Northern Girl (28 page)

‘Help … what kind of help?’ Ginette took the cup Nicole gave her.

All three sat quietly sipping at their coffee for a moment, unsure who should speak first.

Madeleine was chewing her lower lip anxiously when Ginette broke the silence. ‘I’m sorry, Madeleine. Maybe I’m being over-protective of my daughter. You see, you’re the first real friend she’s ever had, and when you disappeared like that she was heartbroken. She thought you’d discovered her “secret life”, and disapproved of it.’

‘I’m sure it wasn’t like that, Maman,’ Nicole butted in. ‘And Madeleine can explain it all later, but right now there is something much more important she needs to tell you.’ She nodded to Madeleine to go ahead.

‘I am pregnant, Madame Jobert,’ Madeline said. She added in a whisper, ‘And I want an abortion. I’ve saved some money for it: two hundred francs.’

If Ginette was surprised, she showed no sign. She just asked, ‘How many weeks is it?’

‘Just over two months,’ Madeleine answered hesitantly.

‘OK,’ Ginette said.

Nicole reached over to place a reassuring hand on Madeleine’s, which lay limply on the table.

‘What did she mean by “OK”?’ Madeleine asked Nicole, when Ginette had gone back to her room to dress.

‘Don’t worry, Madeleine. Maman has lots of contacts, just give her time to think. It’s been a while since she had any girls working for her. Back then, she sometimes had to deal with that sort of thing.’ Then, in an effort to make light of things, Nicole added, ‘As you can imagine, eh?’

‘Where are those girls now?’ asked Madeleine.

‘Still working. Well, most of them, anyway. But not for Maman.’ Nicole said quickly, ‘She works alone now – except for her maid, of course.’ She thought of the girls who’d been unlucky. Some had been destroyed by the life; others had died because of it. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ she asked, suddenly afraid for Madeleine.

‘I don’t have any choice,’ Madeleine replied, trying to conceal a shiver of fear.

Nicole looked at her watch. ‘I have to go to work now. Will you be all right here until I get back?’ she asked. And then she added, ‘You must tell me if you are not well enough to be left on your own.’

‘I’ll be fine. I’ll rest for a while, then maybe I’ll meet you at the
boulangerie
, and we could have a coffee and gateau.’ It was odd, but as Madeleine said this, the word ‘gateau’ actually made her feel nauseous.

‘Just like the old days? I’d love that,’ said Nicole, jumping up and kissing Madeleine on both cheeks. ‘
A bientôt alors!
’

‘Yes, see you later,’ Madeleine called back. But Nicole was already running down the stairs to the front door.

Madeleine poured herself another coffee, and, cupping it in both hands, she wandered over to the divan where she’d slept the night before. She sat there taking in her surroundings.

She was pretty sure that this wasn’t a bedroom. It was more like a reception area, she decided, looking at the desk with its ornate telephone. She got up from the divan and reached out tentatively to touch the flowers in the Oriental vase that stood to her left, on an inlaid rosewood table. The table could have been especially designed to display the magnificent bouquet, she thought, stroking one of the white lilies.

‘Yes, they are real!’ The quiet voice behind her made her jump. It was Ginette. ‘I’ll be out for a while. Just help yourself to any food in the kitchen,’ she said.

‘Oh, Madame Jobert, I was just admiring your lovely home.’

‘No need to be so nervous, Madeleine. Look around if you like,’ Ginette said, gesturing towards the other rooms.

‘Well, I …’

‘It’s fine.’ Ginette smiled. ‘I won’t take offence, go ahead.’ Her dark eyes flashed. ‘I am proud of my home, and it would be good to know what someone else thought about it.’ Her mouth took on a mischievous twist. ‘Needless to say, my clients,’ she raised her eyebrows, ‘rarely show an interest in either the decor or the art.’

Madeleine’s smile widened into a grin. She decided that she was going to like this woman, with her dry sense of humour.

‘
A bientôt!
’ Ginette said, as she too ran down the stairs. At the bottom she called out, ‘You may call me Ginette. And slam the front door to make sure it is locked when you go out.’

