Free Daughter of Catalonia by Jane MacKenzie Page A

there once or twice. In those days not many women went to the café.’
    ‘Except Colette.’
    ‘Except Colette, of course. And I’m sure that’s why people talked about her. It should have been her husband running the bar, of course, but he was an invalid. I think that’s why they took on the café, to provide an income after he was injured. Do you remember Colette’s little boy?He would have been a couple of years older than you.’
    ‘I don’t remember anyone except Uncle Philippe. Even Papa is really vague to me, and I think I mainly remember him from
Maman
’s photo of him on her dressing table. I do remember holding his hand, though. I think we must have been walking along the street, and then I remember him helping me up the stairs. Was our apartment up some windy stairs?’
    ‘Too many stairs!’ Louise’s voice was eloquent.
    ‘Then that’s it. And we had a stove that burnt wood. Tell Robert we had a stove, because he doesn’t believe me!’
    ‘Yes, my dear, there was a stove. It could be pretty cold in that street in winter. And the winds! The Tramontane blows down from the Pyrenees, and freezes the bones. Or the sea wind comes off the Mediterranean and brings rain and everything gets damp, even inside the house.’
Tante
Louise shivered. ‘I was always glad to get back to Paris.’
    ‘That’s not fair,
Maman
!’ Solange was indignant. ‘When we went down for the wedding it was September and it was beautiful, after the summer heat, and everyone so happy, with the grape-picking under way, and a good harvest. And there were no smelly fishermen because they were all in the vineyards helping out! There were even some holidaymakers, remember? And artists painting by the beach.’
    Louise smiled. ‘Solange is right, of course. It was later that I was there in winter. It’s a beautiful place, and you all had a real life there. I just used to worry about Elise and you children, but I knew I had no right to interfere.’
    Madeleine watched them, smiling in return. Elise andLuis, Philippe and Colette; they were all so near, it seemed.
    ‘How old would Philippe have been?’ she asked.
    Solange considered. ‘Around the same age as your father, I suppose, or no, perhaps a few years more. Maybe in his mid thirties by then, or a little more. Why?’
    ‘That means that he must be in his late fifties now. He may be still working as a teacher, and perhaps still in the same school. He’ll be someone we can find. Philippe and Colette!’ Madeleine felt a growing excitement. ‘I bet they’re still alive and still in Vermeilla. And it’s just a village. They’ll be easy to find.’
    ‘Find?’ Louise was stunned. ‘You want to find them?’
    ‘Of course we want to find them! We’ve spent our whole lives to date in ignorance about what happened to our parents. We left France in a hurry in the war and left Papa behind, and all we know is that he was killed. As Robert said,
Maman
didn’t even leave any letters. Robert and I need to know,
Tante
Louise. We need to know about our father. Please, you must understand. Robert has to go back to England soon, but after he leaves, I want to go down to Vermeilla, just me, on my own, and find our past so that we can simply know.’ The room was silent. Louise’s hands were suddenly still and her eyes frozen in what could have been horror, while Solange just gazed at Madeleine, her face emptied of all expression. Then Bernard leant forward, shifting his comfortable weight in his chair, and spoke for the first time since serving the cognac.
    ‘Of course you must, my child. I can quite see why you want to go,’ he said, his voice interested and thoughtful.‘It is quite normal that you should want to know more. Louise, I think we should help the child.’
    Louise turned on him.
    ‘What are you saying, Bernard? You call her a child, and that’s the only sensible thing you’ve said. Madeleine, my dear, you have just today arrived in Paris, and your grandparents kept