14
SATURDAY, MAY10, 1941
Josie tugged on Paul’s hand. “Are we there yet?”
She’d run and skipped all the way from the Odéon Métro, and he put on the brakes and opened the door. “You almost missed it.”
With a squeal, she ran into Green Leaf Books.
Lucie Girard floated over like a wisp of cotton candy. She wore a pink knee-length skirt, a pink sweater that crossed in front and tied at the waist ... and toe shoes.
Paul flipped up a smile. “Going to dance class?”
“I’m performing a puppet show. I need to move.” She leaned down to Josie. “Hello, Josie. I’m glad you’re here.”
Paul unbuttoned Josie’s coat and slipped it off. “Toe shoes?”
“They’re called pointe shoes. What a pretty dress. Like sunshine.” Lucie fingered the yellow ribbon in Josie’s hair. “You’re my helper, so find a seat close to the front.”
Josie ran to the children’s section.
Lucie straightened up. A pink band held light brown waves off her face. And that face—her forehead puckered and her lips tucked in.
Paul wasn’t welcome. “You said parents could run errands. I’ll go to a café.”
“I owe you an apology.” She fiddled with the sweater’s ribbon hanging over her hip. “I don’t approve of your actions, but you didn’t actually lie to me. I was rude. Please forgive me.”
“All forgiven.” She’d made it clear where he stood, but it was just as well. With the increasing secrets and danger in his life, a new relationship wouldn’t be wise.
The puckering and lip rolling hadn’t stopped. “You’ll think I apologized because—oh, I might as well get on with it. I shouldn’t have refused your offer to help with the store. I can’t lose it. I can’t. Could you stay? I could really use your help.”
She looked so tiny, and the urge to help swelled inside. “I’d be honored. What do you need help with?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
Her nose wrinkled. “The Greenblatts—Hal ran the front of the store and Erma the back. I do Hal’s job, and Madame Martel is supposed to do Erma’s—money and papers and all.” Her voice drifted low.
Paul lowered his too. “Supposed to? Ah, the rent going unpaid.”
“The office—I can’t make head or tails of it. Could you look at it?”
“Yes.” Paul spotted Madame Martel in an armchair on the far side of the counter. “Please introduce me to your assistant.”
Lucie’s cheeks grew pinker than her outfit. “She wouldn’t like that.”
Puzzle pieces shuffled into place, and he gestured toward the armchair. “Please introduce me and inform her of what I’m doing.”
After Lucie drew in a long breath, she led Paul to the woman, who sat curled up with a book. “Excuse me, Madame Martel. I’d like you to meet Mr. Aubrey. He’s a businessman.”
The assistant rose and shook his hand. Almost as tall as Paul and big boned, she had a forceful look, but not unfriendly. Lucie offered no further information.
Paul took over. “Please excuse me, madame, but I couldn’t help but overhear the conversation with the concierge the other day. I’ve offered business help to Miss Girard.”
Madame Martel shot a withering glance at Lucie, and Lucie ... withered.
Steel entered Paul’s smile. “She accepted out of concern for the store, for her livelihood, and for yours. While Miss Girard conducts the Children’s Hour, I’ll look at the files and books.” He gave her an unbending gaze but bowed his head in respect.
