She could still hear the director’s ringing words. “It has come to my attention that we have collaborators in our congregation. It has also come to my attention that we have gossips. We have those who covet and those who bear false witness, those who commit evil for the Germans and those who commit evil against the Germans. We have sinners in our midst, my friends! Sinners!”
Holding her breath, Lucie had glanced around at all the stunned faces.
“Hallelujah!” Mr. Pendleton had cried. “What better place for sinners than where they can hear the Word of God. So welcome to all of you, my fellow sinners, my friends.”
Guilty looks had passed between some members, huffy looks between others, but Paul hadn’t even raised his head.
Indignation pulsed in Lucie’s veins as the carriage passed the Gare d’Orsay. Someone must have asked Mr. Pendleton to kick Paul out of the church. How dare they? Why, that seemed a greater sin than what Paul was doing.
The carriage rolled around the bend in the Seine past elegant bridges and trees in full leaf and public buildings hung with garish swastika flags. The Eiffel Tower poked its spindly head above the buildings and soon dominated the view, seeming to arch over the road. Lucie held on to her hat and craned her neck to enjoy the sight.
Then the carriage turned onto the Pont d’Iéna and crossed to the Right Bank, another world, where those who calledthemselves “respectable” lived—professionals and businessmen and government ministers.
Lucie had only been in the wealthy 16th arrondissement a handful of times, always on her way to the wooded paths of the Bois de Boulogne.
The streets in the district were broader with more trees and deeper sidewalks, lined with hotels and embassies and high-class stores, with cars parked outside. Only Germans, physicians, and the most outrageous collaborators were allowed to drive.
Lucie sat back in her seat, glad she’d worn her smart taupe suit—not so she’d fit in, but so she wouldn’t draw attention.
They turned down a broad boulevard, and the homes grew grander, with wrought iron fences and gardens in front.
In a few minutes, Albert drew up the reins. “We are here, mademoiselle.”
Lucie did her best not to gawk. A four-story home, surrounded on all sides by gardens and fencing, decorated with ornate balconies and arched windows. Did Paul own the whole house or only the swanky ground-floorrez-de-chausséeapartment?
After Albert gave her a hand down, Lucie adjusted her hat and passed through the gate to the front door.
A middle-aged woman in a black dress and white apron opened the door.
“Bonjour,” Lucie said. “I am Mademoiselle Girard of Green Leaf Books.”
A smile brightened the woman’s plain face. “Please come in. I am Claudette, the housekeeper.”
Lucie stepped inside, greeted by an expanse of glistening marble, a chandelier, an elegant curving staircase, and large rooms to each side.
Paul lived there, and Lucie felt small and out of place.
“Is—is Josie here?” she asked.
“The nanny ofle petittook her for a walk so she would not be underfoot.” Claudette leaned out the door and hailed Albert. “Young man, please bring in the books.”
Lucie turned to help Albert.
But Claudette motioned Lucie deeper inside the house. “Monsieur Aubrey said the books were precious to you and you might want to see their new home.”
Apprehension battled with curiosity, and curiosity won. “Thank you. I would.”
Claudette led her into the room to the right, a sitting room or parlor or whatever rich people called it. Chairs and couches in deep red upholstery and rich dark wood sat on a parquet floor. Gold drapes framed the arched windows.
Lucie found herself tiptoeing, as if she were breaking in.
Over the fireplace hung two portraits, and Lucie stopped.
Wedding portraits faced each other in profile, one of the bride and one of the groom. Paul in white tie, his dark hair slick, his face smooth and free of pain and sadness. And Simone with a lacy veil over her dark hair, her jaw square and features strong.
Claudette turned back and joined her. “They were a happy couple.”
“I can see. Have you worked here long?”
