SUNDAY, DECEMBER7, 1941
After church, Josie ran upstairs to her bedroom to play.
Paul had always loved this house.
He set his Bible on a marble-topped table in the foyer and entered the dayroom. Rain pattered on the tall arched windows, and a fire crackled in the fireplace.
The wedding portraits hung above the mantel, where they had for over six years. Paul ran his finger along Simone’s strong jawline, but all he felt was cool glass.
He’d hate to leave this photograph most of all. Madame Coudray had promised to store Simone’s portrait in her living quarters when Paul left. The portrait wouldn’t fit in his suitcase without folding, but he’d packed many smaller photographs.
He leaned back against the mantel, letting the fire warm his legs. He could practically see Simone in her favorite armchair, hear her laughter, and smell the perfume she wore to cover the smell of motor oil and gasoline fumes. When Paul left Paris, he’d lose this sense of her presence. All he’d have would be a few mementos and the daughter she’d given him.
He headed into his study. He’d lose the big desk he loved andhundreds of books—including those he’d rescued from Green Leaf Books. They would still fall into German hands.
Paul braced his hands on the desk. He’d lose the house, his belongings, and a substantial chunk of wealth. Although he’d transferred most of his funds home long ago, the capital stored in the factory and house would be lost forever.
The most important things remaining under his protection were Josie and Lucie. Lord willing, Paul would make a new life with them in the States.
The Aurabesque plans lay on his desk. This was his best work, and he’d take it home along with his tank designs. When the US went to war, they’d probably shut down passenger car manufacturing, same as in Europe, and his tank plans could help his father convert the factory in Massachusetts to wartime production.
But the Aurabesque ...
He could almost hear Lucie—“If you can imagine it, you can work for it. And if you work for it, someday you might be able to achieve it.”
Paul gathered up the plans. He chose to imagine a peaceful world where people could buy beautiful cars.
Back in the dayroom, Paul clicked on the radio. Nowadays he kept it on at all times in case of breaking news, but Radio-Paris played a Wagner opera.
Too bad he couldn’t pick up a station from the States. He chuckled. Sunday morning wouldn’t dawn on the East Coast for several hours. All he’d hear would be static.
Paul grabbed his Bible in the foyer and climbed the marble staircase.
If only he had the rendezvous information in Orléans. The urge to whisk Lucie and Josie out of the country grew each day.
Lafarge was causing more trouble. He claimed to have evidence linking Henri Silvestre to the resistance and threatened to turn him in. Paul had doubled his blackmail fees. Even ifLafarge had fabricated the evidence, Silvestre could still be arrested, tortured, and shot. Also, the police might uncover Silvestre’s actual resistance work.
In his bedroom Paul exchanged his suit jacket for a pullover sweater. Then he swung his suitcase onto the bed. He’d divided his necessities and Josie’s among two suitcases and a small case Josie could carry. One suitcase went to work with him every day, and the others remained at home. Thank goodness Parisians often carried suitcases nowadays to cart groceries and goods.
Paul checked inside. Clothing and toiletries for him and Josie, a blanket, and a flashlight. In his overcoat pockets he kept vital papers, cash, and a pocketknife.
Every morning Madame Coudray—the only member of his staff privy to Paul’s plans—returned Josie’s favorite doll, stuffed cat, and blanket to her little suitcase.
“Hi, Daddy.” Josie stood in the doorway, balancing on one leg.
“Hello, truffle.” He swung her into the air.
Between giggles she said, “Truffle?”
“You’re nothing but truffle.” He blew a raspberry into her little neck.
She squealed with delight.
Paul plopped her onto the bed and checked through the suitcase.
When her giggles died, Josie rolled onto her belly. “What are you doing, Daddy?”
Paul scooted her Sunday dress down over her bottom. “Making sure we’re packed to visit your grandparents.” He couldn’t tell her the real plans.
