The Collaborators

‘I don’t think your mother really meant that, dear,’ said Claude Crozier mildly.

‘Permit me to say for myself what I mean!’ said his wife. ‘Listen, my lady, I run a business here. I don’t pick my customers, they pick me. And we don’t have to like each other either. But I tell you this, there’s a lot of our French customers I like a lot less than Lieutenant Mai.’

‘Maman,’ said Pauli at the door. ‘Céci’s crying.’

55

‘Shall I go?’ offered Louise.

‘No thanks,’ said Janine. ‘She doesn’t speak German yet.’

She left the room, pushing her son before her.

‘She gets worse,’ said Madame Crozier angrily. ‘I don’t know where she gets it from. Not my side of the family, that’s sure.’

‘It’s a worrying time for her what with the children being ill and no news of Jean-Paul,’ said her husband.

‘If you ask me, she’ll be better off if she never gets any news of him,’ said the woman.

‘Louise! Don’t talk like that!’

‘Why not?’ said Madame Crozier, a little ashamed and therefore doubly defiant. ‘It was a mistake from the start.’

‘He’s a nice enough lad,’ said Crozier. ‘And there was never any fuss about religion. The children are being brought up good Catholics, aren’t they?’

‘That’s no credit to him,’ replied Madame Crozier, who had never seen what consistency had to do with a reasoned argument. ‘You can’t respect a man who doesn’t respect his own heritage, can you? There’s someone come into the shop. Are you going to sit on your backside all day?’

With a sigh, Crozier rose and went through into the shop. A moment later he returned, followed by Christian Valois.

‘She’s upstairs with the little girl,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell her you’re here.’

‘Thank you. Hello, Madame Crozier.’

Christian was a little afraid of Janine’s mother. One of the things he admired about Jean-Paul was his mocking indifference to his in-laws. ‘They’re made of dough, you know,’ he’d said. ‘Put ‘em in an oven and they’d rise!’

Louise for her part was ambivalent in her attitude to Valois. True, he was one of her son-in-law’s clever-clever university chums. But he came from a good Catholic family, had a respectable job in the Civil Service, and was unfailingly polite towards her.

‘Sit down,’ she said. ‘How are your charming parents?’

56

She’d never met them but knew that Valois senior was an important deputy. That was how to get the good jobs; have a bit of influence behind you! She felt envy but no disapproval.

‘They are safe and well, madame,’ said Valois. ‘My father continues to look after the country’s interests in Vichy.’

He spoke with a bitter irony which seemed to be lost on Madame Crozier.

Janine came in.

‘Christian, is there news?’

‘Nothing, I’m afraid. But my contacts in the Foreign Ministry are still trying. And I’ve written to my father asking him to help.’

She turned away in disappointment and flopped into a chair. He looked at her with exasperation. Clearly she regarded his efforts on Jean-Paul’s behalf as at best coldly bureaucratic, at worst impertinently intrusive. His sacrifice of pride and principle in writing to his father for assistance meant nothing to her. Why Jean-Paul had ever hitched himself to someone like this, he couldn’t understand. A silly shop-girl, good for a few quick tumbles.

He said brusquely, ‘There’s another matter.’

‘Yes?’ said Janine indifferently.

‘Perhaps a word in private.’

‘Come through into the shop,’ said Janine after a glance at her mother, who showed no sign of moving.

In the shop, Valois said, ‘Have you seen Madame Simonian lately?’

‘Not for a while. I usually take the children on Sundays, but they’ve been ill. Why? She hasn’t heard anything, has she?’

The sudden eagerness in her voice irritated Valois once more.

‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s her I’m worried about. I went to see her earlier. The concierge said she’d just gone down to the greengrocer’s so I went after her. I found her having an argument with a German sergeant who’d seen her pulling down the JEWISH BUSINESS poster the greengrocer had put in his window.’

‘What poster’s that?’ interrupted Janine.

‘Don’t you pay attention to anything? It’s been decreed that all Jewish shopkeepers have to put up these posters. Fortunately the sergeant clearly thought there weren’t many medals in arresting a seventy-year-old woman for threatening him with a bunch of celery, so he was glad to let me smooth things over.’

‘Yes,’ she said, taking in his neat dark suit and his guarded bureaucratic expression. ‘You’d be good at that, Christian. Personally I think you’d have done better to join in bashing the Boche with the celery. If we all did that, we’d soon get things back to normal!’

‘All? Who are these all?’ wondered Valois.

‘People. You don’t think any real Frenchman’s going to sit back and let the Boche run our lives for us, do you?’

He said, ‘Janine, it’s real Frenchmen who are putting their names to these decrees. I’ll tell you something else that real Frenchmen have done. It’s been suggested - that’s the word used - suggested to publishing firms that they might care to do a voluntary purge on their lists, get rid of unsuitable authors such as German exiles, French nationalists, British writers, and of course Jews. They’ve all agreed! No objections. Not one!’

‘Oh, those are intellectuals with their heads in the clouds, or businessmen with their noses in the trough,’ said Janine wearily. ‘It’s the ordinary people I’m talking about. They won’t let themselves be mucked around by these Boche. Just wait. You’ll see. But thanks for telling me about Sophie. I’ll keep an eye on her.’

As she spoke, Valois realized just how much on edge she was; emotionally frayed by worry about Jean-Paul, physically exhausted by her work in the shop combined with sleepless nights looking after the kids, and doubtless worn down by the simple strain of daily life with the formidable Louise.

Behind him the shop door opened and a German officer came in. He was a stocky fellow of indeterminate age with an ordinary kind of face, were it not for a certain shrewdness of gaze which made you think that every time he blinked, his eyes were registering photographs.

‘Good day, Ma’m’selle Janine,’ he said in excellent French. ‘I hope the children are improving. I was asking after them when I talked with your excellent mother earlier. I thought perhaps a few chocolates might tempt their appetites back to normal…’

He proffered a box of chocolates. Janine ignored it and glanced furiously at Valois. She was angry that after what she’d just been saying, the civil servant should see her on such apparently familiar terms with this Boche. Feeling herself close to explosion, she took a deep breath and said, ‘No thank you, lieutenant. I don’t think they will help.’

‘Oh,’ said Günter Mai, nonplussed.

He regarded her assessingly, placed the box carefully on the counter and said, ‘Forgive the intrusion. Perhaps your dear mother, or you yourself, might enjoy them. You’ll be doing me a favour.’

He patted his waistline ruefully, touched his peak in the shadow of a salute and brought his heels gently together in the echo of a click.