Over supper that evening with Tom, I chat away about my crafting project and my new social life. And even though, to my ears, the tone of my voice sounds a little too artificially bright, I can see the relief in Tom’s eyes. He watches me carefully, searching for any signs that the closeness we used to have might stand a chance of being rekindled. Then I ask him about his day and it’s his turn to summon up some semblance of enthusiasm as he describes the meetings he’s sat through and the challenges of keeping track of the company’s fleet of container ships as they navigate the turbulent waters of the world’s oceans. His tone seems as falsely upbeat as mine.
We get up from the table and Tom heads off to watch TV, stretched out on the sofa with the rest of the bottle of wine, surfing channels that offer international news and reruns of old American soap operas dubbed into French. I climb the stairs to the attic and pick up the quilting book that Kate lent me.
I think we both know our marriage feels as empty as ever. But at least tonight we’ve tried.
Josie’s Journal – Friday 31st January, 1941
Very annoyingly, Papa and Maman have been discussing my education and they’ve decided I need an English tutor to come in two afternoons a week to help me prepare for school in America. They’re not making me go to school here, thank heavens, although at one stage Annette told me they were considering whether or not to enrol me at the Lycée Jeanne d’Arc, which is a Catholic school near to the American consulate. Papa had met a lady who teaches there and he’d asked her all about it. In the end they’ve decided against the school, though, because hopefully we’re not going to be here that much longer if our visas come through. So instead the lady Papa met is going to come to our house on Monday and Wednesday afternoons when she’s finished teaching at the school. I’m quite cross that they think I need to practise my English more, but I can’t tell them I’m writing my journal in English because then they’ll want to see it to check my spelling and grammar and I’ll get told off for putting down the truth about things.
At least I don’t have to go to school every day, though. Nina doesn’t go to school at all and it’s a lot more fun spending time with her. She’s teaching me some words in Arabic, so it’s not like I’m not learning anything.
The lady teacher is called Miss Dorothy Ellis.
After I found the library and read the book of Rebecca （which is even better than the movie, in my opinion）， the librarian, who is called Mademoiselle Dubois and who is very pretty and kind, suggested I might enjoy Dorothy L. Sayers books too. She was right. She’s very good at knowing about the hundreds of books in the library and recommending things. I think being a librarian could be a very interesting job. You could read as much as you liked in between checking books in and out for people.
The library is a very fine-looking building on the other side of the nouvelle ville and even though it’s a bit of a walk to get there it’s worth it. I love wandering through its rows of tall bookshelves, feeling as if I can not only hide away from the world there but even escape into other worlds between the covers of all those lovely books. It’s helped me to stop missing our home in Paris quite so much and to feel not quite so trapped here by the circumstances of the war. Mademoiselle Dubois kindly showed me where to find the books that are translated into French, so I can read those ones to Nina. She loved listening to Lord Peter et le Bellona Club and she was very good at guessing who the murderer might be.
We’ve been spending a lot of time in the courtyard and Nina can skip up to 200 times now without stopping. My record is 339. When we’re not reading Dorothy L. Sayers books, Nina tells me about her family and life in Morocco. One day I confessed to her that I have a lot of nightmares and that there are many times when I don’t sleep well and she said she has a very ancient auntie who might be able to help me. Apparently her auntie is a sort of storyteller who is very wise so people come to listen to her. Nina says she’s very good at listening to people and in her turn diagnosing what they need and then she sells them better dreams if they are troubled. I didn’t realise you could buy dreams but Nina says you can, but you can only get them from someone like her ancient auntie who has special powers. I think I would very much like to meet this ‘dreamseller’ to see if it’s true, but when we asked Kenza if we could go she shook her head very firmly and said my maman wouldn’t approve. I know she’s right about that, but I’d still like to buy some new dreams.