The Last Time I Saw Paris - Lynn Sheene [123]
She went cold, her finger slid over the trigger.
“Madame Badeau, what seems to be the problem?” The Comte stopped in front of the soldiers. “Lieutenant,” he said to Schneider in a cool greeting then looked back to Claire. “Sturmbannführer von Richter will be upset if you’re late with his breakfast, no?”
Claire painted a smile on her face and shrugged her shoulders as if it was something that couldn’t be helped.
Schneider glared. “I just phoned. He didn’t answer.”
The Comte’s lips turned up in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “He didn’t answer you, you mean.”
Schneider flushed. “You spoke to the Sturmbannführer?”
The Comte didn’t answer, dismissed Schneider with his eyes. He turned to the soldiers. “Perhaps I should take your names so I can let the Sturmbannführer know who held up his breakfast and his mistress?”
They looked at each other, to Schneider, then back to the Comte. Claire felt the grip release on her arm.
The Comte let a smile creep into the corner of his mouth, he extended an elbow for her. They walked arm-in-arm through the salon toward rue Cambon.
“It is a good thing, I think, my assistant was not able to retrieve Le Monde for me this morning, no?”
Claire nodded, still unable to loosen her grip on his arm. In her mind, she counted the seconds before Schneider found von Richter. Before they would be after her.
She found her voice as they approached the front doors. “You told me to be careful when you saw me with von Richter. What did you know?”
“Not enough. Never enough.” He reached down and pulled his arm free of her, patted her hand gently. “This I do know. It has been a long night for France. Leave her now or you won’t live to see the dawn.”
“How long did you know about me?”
He examined her as if deciding what she could hear. “About you? A long while.”
Images clicked in her brain. The dinner long ago. Had he left her the note about the Resistance leader in his trash? Had he given her a chance to save Christophe? She looked up at him. His eyes were sad. She recognized the weariness she saw. Of someone who had played the game too long and lost too much to get there.
“Are you a good man?”
He looked genuinely surprised, like no one had ever considered it. He shook his head, a sad smile. “Not yet.” He turned to the concierge.
Claire took a breath and marched purposefully through the double doors. She could almost hear Schneider’s voice ring out, feel the impact of bullets tearing into her back. A glance back inside. The Comte leaned against the concierge’s desk; a newspaper folded under one arm. He smiled at her as the door closed.
She turned to face the street, wrapping von Richter’s jacket closer about her. Soldiers positioned on each side of the door watched the hem of her dress fluttering around her pale thighs in the soft summer breeze. She pasted on a flirty smile and started walking. She fought the urge to look back, kept her pace measured, her hips swinging.
A yell echoed from inside the hotel and Claire burst into a run. A whistle blew as she rounded the corner onto rue Saint-Honoré. A quick turn onto rue Duphot and she ducked into the dark space between two buildings. Pressing herself against the bricks, she peeked toward the intersection. Pedestrians on rue Saint-Honoré scattered off the sidewalk, spilling into the street as an invisible wave crested the corner. She jerked her head back in as troops pounded into view. A long whistle echoed off the buildings. Claire looked behind her.
Ten feet farther and the opening ended at an oversized iron gate, bound with an enormous medieval-looking lock. Sloping pavement behind the iron bars descended into darkness beneath a tall building. She ran to the gate, peering into an underground garage. Voices called out from the street, a whistle shrilled, and heavy footsteps pounded closer. Her heart skittered but she forced the panic down. Head tilted back, she noticed a slender opening between the closed gate and the iron crosspieces above.
Her body trembling, she clenched