The Last Time I Saw Paris - Lynn Sheene [126]
Marta couldn’t help herself, her eyes sparkled with curiosity. “What is it?”
Claire untied the silk ribbon and slowly unrolled the fabric. The necklace and earrings were jumbled like a pile of broken glass. The diamonds caught the faint afternoon sun streaming in the window and sparkled like embers.
Marta gasped. Claire picked up the necklace and handed it to the girl, sunburst in her palm.
Marta cradled the pendant, looking up at Claire. “My mother would have loved it. This must be worth so much. It’s beautiful.”
“Beautiful? Yes.” Claire nudged the dangling gems. As they swayed, white facets danced on Marta’s skin. “But I find many things more beautiful. Like, the light in your eyes when you smile.”
Marta smiled back. “And roses. You love roses.”
“Yes.”
“And Monsieur Grey. You think he is beautiful.”
The words cut into Claire. She forced in a breath. “Yes. He is.” She examined the necklace, remembered the night she got it from Russell, the lying that preceded it and all the lies that followed. The woman who loved that necklace was gone. Buried. “You must always see the difference between what the world says is beautiful and what your heart says is beautiful. Do you understand?”
“You sound like Madame Palain,” Marta said.
“Thank you. And I am also right.” Claire laughed softly. “The jewelry is expensive, true. But its worth—you will decide that in its use.”
“Me? I can’t take it.” Marta pushed the necklace back at Claire.
The diamonds were warm in her palm as Claire nestled the jewelry on the silk. Rolling up the fabric and tying it carefully, she turned to Marta. “Stand up in front of me.” Claire slipped the roll into the waistband of the girl’s skirt. “This is where you hide it, where they won’t look for it. Use the strings, like this, and tie them to your slip, where it can’t be seen.”
“It is too much.”
“Keep it hidden, always. If you need it—when you need it—you will know what to do.”
Marta’s lips trembled. She flung herself against Claire and rested her head on her shoulder.
Claire leaned her cheek against the top of the girl’s head. “You and Anna are going to have such wondrous lives.”
Marta looked up at her, the trace of hope turning up the edges of her mouth, even as tears clung to her dark lashes. “Vraiment?”
“Truly.” Claire smiled. “You have courage, Marta. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. The strength not just to survive but to be true to yourself—true to what matters.”
“I don’t know.”
“I do. Promise me you won’t ever forget that.”
“I won’t forget anything. I promise.” Marta wrapped her thin arms around Claire, clenching her tight.
Claire left their apartment building with her head down; she had the purposeful stride of someone with a place to go. She inspected herself in the reflection of the windows as she walked. A light wool jacket thrown over a sky blue dress. From Adele, both a touch too long, they covered the scrapes on her knees. The jacket had an inner seam, just opened for the folder; the pistol nestled in an inner pocket. Von Richter’s jacket and her ripped dress were ashes in the fireplace. She looked back once as she turned off rue Brezin, her gaze on the fourth floor, her eyes searching for fluttering white curtains. Another promise. She prayed Marta could live to keep it.
The afternoon turned blustery, the branches swayed overhead, leaves shaking. Claire’s coat whipped around her legs, slapping the raw skin. She stepped inside a doorway as rain began to fall. Sagging against the bricks, she shifted her weight back and forth on her aching feet as she watched the avenue behind her. She was tired. She needed to be vigilant.
Claire glanced at the sign across the street. Hôtel Jasmine. A worn four-story façade, the namesake vine clinging to crumbling bricks. She peered in the door. A dark lobby, tattered but clean. The kind of discreet place a woman would go to meet a man for the afternoon.
Another glance at the street, no soldiers in sight. Claire walked into the pharmacy next door. A moment later, she came out with a bag in her hand and crossed the