The Last Time I Saw Paris - Lynn Sheene [58]
Claire turned her head away, her stomach queasy. He probably wasn’t going to get a chance to miss that loafer. Remaining passengers hurried by, avoiding the eyes of the SS. A small girl stopped to pick up the lost shoe. Her mother jerked her arm and scurried away.
With the tilt of his head, the captain indicated another man. Two more soldiers moved. She heard the man pleading as he was hauled away. I have Ausweis. I have papers.
Claire looked down at the flowers in her lap. The petals trembled. Why the hell was she in the middle of a SS raid? She forced her eyes back to the captain. What was he looking for? Men traveling alone? People without obvious reasons for arriving in Paris?
The train from Lyon rumbled in the station. The remaining soldiers regrouped on her platform, spread out in a semicircle facing the train. They were a step in front of her; she smelled the sharp smoke of German Roth-Händle cigarettes on their uniforms.
The time to get out was now. Claire stood, tugged at her dress and smoothed her hair, stared hard at the exit, but her feet wouldn’t take her there. She planted a smile on her face and slipped in between two soldiers.
The doors opened and travelers streamed off the train. All blanched when they saw the uniforms; their strides faltered then picked up again as they hurried by. Claire watched the officer. His eyes zeroed in on a man, plump with a receding hairline. He looked offended when they pulled him aside. A loyal Vichy man, no doubt. He was hauled away, struggling. Not so loyal for long.
The skirmish was forgotten as her target exited the train. He was wiry, shorter than she’d expected. Thin glasses rode on a hawk nose. His thick head of white hair was carefully combed. A trimmed mustache lined a serious mouth. He carried a valise; a coat was slung over an arm. A red and white striped scarf was tied around his neck.
Claire saw the officers eyes flick over toward him.
“Mon cheri!” Claire threw herself in his arms. “Kiss me,” she whispered, her mouth on his cheek.
Surprise flickered in his eyes but he recovered, gamely pulling her into his arms and planting a dry kiss on her lips. He tasted of tobacco and coffee.
Her arm anchored in his, she pulled him toward the soldiers. “Excusez-moi,” Claire said, her tone light, and led with the flowers held out in front of her chest.
The SS in front of her didn’t give way. With her momentum, she pressed up against him, felt his gun against her thigh, the patch on his uniform pocket scratched her collarbone. She swallowed the bile that surged in her throat, looked up and smiled through the burning that threatened to choke her.
His hard stare flicked down on her, a tongue slid through thin lips like a snake tasting for fear. Her smile was pinned on; the blood pounded in her ears as she held his gaze. He stared for another moment then shoved her away with a stiff arm.
She pushed Christophe through the gap created in front of her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the officer turn his head toward them. One nod and they were dead. The young Wehrmacht soldier from the table of feldgrau moved to block their path, his eyes on Christophe’s case.
“What about a search for me, soldier?” She turned her head; the officer was watching. She had to make a friend and fast. She leaned in to the soldier, licking her lips. “A girl needs to make a living. But—” She slid out a blossom and set it on the table in front of him. “You look so strong. I haven’t had a good search in ages.”
His eyes widened. He said nothing, but nodded his head sharply.
She glanced back at the captain. Another poor soul was getting dragged away. She faced the soldier. “You’ll be here later? After they leave? What’s your name?”
“Günter. Leave your grandfather at home.”
Claire turned to walk away.
He grabbed her arm. “And you, your name?”
“Evelyn. Don’t forget me.” One last smile and Claire reached for Christophe. She looked back as they reached the stairs.
The captain was watching. He nodded. The SS soldiers moved.