The Last Time I Saw Paris - Lynn Sheene [56]
“This is safe, here?” Claire looked around at the scattered tables; the diners leaned over their lunches.
Odette smiled grimly, her eyes flicked over the café. “You would be surprised at this place. Talk.”
Claire quickly ran through what she heard. The meeting in Paris. The leader from the south.
Odette’s face faded to a chalky grey. She reached for a cigarette. It took three tries to light it with trembling fingers. “It is true.”
“Now that you know, you can make adjustments, can’t you?”
Odette didn’t reply. Her face was composed but her eyes blinked fast as she thought. She focused on Claire, her lips pulled back to the slightest toothy smile. “Yes. We can.” Odette gathered the posy and stood. A nod to the waiter. “Come.”
Claire rose and followed her outside.
Odette pressed the flowers into Claire’s hands as they walked. She spoke under her breath. “You must take these flowers and meet someone, warn him.”
Claire stopped abruptly. She heard what the Nazis did to Resistánts . The torture, cutting, drowning, praying for death. “No.”
Odette flipped around to face her. “No?”
“I already risked too much. I’m not like you. I won’t go further.”
“Claire, you don’t understand. There is a traitor. They may know me. They see me and it’s over. There is no time to find someone else. You must.”
“You don’t understand, Odette. I heard something important. I told you. I kept my part of the bargain. No—you find another little soldier.” She shoved the flowers into Odette’s midsection.
Odette glared. Claire opened her fingers. The posy hit and bounced off the uneven bricks of the sidewalk. Flowers and petals burst from their ties and rolled into the street.
“You could have written everything down in your report last night, risking the traitor would see it. You didn’t. You came here today. You care, mon ami. You may not want to, but you do.”
Claire leaned in, her voice a harsh whisper. “Caring for something and dying for something are two completely different things. Don’t get them confused.”
“It would be a mistake to walk away from us.” Odette picked up the flowers. Her face was blank, eyes fixed on a single white ranunculus blossom she threaded back into the bouquet.
Claire’s anger snuffed out like a cigarette butt tossed in the snow. Would they kill her? Damn. They just might. But she wasn’t about to start following orders. “I could walk away, all right. Straight to the Ritz. The Comte would be pleased to see me. He enjoys a good chat. That would be a hell of a mistake too, wouldn’t it?”
Fear flickered in Odette’s eyes. “Yes. That would be.” She held the crumpled flowers out to Claire, a note of pleading crept into her voice. “Claire. This is more important than I can say. For all of us.”
“Oh? Grey too?” Claire said flatly.
Odette scowled.
Must have hit a nerve, Claire thought grimly. “Is it true? Did Grey go back to England, like Laurent said?”
Odette sighed. Her lips pressed into a thin line. “He did.”
A cold sliver jabbed Claire in the chest. He was the same as all the other bastards she’d run across. And now Odette. Kind, genuine Odette demanded she risk her life for them, or what? Death?
Taking a deep breath, she plucked the posy from Odette’s hand and hooked it in the crook of her elbow. She was through with every last one them. After she saved this connard, she’d tell them all to go straight to hell. She might not wait until next week to see the Comte. She was getting so tired of wool scratching her raw she dreamed of silk in her sleep. “Tell me what I need to do.”
Less than an hour later, she climbed the stairs to the upper level of Gare Montparnasse to await the inbound train from Lyon. The concourse was huge; high ceilings beyond view, lines of tracks butted up against platforms accepting trains from all parts south.
She re-read her instructions from Odette, which were mercifully short. At 11:45 the train from Lyon would arrive. Among the passengers would be an older gentlemen wearing a redstriped scarf. He was called Christophe.