‘A wireless radio, actually,’ Camille said. ‘I so miss listening to the radio, especially on the nights when I’m alone. It would mean the world to me if you could get me one.’ The truth was thatother than the snippets of information she received from the newly arrived refugees from France, who were few and far between these days, she wasn’t hearing any current news. The papers in Portugal were mostly empty of any news on the war, as if their neutrality translated to a blanket ban on even mentioning world events.
He narrowed his gaze again and she watched as he blew an almost-perfect smoke ring into the air, clearly something he’d spent many hours practising. It was somehow impossible to look away from, as much as she didn’t want to be impressed by him.
‘A radio?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘Yes, a radio.’
‘Very well. I’ll see what I can do. But you have that paper for me today, yes? And anything else you have coming in this week?’
Camille smiled and took a step backwards, and then another, not wanting him to try to lure her back to bed. ‘I will. I’ve also added your subscription to the German papers to my orders, so you will be receiving them regularly from now on.’
He grunted. ‘Good.’
‘I’ll see you this afternoon,’ she said, pausing only to push her feet into her heels, closing his jacket around her body and then slipping from the room.
She shut the door behind her and kept walking, even as her legs trembled, not wanting to stop until she was well away from the building. Her hair was loose about her shoulders when usually it was pinned carefully into place, her dress was too tight for daytime, and it was obvious she was wearing a man’s coat – but worst of all, she felt as if she’d betrayed her husband. All this time she’d led Kiefer on but never had to go to his bed to get what she wanted, and now the smell of him on her skin, the scent of his cigarettes and aftershave on his jacket, it was all too much. It made her want to be sick.
When she rounded the corner, Camille pressed herself against the wall, her breath coming in fast hiccups as she fought for air, as if there wasn’t enough space in her lungs. She’d told herself it would be easy to seduce a Nazi, and by and large it had been, only she hadn’t thought about what it would feel like for her to be with another man, to feel as if she were betraying her husband even though he’d been gone for so long now. To let another man touch her, aGermanman do things to her that she didn’t want anyone who wasn’t her husband to ever do to her again.
‘Once all this is over, we’re going to live the life we’ve always dreamed of.’
Camille tucked closer to her husband, her leg thrown casually over his as she trailed her fingertips across his chest. ‘Sometimes I wonder if this will ever be over though. Freedom feels like a distant dream these days.’
‘Of course it will be over, and then we can find that house we’ve always talked about. Your father can come with us, and—’
‘You’re certain you want him to come?’
Hugo laughed. ‘I think we’ll be grateful to have someone to mind all those children we’re going to have, don’t you? We won’t want to leave them with a stranger.’
They both laughed, heads tipped together. And when Camille kissed him, she touched her lips slowly to his, taking her time, not wanting to ever leave their bed. She’d loved Hugo from their very first date, talking so late into the night that it had become morning, their fingers intertwined as he’d walked her home at daybreak, promising to see one another the very next day. Already imagining a life together after hours of being in his company.
‘I wish we could stay hidden here until it’s all over,’ she whispered against his skin. ‘Our little love nest.’
‘So do I,’ he murmured back, his hand around the back of her head, gently drawing her closer. ‘But they need us.Franceneeds us.’
She nodded. Despite her desire to stay tucked up in bed with her husband, he was right, and there was nothing she wouldn’t do for her country. She wanted her freedom back like everyone else, and that meant staying to fight, no matter what. Because she wanted freedom for everyone, not just for them personally.
Camille sighed and kissed him once more, knowing that they didn’t have long before they had to leave, and wanting to make the most of every moment, wishing they could have longer, just the two of them.
‘For France,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Andthenfor us.’
Hugo grinned and pulled her down on top of him, and Camille didn’t resist, loving the feel of her husband’s body against hers, the weight of him, the strength of him. She’d been drawn to him from the moment they’d met, a friend her brother had brought home for dinner; their eyes had immediately locked across the table as if they were the only two people in the room.
‘I love you,’ he said, his mouth against her neck.
‘I love you, too.’
‘Just keep remembering our dream. The house with the big garden, the restaurant we’re going to open, surrounded by all our children.’
Camille straightened, pushing off from the wall and hurrying down the street as memories threatened to consume her; memories that usually only plagued her during the night when she tried to sleep, but were now chasing her while she was awake. Sleep was no longer something she could count on, the terror coming for her night after night, no matter how hard she tried to forget. Right now, though, she had to forget, because if she didn’t, her memories would make it impossible to fulfil her mission.
They’d called her the Little Rabbit for a reason in France, because she was so good at sneaking around undetected, and she intended on living up to her codename. It was all she had now that Hugo was gone, and it had to meansomething.
She kept her head bent, obscuring her face with her hand as she dashed down one cobbled street after another, not slowing until she was at her apartment. It was time to wash and get ready for work, because the bookshop wouldn’t open itself, and rather than being a chore, it was the one thing in her life these days that made her smile. And smiling was no longer something she ever took for granted.
Her bookshop was also a lifeline for those Jewish refugees who needed her, and nothing, not memories nor nightmares, could stop her from doing everything she could to help them.
The rest of Camille’s morning was uneventful, serving a handful of people every hour who were trying to find books to keep their minds off things, and talking with her regulars, until the bell jingled and a young woman in her early twenties stepped into the store. Camille glanced up from the letter she was writing, following the woman with her eyes and noting how nervous she seemed, which was unusual. Most people relaxed the moment they stepped inside, as if the very sense of being surrounded by books was enough to calm them, but it appeared that the opposite had happened in this case. Camille immediately wanted to find out more, and knew she’d never seen her before. The woman was too pretty to be forgotten, and looked different from her usual clientele. She also seemed to be of a similar age to Camille, maybe a year or two younger.
