The Last Time I Saw Paris - Lynn Sheene [42]
They walked side by side back down the street. Claire peered into the windows of the shops and side passages while Odette kept her eyes ahead. Cabarets, bars, cafés. Cold-looking prostitutes loitered on side streets and followed them with their eyes.
“In here.” Odette entered the church on the end of the block.
Claire stepped over an entryway into soft dimness. Burning candles and incense, wood, stone and age mixed together to form a musty smell Claire found oddly soothing. The ceiling rose in Gothic arches. A saint with sword brandished and monster wrapped around his legs adorned a high stained-glass window that radiated deep ocean blue, moss green and butter yellow. With her head bowed, Odette sat on a wooden chair.
Claire slid next to her, staring up at the ceiling. “Are we meeting someone here?”
“No. But it isn’t wise to be the only women waiting on the street that aren’t prostitutes.”
“Oh. I see. Where are we?”
“L’Eglise Saint-Michel.”
“Famous place?”
“Not really. Saint Michel was a dragon slayer. A popular man during times of war.” Odette stared down at her hands folded in her lap. “I don’t go to church, not anymore. But this place, I like, when I am here.”
Claire nodded. The frayed fabric, the scuffed wood and the grooves worn in the floor from centuries of feet gave the place a melancholy dignity.
They watched a woman walk past them down the aisle holding a too-thin young boy. He clung to her arms, his dark eyes rimmed with sickness. The door closed behind them before Claire and Odette spoke again.
Odette looked up at the altar, her face thoughtful. “Gerard, my son, turned nine this summer. He is too much like his father to be a good boy. But he is right for the times. It is hard for the good boys to survive.”
“I’d like to meet him.”
“Perhaps.” Odette heard the shortness in her own voice and shrugged lightly. “When I work, like today, I’m Danielle. It’s too dangerous for me, with a family, not to hide my true name. As Danielle, if I were caught, the trail would end with me.”
Claire thought of the old man in the street. If Odette were caught . . .
Odette turned to Claire, her face serious. “Normally, you wouldn’t know who I really am. It is a risk. You’re a risk, Claire.”
Claire held Odette’s gaze for as long as she could. “You came to me.”
“Yes. We came to you because we need to know what you see. You’re making a commitment to us. Perhaps to save your skin or your position. But you have a responsibility now, much greater than just to yourself.” Her eyes squinted as she stared at Claire, as if she might be able to see inside. “And we seem to believe in you.”
The door opened behind them. A man bundled in rags walked down the aisle toward the altar.
“Who’s we? Laurent?” Claire remembered how he’d tried to speak with her as she left the party. She felt warmed by his concern, by his unexpected confidence.
“You have made an impression.” Odette rose and walked toward the candles.
Claire watched Odette drop a coin into a wooden box. She lit a stubby white candle and set it in among many on the altar. Her expression was pinched, her head bowed. Odette had her own ghosts.
Claire looked away. Her gaze paused on the wall across from the stained-glass window. The light through the window painted soft swatches of blue, green and yellow onto the stone like an Impressionist painting. She marveled. So much beauty and evil stirred up in the same bucket.
As the afternoon shadows lengthened, they traced their way back to the apartment. After three knocks, the boy let them inside. He slipped the identification card in Claire’s hands. As always, her eyes were drawn to the photo first. The shot was good, she had to admit. Not too good as to arouse suspicion, it wouldn’t make the cover of Harper’s, but she did look tempting as well as somewhat French. Her hair was nearly to her shoulders, a lock curled over her eye. Red lipstick kept her lips full. Her eyes skimmed over to the text.
Nom: BADEAU. Prénom: CLAIRE.
Nationalité: AM