April 4, 1942

She had awaken that morning with sore feet and a headache. The plan was to make some tea and espresso in place of breakfast, because she simply didn't have the motivation to cook anything, let alone go down to the market for food. So she dawned one of her silk robes, in a shimmering ivory, and padded into her lounge where she sipped lazily and reclined against the soft sofa, void of any Jews for the time being.  She was wary.  When she first arrived, she had been saddled with the task of holding small families until a safe location came available.  She was good at it, but she wasn't blind to the dangers.

The peace lasted less than ten minutes before her doorbell rang. She rolled her eyes in utter disdain before answering it. "Yes?" She stopped short when she saw five scrawny men and women at her door baring perfectly wrapped presents in their arms. The pristine packages looked out of place in the custody of their forlorn bearers. They all shifted, not at all easy with the situation, before one of the two men spoke up.

"Colonel Roemheld of the SS has sent us." It was clear that he was French. Whether they were free or not remained to be seen. He handed her a letter with a red wax seal and the eagle carrying the Nazi red cross imprinted into it. She examined it curiously before slicing it open with her fingernail.

Bärchen,

I hope you find these gifts satisfactory. Previously they volunteered to work for us at the Gestapo Headquarters, but I believe you will enjoy their company and housekeeping skills. I will make certain they are paid fairly for their work.

Each of them is carrying an additional gift that I am confident you will find enjoyable.

I look forward to seeing you soon.

Nicolas.

She had barely finished reading the informal letter before they began to shuffle in. Lining up in the entryway, she watched them hold their arms straight out, waiting for her to take the gifts. "No need to be so formal. You may set them down." They did as she told them to and scattered, starting to take brooms and mops out, while another went outside, and a few went to the kitchen.

She shook her head at their behavior and knelt to open her gifts. Waltz came bounding down the steps, sniffing and wagging at the boxes. "You can smell him, can't you? I suppose you don't know any better." She scratched behind his ears and sighed.

Genevieve lifted the lid off the first present and let her jaw slacken at the contents. "Oh mon Dieu," she breathed. She lifted the pair of custom silver heels out of the box. White gemstones lined the fabric of the straps and glittered in the light. Against her better judgment, she brought her feet in front of her and slipped them on, fumbling in excitement with the buckles. They fit perfectly to her astonishment. It appeared her adversary was very observant.

She admired them, turning her feet left and right for a while, before venturing towards the other packages. There were two small boxes no bigger than a pack of cigarettes, and two that were just a bit smaller than the box her shoes came in. She went for the smaller ones first, curiosity taking over. They were just as jaw dropping as the shoes. One contained a pearl encrusted decorative comb to wear in her hair, the other a matching set of pearl earrings.

She tore open the other two. A box of German chocolates and an entire case of German cigarettes. She picked up the large case and found a sixth gift hidden beneath it. An elegant, pearlescent black cigarette holder that even the wealthiest of France would envy. She was glad that she was alone in the entryway so she could properly react to the gifts. The smile it caused her to have split over her porcelain face.

"Are you Genevieve Blondeau?" It startled her to hear English after so much French and German being spoken around her. She spun around to see a short man with auburn hair and squinty eyes standing in her open doorway.

"May I help you?" She asked, smoothing down her robe upon standing.

"My name is, Carlos and I am here to take measurements for your gown," he announced, not waiting for an invitation to enter. Carlos. That explained his odd accent, he wasn't from France. He was carrying a blue case under his arm and had a ribbon of a tape measure slung over one shoulder.

"My gown?" She pinched her brows together until realization settled in. The colonel was taking it upon himself to choose her outfit for his award ceremony. If the shoes and accessories were any indication, it would be exquisite.  She would make quite the ornament on his arm, but she was certain that was precisely what he intended.

The tailor didn't bother answering her and instead looked up and down her entrance. His eyes took in her portraits and he smiled with a flicker of judgement before saying, "A beautiful figure I have the pleasure of dressing."

"Merci." Genevieve watched him carefully.

"Where shall we work?" He looked at the stairs and then to the lounge off to the side.

"Er, we can go in here." She left the packages where they lay and showed him to the lounge. Two of the women were busying themselves with dusting and sweeping. "Actually, let's go upstairs." Waltz was attempting to tear into the chocolate and cigarettes when she went back into the entryway.

"Hey! Arrête que tu te fasses!" she scolded the pup and ripped the box from his jaws. She groaned and knelt to pile the packages in her arms and nodded up the steps for Carlos to follow.

Genevieve deposited the gifts onto her bed and turned to face the tailor. "Shall we?"

He set his tools and supplies down on the floor and opened the blue case. "Are you pregnant?"  The question itself left a sour taste in her mouth, but the casual manner of his asking made her feel like a common Nazi whore.

Her eyes nearly popped out of her head. "Am I what!" She didn't mean for it to come out so harsh.

Carlos widened his eyes. "I meant no offense by it. I merely assumed since I was sent here by the good colonel that the two of you were..." he fumbled with his hands, indicating his assumptions.

