“You’re funny.” Josie giggled as if she understood what he was saying.
But Lucie understood—the joy of comprehension, of expanding one’s views, of appreciating more about the world.
Then Paul turned that joy to Lucie, and his smile deepened.
Lucie lowered her performance face and let her own comprehending, expanding, appreciating joy shine freely.
24
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER1, 1941
Attaché case in hand, Paul walked up rue Saint-Charles as if on his way home from work. At every intersection he checked for traffic.
Mostly he checked to make sure the two British airmen followed half a block behind him on the other side of the street.
He and Moreau and Silvestre took turns escorting their guests to meet their next contacts. The meeting places ranged from parks to cafés to churches. Today Bentley had called to thank Paul for finding the pen he’d lost in church—after a child threw it like a javelin.
Paul hadn’t found a pen, but “church” and “javelin” told him to make the exchange at Église Saint-Christophe de Javel on his route home.
Two German soldiers wandered toward him, arguing over a map.
Paul’s chest clenched. The Germans didn’t faze him, but the RAF men might spook or hide or draw attention to themselves. And neither spoke French.
One of the soldiers hailed Paul and frowned at a booklet.“Où—est—la Tour Eiffel?”
Even as the Eiffel Tower rose behind that soldier like the infamous German helmet spikes from the previous war. Paul pointed to their objective.“C’est là-bas.”
They turned and exclaimed in German, then headed for the tower without thanking Paul, arguing again, probably blaming each other for getting lost.
Paul slowed his pace to widen the distance from the soldiers. A vélo-taxi pedaled by, and Paul followed it with his gaze until he spotted the airmen. Still there, thank goodness.
He turned left on rue Sébastien-Mercier.
With gendarmes swarming the factory, today was a lousy day to bring out the airmen. But he had no means of communicating with the next contact in the escape line.
On Sunday night, résistants had sneaked onto the factory grounds and stolen two completed Au-ful trucks—Moreau’s idea, approved by Paul.
This morning Paul had reported the theft to the police, full of outrage at those who stole from the hardworking men of Aubrey Automobiles. A fine speech to deflect attention from the sabotage committed by those hardworking men.
One block ahead, a young woman approached in a golden-brown suit and with a familiar walk, light and airy.
Lucie? His chest clenched harder than at the sight of the German soldiers. What was she doing in the 15th arrondissement?
She inclined her head, smiled, and waved to him.
Not now. The timing at the church was critical. He couldn’t spare more than a minute.
He raised his hand in greeting, and her smile glowed.
The last two weeks at Children’s Hour and walking her home from church, he’d noticed a sweet and soft connection. She was beginning to fall for him.
Part of him was elated. He was falling in love with her, no doubt about it. Of course he wanted her to return his feelings.
Yet he didn’t. How could this darling, principled woman fallfor a man she knew as a collaborator? She couldn’t. It would taint her.
And what life did he have to share? A life of secrets and danger.
One street lay between them. Down that street, the church’s modern red brick façade rose. The airmen’s fate depended on him entering and leaving that church on schedule.
