She smiled, an attractive woman with soft dark eyes, and she gave the order to the shopgirl, her words halting but effective.
The shopgirl bagged the candy.
“You are recently arrived in Lisbon?” The pregnant woman nodded to Lucie’s suitcase.
“Yes, just now. You are from Paris too?” Lucie recognized the accent.
Sadness swam through those dark eyes. “Oui.”
From what Lucie had heard, thousands of refugees swarmed Lisbon waiting for passage to a country that actually wanted them.
The shopgirl spoke.
“She told you the price,” Lucie’s helper said. “It’s in escutos. Did you exchange money?”
“Yes, in the station.” She pulled out her pocketbook, picked out coins as instructed, and exchanged them for the bag of candy. She smiled at the mother-to-be. “Thank you for helping a fellow Parisienne.”
She tipped up a square chin. “I am no longer a Parisienne. I am soon to be an American.”
“Oh? We’re Americans. I’m glad you got a visa. I’ve heard how difficult it is.”
“I am one of the lucky ones. My name was on Varian Fry’s list.”
“Varian Fry?”
“You have not heard of him? He is a hero.” Her dark eyes shone. “He is an American reporter sent to Marseille with three thousand dollars and a list of two hundred authors and artists and intellectuals in danger from the Nazis. The Vichy government kicked him out of France recently, but not before he obtained American visas for hundreds of people.”
“How wonderful.” And a story that would never be reported in Parisian papers.
Crinkles formed around the woman’s eyes. “Your daughter is patient.”
Josie looked up at Lucie, bouncing on her toes.
Lucie chuckled. “I did promise you one.” She squatted down, handed Josie an orange candy, and watched so she could report every expression to Paul.
Josie sniffed it, then nibbled. She recoiled a bit, as if in shock. Her eyes scrunched up, and she chewed. Slowly, wondertransformed her face. “It tastes like—flowers and—and sunshine.”
“That’s how sweet you are to your father. Sweeter, in fact.”
“She’s darling,” the woman said. “Does she look like her father?”
“Very much.”
The woman rubbed her rounded belly. “I hope my baby looks like its father too.”
“When are you due?”
“February. I hope I will be in America. But it is hard to find passage.” She gave Lucie a sympathetic smile. “You will see. I’ve been looking for a month.”
“Does the American Legation help? I’m on my way there.”
“Oh? I’m going that direction myself. May I walk with you?” The woman waved to the shopgirl.“Obrigada.”
“Obrigada.” Lucie followed her new friend up the street. “I am Lucie Girard, and this is my daughter, Josie.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Madame Girard. My name is Dominique Kahn.”
Lucie had met many authors in her line of work, and it always thrilled her. “I am so pleased to meet you. I lovedLa tempête tranquille.”
