“They do not return, I think,” she said. Did I detect the hint of a gloat?
“No, they haven’t returned yet.” I gave her my most confident air. “I expect we’ll learn today what happened to them.”
“Perhaps they have found a wealthy benefactor and gone to live with him,” she said. “Many girls do in this city. It is hard to survive alone.”
“My friends have plenty of money and no interest in rich benefactors,” I said. “Now perhaps you can tell me where I can buy milk. I see a baker’s shop across the street but presumably the milk is delivered daily.”
“The American misses have a liter delivered,” she said. “You will find it in the wooden box beside the front door.”
“Thank you,” I said, thinking that she had probably been planning to use it herself if I hadn’t asked.
“And if I need to go out, it is difficult to take my baby with me. Do you know of a reliable woman who might watch my child from time to time?”
“Perhaps I could…” she began, her brain thinking how much she might charge me, now that she knew my friends were not without funds.
“Preferably a woman with a young child of her own,” I added quickly. I was certainly not going to confine Liam to a dark cubby with her.
“The baker’s wife has just had a child,’ she said. “Perhaps she might oblige.” She shrugged.
“Thank you,” I said. “I’ll speak to her when I go to buy bread. And you promised me a key. Five francs deposit, I believe you said.”
She disappeared into her dark cubby then returned holding up two keys. “The larger one for the front door, the other for the apartment,” she said as I paid her. I knew I had left the apartment unlocked but I certainly wasn’t going up all those stairs again.
I pushed open the heavy front door and stepped out into the street. Down here the world was still in deep shadow and it was chilly. I wrapped Liam’s blanket more tightly around him, then crossed to the shops on the other side. For now I’d just buy bread. Later I’d need to bring in supplies for lunch and dinner. The small bakery smelled heavenly and the baker made a big fuss over Liam. “My wife has just presented me with a fine son like yours. She is my second wife—a good girl from the country, like me, with no nonsense about her. My first wife died, alas, in childbirth and the child died with her. Such is the way of life, no?”
I took the baguette and a croissant which he wrapped in paper. “Your wife,” I said carefully. “I wonder if she might consider watching my child if I have to go out? I have just arrived in Paris and the friends I expected to see are not yet here. So I know nobody. I would pay her, naturally.”
“I don’t see why not,” he said. “I’ll ask her.”
“Thank you, I’m most grateful,” I said.
“You can’t be too careful around here,” he said. “There are plenty of girls with babies, but they are artists’ models or work in another profession at night. Not what you would want for your son, eh? My wife is a good girl. Pure. Simple. And a good cook too. With her you need have no worry.”
I went back across the street and had a good breakfast of fresh bread, creamy butter, and apricot jam while Liam chewed on a crust, clearly anxious to get back to his regime of solid food again. I played with him then put him down for a morning nap. I decided that I would send Daniel a cable simply saying, Arrived safely in Paris. Love Molly and Liam. That way he wouldn’t worry and I wouldn’t have to write to him until I knew what had happened to Gus and Sid.
The morning passed with no communication from my friends. I realized I’d have to go out to buy food and decided this would be a good time to make the acquaintanceship of the baker’s wife and see if I felt comfortable leaving Liam with her. Then, if there was still no word from Sid and Gus, I should go and find Reynold Bryce and see if he knew anything or could tell me where I’d find Willie Walcott.
I struggled down the stairs again with Liam and went across to the bakery. It was now shut but I banged on the narrow door beside the shop window and it was answered by a buxom young girl.
As soon as I explained who I was her face lit up. “My husband tells me that you need help,” she said. “I am Madeleine. Come upstairs, please.”
She led me up to a neat little room. A bassinet stood in the corner. The baby in it had a mass of dark hair and a little old man’s face. “He’s beautiful, is he not?” she said. I agreed that he was.
She poured me coffee. We chatted although I found it hard to keep up with her rapid French. “I would be happy to watch your child for you,” she said. “And if he gets hungry, do you give him the bottle?”
“No, I’m feeding him myself.”
“No problem. I have plenty of milk to spare.” And she emphasized this by hoisting two impressive breasts.