The Last Time I Saw Paris - Lynn Sheene [110]
“Sturmbannführer von Richter.” A stout officer stepped up to them, a thin woman at his side. “You are leaving?”
Von Richter nodded. “An important matter calls for my attention.”
The man examined Claire’s body in the thin silk, his gaze caught in the curve of her breasts. His lips turned up in a thin smile.
Claire stared at the woman next to him. Mean eyes, small mouth. They recognized each other at the same moment.
“Madame Sylvie Olivier,” Claire said, before she could speak. “How enchanting to see you again.”
Sylvie stared at Claire’s necklace. “How did you get in here?”
Claire felt her face go hot. Forcing a smile, she snuggled tight against von Richter. “Perhaps you can ask to review the guest list next time.”
“Goodnight, Kapitän.” Von Richter pulled her against him as they stepped out into the cold night air. “Interesting acquaintance you have, Claire.”
“Mmm,” Claire agreed, her attention on von Richter’s hand sliding below the curve of her back.
Von Richter tasted Claire from her lips to the vee of her dress before the car pulled up in front of the Ritz. The soldiers that had stared at Claire earlier that day offered sharp salutes as the couple stepped through the arched stone doorway into the hotel.
He steered Claire toward tall golden columns at the bottom of a staircase. The soldier standing guard saluted von Richter, his eyes moving discreetly to the floor as Claire passed. At the top of the stairs, von Richter glanced over his shoulder then looked to her with some pride. “Only officers of the Reich may occupy the Vendôme building of the Ritz. The decomposing remains of Parisian high society are stuck in the back against the Cambon.”
Claire thought of the parade of jackboots down this long hallway and swallowed the bad taste in her mouth. The walls seemed to narrow as they walked. Von Richter’s hand slid lower.
He stopped in front of the third door, one hand fumbling with the keys, the other hand on Claire. The door opened and he pulled her inside the foyer. A phone rang.
He released her with a sigh. “One moment.”
Claire stepped into the salon, her eyes taking in every detail. She passed an antique desk and chair in Louis XVI style and walked toward the windows. The skyline of Opéra Garnier was visible in the distance. She glanced at a stack of papers on the desk; the top sheet dated that day. A list of names followed by numbers, then in the last column, initials. Ml, MV, Fs, Verkehr. A signature line at the bottom awaited von Richter’s hand. Could those initials be the prisons, Montluc, Mont-Valérien, Fresnes? What was Verkehr? Hope bubbled inside her. A trail to find Grey.
Von Richter hung up the phone behind her and met her at the window, sliding his hands down her sides to the slit of her dress. He kissed the side of her neck. “Nice view, isn’t it?”
Her resolve hardened. “Hmm,” Claire said, allowing herself a small smile.
“Tell me about this Le Lis Enchaîné,” Von Richter said.
Claire lifted her dress. “Step one.”
The room was black, heavy shades drawn tight. Claire slid from the bed and crawled on all fours to the salon. She felt her way to the door, slipped inside then pushed it shut behind her. Sitting on the desk chair, she felt for the matches she’d seen earlier, found one and lit it.
The diamonds she wore glittered in the light against her bare skin. She moved the flame until she saw the pile of papers. Lighting a candle, she peeled open the stack of forms, scanning each one. A week of what she thought might be prisoner transports, memos in German. But no mention of Thomas Grey. She sat back and closed her eyes, shouted at the ache in her groin. She knew Grey had to be alive. And she’d find him.
In the meantime, she’d be a good spy.
Claire pulled out a pen and hotel stationery. She began to write in clear small letters. She had completed the page when she heard von Richter stir. In one movement, she blew out the match, grabbed the notepad and replaced the paper on the stack. On her knees, she found her dress thrown over the sofa and slipped