The Last Time I Saw Paris - Lynn Sheene [119]
Pressing up to the counter, she ordered a madeleine and turned to watch the street. A flow of passing people, none glanced toward her, none paused too long to deliberate on a table before they moved on. Still, to be safe, she wrapped the pastry in a napkin and slipped out the café’s side door into an alley. Paralleling the street for a block, she turned north toward parc Monceau.
The park was quiet. The carousel was empty, its brightly colored cars suspended in midair. She walked along the gravel to the pool then settled on the shaded bench beneath a gnarled oak.
By now, the transport would have left. Grey would be on the road between Fort Montluc and Compiègne. Where would Jacques’ group attack? An empty stretch of road? A bridge? With her fingers, she ripped a piece from the small scallop-shaped cake and chewed without tasting.
Afterward they would have to hide out somewhere. A farmhouse perhaps. Not Paris. But still, if Grey was close, this is where Jacques would find her. And then nothing would stop her from reaching Grey. She tore at the pastry and hurled pieces to the birds pecking in the grass around the pool’s edge. She would be ready.
A blond woman and small girl walked by at lunch. The girl tossed pebbles into the mossy water. After a moment, her mother pulled her away. She protested, her voice echoing. Pas plus, Marie, no more, the mother told her. In the afternoon, an elderly couple rambled past. The woman’s diaphanous snow-white hair glinted in the sun; she gripped the man’s elbow with frail hands.
Claire pulled the envelope from her purse. She stroked the paper, felt the texture of the gold engraved Ritz Paris crown and seal under her fingers. But she couldn’t bring herself to open it. Not yet. The sun disappeared below the buildings and the light faded.
“Madame?” A slender man in glasses and a thick scarf faced the bench.
“Yes?” Her voice quivered. A message from Grey?
“You have been sitting here so long; are you unwell?”
She flushed, suddenly mortified. “Non, merci. I lost track of time. I must be going.” She hurried away without looking back.
Claire forced a confident stroll as she stepped onto boulevard Haussmann, but her insides ached. She paused a moment before she turned onto boulevard Malesherbes. Of course it wouldn’t have worked this way. But damn. She had so wanted it to.
The concierge stopped her in the lobby. A note. Sturmbann-führer von Richter was expecting her in his study. Directly.
“Komme,” Von Richter barked when she tapped on his door.
She steeled herself as she paused in the threshold. Give Grey time.
Von Richter leaned over his desk, his briefcase opened and empty in front of him. “Ah. So you decided to grace me with your presence.” His faced was flushed with excitement but his eyes sparked with anger.
A white-coated server pushed a cart through the door behind her. Two bottles of champagne jutted from an ice bucket. Silver trays brimmed with cheeses, chocolates, pastries and fruit.
Von Richter glared at the man. “I called a half hour ago. Are you purposefully wasting my time?”
The server blanched. “No, Sturmbannführer. We had to retrieve the chocolates from a shop that was raided—”
“On the table. Now. And go.” Von Richter turned to Claire, waved his hand toward the offering. “What do you think?”
She forced a smile and stepped into von Richter’s arms. “Alby, darling. Is it your birthday or mine?”
He smirked, his eyes sparkled. “Better.” He reached for the champagne.
The table led to the bed. One bottle was empty and the sheets between them stained with crushed berries when von Richter finally answered Claire’s questions.
“A coup. And a promotion.” He pulled the sheets up to his waist and reached for a crystal glass.
“How did you manage all that?”
“You know how it is, Claire. The world favors some. It is merely for us to reach out and pick up the spoils.”
Claire leaned against his back, felt the heat from his skin soak through her thin silk slip. She massaged his