The Last Time I Saw Paris - Lynn Sheene [97]
He was the man who had handed her the package on the way to the Gestapo. Dropping coins on the table, Claire hurried across the street and down the steps. She kept his head in view along the long tunnel to the platform. He slipped on the train as the whistle blew.
Claire jumped into the nearest car as the train began to move. She saw him exit the train at Europe station. She shoved her way out onto the platform and scanned the crowd. Not seeing him, she chose the nearest of three possible exits. She hurried through the tunnel, up the steps to rue de Madrid.
A busy street, but the man was not there. She had lost him.
“What a coincidence, running into you here.”
Odette was at her side. Her smile did not make it up to her eyes. She shoved her arm through Claire’s. “Let’s talk.”
Claire pulled her arm free. She was done being intimidated. “I’ll talk. You listen.”
They walked on rue Portalis toward the dome of Église Saint-Augustin de Paris. Passing the statue of Joan of Arc, they entered the church doors and sat. Claire faced straight ahead and spoke about the farm, the messenger who came for Grey and the pilot, the soldiers and her escape with Anna and Marta.
Finally, Claire turned to Odette. “I need two things. One, to know where Grey is now. Second, Anna and Marta need safe passage out of France.”
Odette stared into Claire’s eyes. From her somber face, Odette appeared to read more there than Claire wanted to reveal. “I knew it wasn’t you that betrayed us. I can do nothing for the girls. I am sorry. About Grey, I will do what I can.”
Odette nodded at a figure by the door as she left. The man Claire followed from the train slipped a pistol in his jacket as he followed Odette outside.
Sunlight through the stained-glass rosette window painted the church in blues. As the priest moved to the front of the church, Claire stood and walked out.
Chapter 10
THE CHÂTEAU
52, rue du Colisée, Paris. October 30, 1943.
Claire turned up the lapel of her coat as she locked the shop’s front door two mornings later. The light was soft grey, an unseen sun hid behind a heavy mist that blanketed the street. The buildings were faint outlines; her steps muffled in the heavy air. Head down, eyes darting from side to side, Claire hurried toward parc Monceau.
She slid through the side gate from avenue Hoch and took the center path. The apartments surrounding the park were invisible except for soft light from a single window, several stories up. Trees and sculptures seemed to come out of nowhere as she hurried down the passage. The ache in her head, the mist itself, tamped down any fear for her own safety.
She fingered the note in her pocket that had been tucked under the door after closing last night. Meet at the Roman pond in the park at 6 tomorrow morning. She struggled to keep her pace natural. The wait felt far too long for this meeting.
A tall man faced the pond, face half-hidden in a scarf, hat pulled low. “Evelyn?”
“Yes.”
“Danielle sent me. As you thought, you were betrayed. The one you asked about was captured.” He handed her a slip of paper. “Memorize this address. Outside Paris. It’s near Noisiel.”
Her eyes skimmed over the crisp letters. 31, rue de Jardin, Champs-sur-Marne. It was an address she didn’t recognize. Captured. The word chilled her. “Is Grey alive?”
“For now. But you must go today to this address and search for materials that might incriminate anyone. Names, locations, dates, photos. Destroy anything you find.”
Claire gripped the paper. “How would the Gestapo know to go there?”
“It was his home. We must expect him to break. Everyone does.”
“Show some respect.” She slapped him hard across the face.
His eyes narrowed. A red splotch marked his freshly shaved cheek. “This is our life, Madame. He got caught, well, then he will break. If he is lucky, he will die first.”
He fished a cigarette from his pocket, brought it to his lips and lit it with a match pinched