Ruby laughed at the girl’s bluntness.
“Here in France, I mean,” Charlotte clarified, a hint of embarrassment in her tone now. “Since you’re American. Maman and Papa said you should have left months ago. Why didn’t you?”
Ruby sighed. “Maybe because I’m stubborn. Or maybe because I don’t feel that anyone—German or otherwise—should force me into fleeing. I think that’s part of it, Charlotte. But I also think it’s because once I make a decision, I try to stick to it. I made Marcel a promise to be his wife, to join my life to his. And so here I will stay.”
“You’re loyal. And brave.”
Ruby thought of Marcel’s words, hating how much they wounded her. “Some would say foolish.”
“But staying makes you French, doesn’t it? All of those people who would judge you, they didn’t have a choice. But you did. And you chose Paris.”
“I chose Paris,” Ruby repeated slowly. “Well, maybe I am French after all. Thank you, Charlotte. You’ve just made me feel lots better.”
Charlotte went inside soon after, but Ruby stayed on the terrace, lost in thought. When she finally stepped back inside, shutting the doors softly behind her, Marcel was sitting in the darkness of the kitchen, staring at her.
“What were you doing out there?” he asked her, an edge to his voice.
“Just getting some air,” she said, feeling suddenly guilty, though she’d done nothing wrong.
“I heard you talking.”
“Yes, to the Dacher girl.”
Marcel lit a cigarette, the match flaring for a second in the darkness. Ruby watched as he exhaled a mouthful of smoke, obscuring her view of him. “You talk too much, I think.”
Ruby’s heart sank. An hour ago, she’d felt that things between them might be changing for the better, but now he was in another one of his moods. “She’s a nice girl, Marcel. I think she feels very alone right now. I’m just trying to help.”
“There are lots of nice people who are alone in the world.” He took another long draw from his cigarette. “It’s very American, you know, this need to talk to anyone and everyone. If you were truly as French as you’d like to be, you’d know when to keep to yourself.”
“MARCEL, MON AMI!”
Marcel’s old friend Aubert—a short, bespectacled man around forty with a receding hairline, hooded eyes, and a flat, wide nose—approached the table outside the Café Ciel where Ruby and Marcel sat. It was a Tuesday afternoon, and they were playing at being normal, pretending that Paris wasn’t about to be occupied, that life could still go on as it had before. The Germans hadn’t reached the capital yet, but they would be here any day now. The French government had departed for Vichy the day before, and the streets were filled with injured soldiers telling tales of horrors at the front.
Aubert embraced Marcel and leaned down to kiss Ruby on both cheeks. “You are looking radiant, my dear.” He sat and beckoned to a waiter. “Champagne, my boy! Champagne for my friends!”
Marcel looked amused, but Ruby was troubled. The café—one of the few in their arrondissement that had actually stayed open—was nearly deserted, but the other customers were staring at them. “What is there to celebrate, Aubert?” she whispered. “Life as we know it is about to end.”
“Ah, but it’s not over yet, is it?” Aubert lit a cigarette and took a long drag. “Paris is still ours. And if you want to know, Ruby, I’m toasting to the future. I can see it already. We’ll defeat them yet.”
“Surely you’re joking. Things couldn’t possibly be bleaker right now.”
Aubert smiled. “But it’s only a matter of time. The Huns may be here for a little while, but with the help of the Brits, we’ll push them out. Isn’t that right, Marcel?”
Ruby glanced at her husband, expecting him to share her doubt, but he was staring at Aubert, his eyes gleaming. “Do you two know something about the invasion that I don’t?” Ruby asked.
The waiter arrived then, popping the cork on their champagne and pouring the bubbly for them. Aubert didn’t reply until they’d clinked glasses. “No, Ruby, of course not. I’m only saying there’s hope if we band together. But it’s nothing for you to worry about, dear. Things like this are better left to the men, don’t you think?”
Ruby drew herself up a bit taller in her chair. “Aubert, I follow the news too. You can’t think I’m not aware of what’s going on.”
“Of course,” Aubert said, and Ruby could hear his amusement as he added, “Our university girl.” He and Marcel exchanged smiles.
“Excuse me,” Ruby said stiffly, rising from her chair. Aubert and Marcel half-stood too, but she ignored them as she made her way inside to find the toilette.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this, she thought as she descended the spiral staircase at the back of the café. Especially with Marcel, and especially in Paris. Hadn’t Gertrude Stein commanded respect here? Zelda Fitzgerald had run the town in the twenties, and now, it was common knowledge that a woman—the Comtesse Hélène de Portes—was pulling the strings of Reynaud’s government. Ruby had met her; she was a shrill, irascible person known as much for her temper tantrums as for her extravagant parties. If someone like that could wield such power, what was Ruby doing wrong? Should she be speaking up more? Standing up for herself when Marcel intimated that she was incapable of grasping the truth? Or would that only drive him further away?
She touched up her lipstick and stared into the mirror. There were dark circles under her eyes, evidence of her lack of sleep. Her curls were loose and frizzy from the heat, something she would have fixed if she cared more. But it was impossible to think about things like that with the invasion on the horizon. What horrors would come with it? What would happen to the people she loved? To her?
She splashed water on her face and pinched her cheeks to restore some color. She smoothed her hair, gave her reflection one last resolute look, and headed back upstairs.
When she returned to the table, Marcel and Aubert were whispering, their heads bent together. As she approached, they pulled back and flashed her identical smiles. Was it her imagination that they looked almost guilty?
“What is it?” she asked.
“Just discussing the Germans,” Marcel said. “Those bastards.”
Unease crawled under Ruby’s skin. “You two mustn’t do anything foolish.”
“Foolish?” Marcel’s eyes locked on hers.
“It’s best to keep our heads down until we figure out what the occupation will mean for us.”
Marcel’s face darkened. “We should just lie down like dogs?” he demanded. Aubert was smirking, as if she was proving him right.
“I just don’t want you to do anything reckless.”
“So you do think I’m powerless to fight for my country.” Marcel looked triumphant and wounded at the same time.
“No!”
His eyes blazed, and they stared at each other until the silence became uncomfortable.
“Well, we are certainly not going to solve the problems of France this afternoon,” Aubert said, cutting through the discomfort. He raised his glass and glanced from Ruby to Marcel. “To France. And what is to come.”
“To France,” Marcel and Ruby muttered in unison, raising their glasses.
But the tension lingered, and as they drank their champagne, no one spoke again. Ruby stared down the deserted Avenue Rapp toward the river. Though the Germans were still miles from Paris, she could already see them coming. She could feel the city changing. And though he was just inches away, she could feel Marcel drifting further from her by the day. All the champagne in the world couldn’t turn back the clock.
CHAPTER SIX