Free Paris Requiem by Lisa Appignanesi Page B

friends of Rachel,’ she repeated as if to herself. She looked round quickly, took in the presence of the men who were now eyeing them curiously, and with a shrug opened the door.
    They stood in a dark, cramped space. A table, two rickety chairs, a wicker basket stuffed with what could be clothes or rags and a mattress made up its furniture. On the mattress, a baby lay, kicking its bare legs in the air and cooing softly.
    ‘Louise … Louise doesn’t live here.’ The woman’s eyes filled with tears. ‘She was only staying for a few weeks. Between jobs.’
    ‘Do you know where we can find her?’
    The woman turned her back to them.
    ‘Please. We don’t mean her any harm.’
    ‘Louise … she was picked up. Four days ago.’ She swung back to face them with a savage gesture. ‘She wasn’t doing anything wrong. Nothing. Just walking home. She was near the Jardin des Plantes. And they took her in. In their black coach. Bastards. As if she was a whore. Straight to the Palais de Justice. She spent all night there.’ She suddenly clutched at James’s lapel. ‘You can help her. I’m sure. They put her in the infirmary. The prison infirmary. I saw here there yesterday.’ The tears were rolling down her cheeks now. ‘It’s horrible. Please. Get her out.’
    ‘They’ll release her after the cure,’ Raf said softly.
    ‘Will they? Will they?’ Her voice rose. ‘Don’t believe it. There’s no justice for us. None. And she’s so ashamed.’
    She wiped her eyes fiercely with the back of her hand, then unfolded a cloth that was on the table. There was a slab of cheese in it. She cut it in half, wrapped the larger section andhanded it to James. ‘Yes, go and see her. Give her this from me. And tell Rachel. Please. I couldn’t get to her. Rachel will help her. Please.’
    Raf’s face was a mask. He didn’t gainsay the woman. There was already too much misery here. Instead he offered words of comfort and politely refused the cheese, saying they would bring Louise a treat of their own. Meanwhile, James looked at the child. Surreptitiously he took a note from his wallet and with a pretence of bending to touch its small hand, he placed the money in the fold of the blanket.
    Dusk had fallen on the lampless streets. Only their driver, in an attempt to ward off the grimness of the area, had lit his lanterns. He took off impatiently, whipping his horse into action. When they reached the glittering streets of a more familiar Paris, with its bustle of top-hatted men and silk-clad women, James felt they had entered a fairy tale. But these streets, he now knew, led to ones of which he had never been properly aware.
    ‘What is this infirmary Louise’s sister was referring to?’
    ‘When the police pick up their suspected streetwalkers, the women are subjected to a medical examination.’ Raf’s voice was terse. ‘A rather brutal one, I suspect. No bedside manners . If they have any kind of venereal disease they’re taken straight to the infirmary for treatment. It’s the Saint-Lazare prison infirmary. They never, of course, pick up the men. It’s as if men were too pure to spread anything. You can come there tomorrow with me, if you like. It’s too late now.’
    He put up a staying hand to James’s next question. ‘Just read those articles, Jim. And think. Think about Olympe.’
    ‘When did you first meet her?’
    Raf didn’t answer immediately. His face took on a dreamy look. ‘Just after Christmas. On stage. At the Minema. She danced … She stole the show.’
    James’s mind sped, counting months, thinking of Raf’snear acquaintance with a world he had barely imagined. He had always been so hungry for life in all its beauty and all its sordidness. His next words came haltingly. ‘And the woman in your apartment … the woman with the infant?’
    ‘What woman?’ Raf stared at him, then burst into raucous laughter. ‘Jim, you didn’t … You didn’t really think that Arlette and I … No, no. You’re too