Page 48 of V2

They stared in the direction the crowd had run.

Kay said, ‘Had we better go and see?’

Now it was Barbara’s turn to be uncertain. ‘It’s not really any of our business, is it?’

‘No, but …’ Kay hesitated. ‘We should at least check she’s not being murdered, shouldn’t we?’

‘I suppose.’

They retraced their steps back down the alley, past the cathedral doors, around its massive walls and into an open space, cobbled at the edges, with grass and trees in the middle. Under the trees, a crowd had gathered in a circle. They seemed to be watching something. More people were joining all the time, hurrying from the side streets. Instinct warned Kay to keep back; curiosity propelled her forward. Barbara caught her sleeve – ‘Don’t get involved’ – but they went on together anyway, over the grass, shouldering their way through the wall of turned backs, until they reached the centre of the crowd.

The woman was on her knees. Her coat had been dragged halfway down her back, pinioning her arms. Not that she was offering any resistance. Her hands hung limply by her sides, her eyes were closed, her expression resigned. Behind her, a man was wielding a large pair of scissors, grabbing her hair in handfuls and cutting it off. He worked fast, professionally, roughly, as if he were shearing a sheep. The loaf lay in the mud beside her. Each time he seized her hair, the woman’s head jerked backwards. The crowd was silent.

Kay said loudly, in English, ‘Can we stop this now?’ She felt weirdly detached from it all. Listen to yourself, she thought. You sound like a nanny. She stepped forward with her hand outstretched. ‘Arrêtez!’

For the first time, the crowd began to sound angry.

‘Putain anglais femme!’

‘Occupe-toi de tes oignons!’

One man gripped her arm. Another blocked her path. The half-shorn woman opened her eyes and looked at her, imploring her to go away. Kay thought: she doesn’t want your help; you’re only making it worse. She could hear Barbara shouting her name. Even so, she struggled to get closer, until another hand, much stronger, grabbed her from behind and pulled her roughly backwards. She turned, outraged, and saw that it was Arnaud.

‘They are right,’ he said quietly, ‘It is none of your business.’

She tried to shake him off. He tightened his grip and steered her away. Barbara took her other arm. Finally she surrendered, and allowed herself to be marched off the grass. The wall of backs closed behind them. Arnaud didn’t let her go until they were clear of the open area and in a side street. She leaned against the wall and covered her face with her hands.

Barbara was rubbing the top of Kay’s arm. ‘Are you all right, darling?’

‘Who was that woman?’ She lowered her hands and looked at Arnaud. ‘Do you know her?’

‘No.’

‘What had she done?’

‘They thought she was a collaborator.’

‘They thought?’

‘They’re not usually wrong.’ He shrugged. ‘Someone said she had had a child by a German soldier.’

‘God!’

‘You mustn’t be too hard on them. They suffered a lot.’

‘Were you part of it?’

‘No!’ He seemed angered by the suggestion.

‘Then what were you doing there?’ When he didn’t reply, she said, ‘Were you following us?’

He paused for a moment or two. ‘Yes, as it happens,’ he answered calmly. ‘I saw you crossing the square. I thought to myself: those two could get into trouble. And I was right.’ He looked back at the crowd. It was starting to break up. People were walking in their direction. The cathedral clock chimed the half-hour. ‘We should get away from here. Where would you like to go? Back to your headquarters?’

Barbara said, ‘Is there a place where we could get a drink?’

He led them on a circuitous route through the back streets to the river. It was dark by the time they reached it. A flight of worn stone steps led down from the bridge to a quay. Barges were moored up close to one another, mist rising off the water. He held out his hand to help them.

They would never have discovered it in a year of searching. From the outside it looked like a derelict warehouse, with a block and tackle hanging above a pair of doors with a smaller entrance cut into one of them. Inside, the smell of beer and tobacco was so strong it was like walking into a wall. A dim light cast by naked electric bulbs showed sawdust on a bare brick floor, a long counter with wooden kegs behind it, chairs and tables that did not match, a game of shuffleboard in progress in one corner, and an entirely male clientele. They turned to stare at the two Englishwomen in their uniforms.