‘OK!’ Madeleine called back, but Ginette had already gone. Alone now, Madeleine stood in the middle of the room, uncertain what to do next. She walked towards a door leading off the far end of the reception area. The other side was a passageway, and she was immediately struck by how long it was. From where she was standing, she could see three closed doors on the right-hand side. The left-hand side was just a solid wall, although on closer inspection she could make out the faint outline of what must once have been windows.
Perhaps they’d been necessary, she thought, to make the place lighter, before electricity was installed.

Madeleine flicked a switch, and marvelled at the way that the three lights in the corridor came on at the same time. Even though there was electricity at home in Marck, all the lights there hung from the ceiling; she’d never seen lights fixed to a wall before, or ones with such elaborate brass fittings.

As she explored, she could see that, further on, the passage led off to the right. This can’t be all one apartment, she thought. She reached the first door, and, unsure what she’d find, took a deep breath as she turned the shiny brass knob.

‘Oh lah lah!’ she exclaimed, as the door swung open. She was in what she assumed was Nicole’s room. She walked to the middle and twirled round, feeling like the ballerina in her musical jewellery box at home.

The room was large and airy, with a double bed in the centre of the far wall, which was painted rich cream, the other three walls being pale lilac.
Mon Dieu
, Nicole, I had no idea you lived like this, Madeleine thought, as she walked over to the pristine white dressing table. There was jewellery laid out there, and as she picked different pieces up she tried to remember if she’d ever noticed Nicole wearing any of them. She couldn’t. She’s probably never worn these beautiful things, Madeleine thought, as she looked at each item, neatly displayed next to the matching ivory-handled hairbrush, comb and hand mirror.

Sitting down on the cream-cushioned stool, she
looked in the mirror and imagined it wasn’t her reflection but Nicole’s looking back. She visualized Nicole brushing her long dark hair every night. Lonely, lovely Nicole; how like her mother Ginette she was! They both had the same dark eyes and hair, the same slim bodies – and their mannerisms were almost identical. It was amazing, Madeleine thought, that Nicole hadn’t fallen into her mother’s way of life; after all, Ginette had obviously done very well out of it. It suddenly became clear to her why Nicole, who she’d always felt could have done so much better, had chosen to work in a
boulangerie
. It must be because, although it was close to home geographically, it was in every other way as different as possible from the life her mother led. It all made sense to Madeleine: Nicole’s job was poorly paid, she wore a drab uniform, and she dealt mostly with women – any men who came into the patisserie were mostly old. Nicole had no boyfriend, either. Was that intentional? Madeleine wondered. Or was it simply that she felt too embarrassed to bring anyone home?

She put the brush down and smiled at the two soft toys sitting luxuriously on the beautiful white lace bedspread, before backing out of the room and gently closing the door. She’d been so fascinated by this glimpse of Nicole’s life that for a few minutes she’d completely forgotten her own problems.

When she opened the door next to Nicole’s, Madeleine’s eyes widened in amazement. This room was even larger. Her eyes focused immediately on the
beautiful ornate four-poster bed, which was piled so high with pillows that it was hard to resist the urge to jump on it. The lace pillowcases were beautifully sewn; Madeleine thought they must have come from a very expensive shop.

The walls were lined in a gold and cream wallpaper, and when she touched it she realized the gold pattern was raised. It gave the room an air of taste and luxury. The two slightly open windows, both on the same wall, opened on a vista of rooftops, and beyond them, the open sea. Madeleine took a deep breath, and savoured the freshness of the sea air as it wafted through the dazzling net curtains. Maybe the street did have a right to be called ‘Rue de la Mer’, after all.

She stood on the polished wooden floor and gazed at the glass chandelier hanging from the high ceiling and swaying and glinting slightly in the sea breeze, and couldn’t help revelling in the glamour of the place. This surely isn’t where Ginette entertains her clients, she thought. It’s too close to where Nicole sleeps. She guessed this was a special haven that Ginette had created for herself, a very private place. And the instant she realized that, she knew she shouldn’t stay any longer – and left.