Genevieve cleared her throat, regaining her composure. "Well we are most certainly not!"

He held up his hands in defense. "Understood. May I?" He held up the tape measure, swiftly changing the subject. She nodded and he began to take her measurements. "Normally, I would ask for your style preferences, but the colonel has given explicit instructions for the gown he has in mind."

She hummed in response, guessing as much. "Bonjour! Bonjour!" They both rotated towards the door to see Belle standing with a smile.

"Hilda! So good to see you." She waved her hand to welcome her into the room.

"Special occasion?" She eyed Carlos and the gifts, stepping over to the bed and picking up the various pearl items.

"Non. A gift from Colonel Roemheld. I am to be his guest at the upcoming ball." Belle smirked and Genevieve made a point to raise her brows to give her the next bit of information. "It is being held in his honor. The führer himself will be there to present his award."

She noted the way Belle's face worked to hide her surprise. "The Standartenführer is the reason for the ball? You will be the luckiest girl in Paris. Arriving on his arm will surely have every eye on you. You must feel like a princess." She knew what she wanted to say, but she wasn't going to chance the tailor picking up any bits of their conversation.

"My five new servants certainly make me feel a little like royalty." She shot her a look when Carlos took her chest measurements.  From the way his hands shook as he tightened the ribbon around her, she knew he was actively working to be as delicate as possible.  The thought of what the colonel may do to him should his hands brush too closely to her breasts was enough to terrify the strongest of men, she was sure.

Belle mouthed the number back to her in shock. "Well," she smiled, "I won't intrude. I came to return the kettle you let me borrow." She sat down a small tea kettle, that Genevieve had never seen, on her dresser. "Au revoir, Genevieve." She crossed the room to kiss her once on the cheek and whispered, "Make a pot of tea tonight." Then she waved and went back downstairs.

Carlos finished not long after and informed her that the gown would be ready on the morning of the tenth and not to worry. "Merci beaucoup," she said politely, glad for his departure.

Waltz was still working on the ham bone, making a mess on her carpet. It occurred to her suddenly that she wouldn't have to clean that up. It made her feel relieved, and yet guilty all at once. She walked to the window that overlooked her driveway and watched Carlos get back into an old blue car that mirrored the color of his case.

It was getting warmer and warmer each day, the summer drawing nearer. Time to open the windows to let the breeze in. As soon as it flung open, she heard the sound of metal hitting something hard. Rocks, maybe. Genevieve padded down the stairs and out the backdoor. All five of the servants had migrated to what was once her garden and had began to tear up weeds and till the soil. "Pardon me!" The man who had delivered the letter stopped working and mopped his brow with his shirt. "Though, I appreciate everything you are doing, I haven't got anything to plant. I'm afraid the garden will just grow back over with weeds." She was lucky that she was stationed in the hillside where the wealthy still thrived despite the war. Nevertheless, it was no secret that food was scarce. You couldn't go into just any district and come away with groceries, let alone seeds. Publicly, it was advertised that the Germans had declared rations would be given to all French inhabitants, but that simply wasn't the case.  No.  Rations were indeed set, but the Nazis did little to hide how gluttonous they were.  Families in the lower districts and the farmlands were constantly being robbed of their food they'd worked hard to earn.  It disgusted her, and drove her desire to see them fall all the more.

"Colonel Roemheld provided us with seeds. Said he doesn't want you to have to worry about food." He stared at her blankly and she got the sneaking suspicion that he didn't like her.  He had a thin face with dark purple circles under his brown eyes that spoke volumes to the treatment he was accustomed to.  

"I see," she mumbled and looked at the forlorn faces gazing back at her. "What are your names?"

"Bruno, Ms. Blondeau," the designated speaker said. She was curious if the others would talk, but he went on with the introductions on his own. "That's Benjamin, Marie-Louise, Rachelle, and Noemi." They all gave a small wave when their names were called.

Genevieve chewed the inside of her cheek, not liking how they were all either intimidated, or simply not fond of her. She smoothed down her robe and gave them her best smile. "Well, if we are to all be together, then we will all be eating the same food." She raised her voice just a bit to gain all of their attention. "I want to make it clear that henceforth you are all to refer to me as Genevieve. It's only fair since I will be calling you all by your names as well. Furthermore, anything and everything that you harvest from this garden is yours. The pool house is plenty large enough to house all of you comfortably, and its fully furnished. Make yourselves at home, and please, don't be afraid to come to me. I'm not so scary as our German friends." They all stared at her in wonder. She was careful to refer to the Germans as friends, should they be following orders to report anything they hear to the colonel.

Their attention shifted to just behind her and she could hear the sound of panting. A smile crept over her pale complexion. "That's Waltz." The pup wound around her legs and barked merrily. "He's quite friendly. I'm sure he'll love the extra attention."

One of the women, Noemi, began to lower herself to the ground and held out her hand. Waltz bounded over to her and sniffed before covering her hand in wet kisses. Noemi laughed, and Genevieve was sure it was the first time she had done so in a while. "Welcome to Chateau Blondeau."