The Rainbow Bridge Read Free

through her. What did her precious aristocratic upbringing matter if it meant she couldn’t have friends of her own? She tore her arm from Madame Morteau’s grip and ran towards the stairs. At the bottom step she whipped around, Margot’s choicest vulgarities seething in her mouth. She tried to get them out, but they choked her. Oh, why couldn’t she rage and fume and throw things like other girls? Madame Morteau was looking at her in amazement. Didn’t she realise what she had said? Was she stupid? Had she no notion of what it was like to have your family torn away from you? Colette bit hard on her lip; if only she could have her mother back everything would be all right. She threw herself at the stairs and pounded as hard as she could up to the first landing, where she paused, feeling the sharp taste of blood in her mouth.
    As she climbed wearily up the next flight, she thought bitterly of how her father had died, trying to save the lives of people who probably meant nothing to him, at the hands of a mob that had good cause to hate him and his class. And then there was Mother, who had starved herself into ill health, because she had been too proud to confess – until it was too late – that she had no money. What use were these old values? And now here she was, being preserved like one of those pale and pathetic pressed flowers that fall out of old books.
    She reached the top landing and paused to look out of the open window. The road fell away below the house to where the statue of St Vincent stood alone in the village square. Sparrows were chattering in the eaves above her head. She could hear Gaston humming to himself as hemoved about his room to her left. He would be packing for his departure now. If only she could go with him, just to be there and to participate in his adventures. Anything to escape from this dreadful limbo.
    ‘Got it!’ Gaston gave a small cry of triumph; had he remembered his tune? He was humming it again. She listened. His confidence was increasing: ‘Ta, ta, taaa ta, Taaa …’ his voice was gaining strength. Oh to be a man, for whom things were always simple and straightforward, and to be brave without thinking.
    Ever since her father’s death, Colette had been haunted by fear, her sleep broken by the same nightmare. She had never seen or heard a real mob, but still the mob lay in wait each night. She would try to open her eyes but daren’t, because she knew that their faces would be there, pressed up close, terrifying, screaming, distorted faces full of hate for Father and her. Then, in a sudden silence, the killing would start. Grunts, and the sound of blows falling again and again on her father. She knew she could stop the murder if she only could wake in time, but she never could. And so each night was approached in terror and each day began with a feeling of having failed him.
    She walked down the short corridor to her room where she lay down on her coverlet and stared at the cracks on the ceiling. Gaston would be gone soon, just when he seemed to have finally noticed her.

    Colette woke with a start. The sun had moved while she slept. She felt refreshed and was surprised to find her face stiff from tears. She poured the remains of the water from her jug into a basin and washed her face. Then, taking the jug with her, she hurried for the stairs. It would soon betime to start preparing for dinner. Madame would have forgotten this morning’s incident. Perhaps she’d be able to corner Margot and hear the rest of the Lucien saga. First, however, she’d tap on Gaston’s door and ask if he needed water too. Her knock produced an immediate response. ‘Is that Colette? Come at once, you must help me!’ It was an order. This would be what it would be like to be a soldier under his command, she thought.
    ‘What’s the matter?’
    ‘I’m in trouble. I’m quite respectable … I think.’ She put down her jug, lifted the latch and looked in. Gaston was standing in the middle of the