d boil up macaroni or potatoes on the little meths stove she kept in her room, and some evenings she’d skulk in a corner of the bistro, hoping that yellow-haired Adèle wouldn’t drop by.
She was wary of Adèle. The woman had befriended her on the very first day she’d moved into the hotel, and always greeted her with a jocular ‘Bonjour, Mam’zelle!’ when they passed each other on the street. But there was something – something
bogus
about her that made Jessie want to keep her distance . . .
On her first night in Paris, Jessie had been sitting on her own at a corner table in the bistro that took up most of the ground floor of the Trois Moineaux. She was dawdling over a modest supper of bread and cheese, determined to make it last, when a blowsy woman strolled up to her, introduced herself and asked if she might buy Mam’zelle a glass of absinthe. Jessie dithered a little before smiling and saying ‘
Merci, Madame. Comme vous êtes gentille
.’
Baring broken teeth, Adèle returned the smile, then slid herself onto the banquette next to Jessie, called for two glasses and a
pichet
, and poured. ‘
Santé!
’ she said, then knocked the green liquid back in one.
‘
Santé
.’ Jessie mirrored the gesture. It was the only way to drink absinthe; that way you didn’t notice quite how vile it was. The slow burn in your gut was well worth the wormwoody aftertaste, though, as was the lovely muzzy feeling.
Adèle poured again. ‘You’re British, yeah?’
Jessie nodded.
‘A city girl?’
‘London.’
Adèle sucked on her teeth, then leaned back against the pitted wood of the banquette and narrowed her eyes speculatively. ‘Look, kid,’ she announced in a pally way. ‘Mind if I offer you a little friendly advice? I’ve been watching you all evening. You want to know why? I’m intrigued. Here you are dining on hard bread and cheese when I’ve reason to suspect you’re used to better fare. Am I right?’
Reluctant to give too much away, Jessie shrugged.
‘It’s all right. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. But it’s clear that you’ve fallen on hard times. You’ve been used to the finer things in life, yes? You’re an English milady, through and through,
non
? I can tell by your bearing, and by your clothes. They were good once – quality stuff. But now you’ve learned to mend your own stockings and stuff newspaper into your shoes to keep the wet out, like the rest of us. I know how hard it is.
C’est dommage, mignonne
.’ Adèle sighed heavily, and shook her head. ‘I myself come from a properous farming family. We had over a hundred acres in Brittany, near Saint-Malo, and I wanted for nothing growing up. But I lost my entire family during the war.’
‘Oh. I am sorry.’
‘
C’est la vie.
You lost somebody, too?’ Adèle directed a meaningful look at Jessie’s ring finger, which still bore the pale indentation left by her wedding band. The sapphire had joined the charm on the ribbon around her neck, to keep it safe. ‘A husband?’
‘I – Yes.’
‘Tch tch tch.’ Adèle made that sucking noise again, and Jessie flinched. ‘Well, kid, I just want to let you know that I’m here for you. I’ve been living in the city for three years now, and I know the way of things. You need any help, you come to Adèle. We single gals gotta look out for each other,
hein
?’
‘Thank you.’
‘You OK for funds, kid?’
‘Yes. Yes, I’m fine,’ lied Jessie.
Adèle gave her an appraising look, and Jessie
She was wary of Adèle. The woman had befriended her on the very first day she’d moved into the hotel, and always greeted her with a jocular ‘Bonjour, Mam’zelle!’ when they passed each other on the street. But there was something – something
bogus
about her that made Jessie want to keep her distance . . .
On her first night in Paris, Jessie had been sitting on her own at a corner table in the bistro that took up most of the ground floor of the Trois Moineaux. She was dawdling over a modest supper of bread and cheese, determined to make it last, when a blowsy woman strolled up to her, introduced herself and asked if she might buy Mam’zelle a glass of absinthe. Jessie dithered a little before smiling and saying ‘
Merci, Madame. Comme vous êtes gentille
.’
Baring broken teeth, Adèle returned the smile, then slid herself onto the banquette next to Jessie, called for two glasses and a
pichet
, and poured. ‘
Santé!
’ she said, then knocked the green liquid back in one.
‘
Santé
.’ Jessie mirrored the gesture. It was the only way to drink absinthe; that way you didn’t notice quite how vile it was. The slow burn in your gut was well worth the wormwoody aftertaste, though, as was the lovely muzzy feeling.
Adèle poured again. ‘You’re British, yeah?’
Jessie nodded.
‘A city girl?’
‘London.’
Adèle sucked on her teeth, then leaned back against the pitted wood of the banquette and narrowed her eyes speculatively. ‘Look, kid,’ she announced in a pally way. ‘Mind if I offer you a little friendly advice? I’ve been watching you all evening. You want to know why? I’m intrigued. Here you are dining on hard bread and cheese when I’ve reason to suspect you’re used to better fare. Am I right?’
Reluctant to give too much away, Jessie shrugged.
‘It’s all right. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. But it’s clear that you’ve fallen on hard times. You’ve been used to the finer things in life, yes? You’re an English milady, through and through,
non
? I can tell by your bearing, and by your clothes. They were good once – quality stuff. But now you’ve learned to mend your own stockings and stuff newspaper into your shoes to keep the wet out, like the rest of us. I know how hard it is.
C’est dommage, mignonne
.’ Adèle sighed heavily, and shook her head. ‘I myself come from a properous farming family. We had over a hundred acres in Brittany, near Saint-Malo, and I wanted for nothing growing up. But I lost my entire family during the war.’
‘Oh. I am sorry.’
‘
C’est la vie.
You lost somebody, too?’ Adèle directed a meaningful look at Jessie’s ring finger, which still bore the pale indentation left by her wedding band. The sapphire had joined the charm on the ribbon around her neck, to keep it safe. ‘A husband?’
‘I – Yes.’
‘Tch tch tch.’ Adèle made that sucking noise again, and Jessie flinched. ‘Well, kid, I just want to let you know that I’m here for you. I’ve been living in the city for three years now, and I know the way of things. You need any help, you come to Adèle. We single gals gotta look out for each other,
hein
?’
‘Thank you.’
‘You OK for funds, kid?’
‘Yes. Yes, I’m fine,’ lied Jessie.
Adèle gave her an appraising look, and Jessie
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