The door of the third room was slightly ajar. Thinking this might be Ginette’s workplace, she was almost afraid of what she’d find there. But she reminded herself that Ginette had suggested she look round, so surely there wasn’t anything too embarrassing on display. Expecting a carpet and furniture, she pushed the
door open firmly. It banged hard on the wall and swung back, and Madeleine realized that it was completely empty, with no curtains, and not even a rug on the floor. It was smaller than the other two rooms, and when Madeleine saw two hairpins and a piece of ribbon on the windowsill she guessed that it had probably been in use recently. Whose was that ribbon? she wondered. Where were they now? Intrigued, she wandered further down the passage and, turning right, came across another door. This was different from the others: it was heavier and panelled, looking more like an exterior door. Beside it there was a heavy red-painted door that appeared to lead straight outside, because there was a tiny window in it through which she could see an iron staircase and a glimpse of the street. She tried the handle, but it was locked. It had to be a fire escape, or, she romanticized, a secret entrance. The panelled door opened on another, shorter passageway. As she walked down it, she saw naked bodies in the paintings on the walls and put her head down, trying not to look at them. But somehow, the display of anonymous breasts and bottoms was irresistible, and she just couldn’t stop herself staring. There was a well-worn red chaise longue there, and she flopped gratefully on to it, letting out a long sigh. The paintings in the hallway left her breathless. She was in awe of Ginette for being brave enough to display them. She told herself that perhaps they were art: after all, if Ginette had bought them, they had to be valuable.

There was a room opening off the corridor, and she
dared herself to look into it. It had walls covered in red wallpaper embossed with gold fleurs-de-lis, and two deep red and gold armchairs, one each side of a long low polished oak coffee table. This table had a bowl of sugared almonds on it, and one of mint bonbons. Standing just behind the bowls was an oblong marble cigarette lighter, and an ornate gold box containing cigarettes wrapped in bright pastel-coloured papers.

Madeleine dragged her eyes away from the cigarettes long enough to take in the dresser opposite. On this were four tiny very clean coffee cups and saucers, a coffee pot, some glasses, and alcoholic drinks. There were five paintings in the room, too, showing naked men and women in sexual poses, and there was something faintly cartoonish and humorous about the way they were executed.

Beside her, Madeleine saw double doors, folded back to show a huge bed covered with a gold counterpane. The walls in this smaller inner room were decorated in two shades of red, one much deeper than the other, creating a striped effect, and the curtains were a heavy gold, framed by a red velvet fabric pelmet, and closed against any natural light. She looked down at the floor and moved her foot lightly over the polished wood. Thanks to spending so much time in Papa’s workshop, she could tell the floor was oak parquet. It was as beautiful as the floor in Ginette’s bedroom, yet this room couldn’t be more different. There was no feeling of lightness or airiness here; in fact the place felt claustrophobic.

If it hadn’t been for the mirrors, which hung on long chains from the picture rail, it would have been oppressively dark and gloomy. Catching sight of herself in one of these, Madeleine thought she looked disapproving, but that wasn’t how she felt. Even though the paintings in this room were seriously explicit, and she felt she should be fleeing them – or at least averting her eyes – she did neither, because in a strange way she found them beautiful.

She sat on the bed. What would Maman and Papa say if they could see me sitting here, in a room like this, where so much must have taken place? she wondered. Well brought up little Madeleine Pelletier, sitting in a brothel
and
content to be there.

Maybe I belong in a place like this now, she thought. Maybe fate brought me here. After all, what I’ve done isn’t that different, is it? Yet again she dismissed this thought the instant it occurred to her, knowing that she was only thinking it to punish herself. She closed her eyes tightly, and tears squeezed their way between and through her lashes. She made no effort to stop them.

Switching off the lights as she went, Madeleine made her way down the passage and back to what she thought of as the reception area of Nicole’s apartment. She took some clean underwear and a dress out of her valise and headed for the bathroom she’d seen earlier. The bath looked awfully big compared to the portable aluminium one she used at home, so she used the sink instead, overjoyed to be able to wash and dry her hair and get rid of the smell of coal-dust and dirty steam that still lingered from her train journey.

Finally, feeling revived and fresh in her clean clothes, she placed the old ones in the drawstring laundry bag she’d made especially for going to visit her sisters in Boulogne. Those days seemed a lifetime ago now.

When she’d dried her hair her rumbling stomach reminded her that she’d eaten practically nothing since arriving in Boulogne, so she decided to go and meet
Nicole straight away. She put on her coat and ran down the stairs, not forgetting to slam the hefty outside door to ensure it locked.