The Last Time I Saw Paris - Lynn Sheene [68]
51, rue des Ecoles, Paris. August 11, 1943.
The flickering light of the movie projector illuminated the scattered audience in the Le Champo cinema. As far as Claire could tell, they were mostly students from the nearby university, amorous couples taking advantage of an hour of darkness in front of a movie screen. She doubted most in the room even knew what film they were watching. A matinee showing on a Tuesday afternoon was not a bad place for a meeting, she decided.
She slipped down the center aisle, crouching below the shimmering image projected on the screen. La Nuit fantastique had already started, but she didn’t mind being late. At least she had missed the Nazi newsreels. She read the papers and couldn’t stand to see a live-action shot of goose-stepping soldiers, the announcer proclaiming another city in Eastern Europe defeated by the Nazi war machine, victorious on all fronts.
Claire slid into an empty row halfway to the front and settled back in the stiff wooden seat. She took a moment to arrange her coat, scanning the audience around her. It had been a phone call today during lunch. The voice crisp, Are the ranunculus in season? I want two dozen red, please, next Monday, at this address.
Ranunculus was her latest code for meeting, no actual flowers needed. Red meant immediately, so Claire made an excuse to Madame Palain and hurried out the door. The address was in the Latin Quarter; Claire was careful and changed trains at Châtelet and again at Saint-Michel. Exiting the station at Cluny–La Sorbonne she stepped into a pooling crowd.
A large truck was parked at an angle across boulevard Saint-Germain, the canopied bed butted up to a restaurant. Two policemen charged out, a bloodied man in an apron suspended from their arms. Behind them, two German soldiers herded out a string of patrons, some with napkins still clutched in their hands or trailing from their chins. All were loaded quietly in the truck.
As the truck engine rumbled to life, the police turned to look over the crowd watching from the sidewalk. Claire slipped backward between two heavyset women deep in a whispered debate over the raid: He must have been doing something wrong. No, he merely fed the wrong stomach. She circled the block, head down, before she was able to turn onto rue de Ecoles and find the theater.
It didn’t look like she’d missed anything. Two rows in front, a couple were getting to know each other from the inside out. Several chairs down and one row behind her an older man, shaped like a dinner roll, was wedged in the seat. He wheezed loudly and shifted from side to side. She couldn’t tell if it was nerves or if he was trapped between the armrests. Claire said a prayer he wasn’t her contact and turned back to watch the movie.
On-screen, as the main character slept during his night shift at the flower market, a mysterious woman floated through the scene in a diaphanous white gown. Claire liked the dress, it would make a hell of a nightgown, but the story made no damn sense.
Claire scanned the audience again. She missed those fasttalking screwball comedies she used to sneak away to on Sunday afternoons. She smiled, imagined Cary Grant in that role, Excuse me, Madame, but your frills are caught on my cuff link. Or Irene Dunn as the mysterious woman in white. Kicking him with a toe, Sell many flowers down there, Van Winkle?
Odette slid in next to her, lit a half-smoked Gitane and settled back in her seat. They watched the movie together for a few scenes.
“You are well, I hope?” Odette breathed out with a trail of smoke, her face toward the screen.
Claire shrugged. “Pas mal. And you, Danielle?”
“Pas mal.” Not bad, she said.
A heavy wheeze from the man behind them.
Claire tilted her head to Odette, who nodded. They moved to the end of the row.
“Interesting place to meet.” Claire sank into her new seat next to Odette. “I hope you didn’t choose this because of the movie.”
“No. Not the movie. But this is most secure. Most circumspect.” She studied Claire’s face. “You must earn your pay.”
Claire’s heart thudded heavy in her