With each step he took across the street, Lucie’s smile grew more beautiful.
The solution to his dilemma slashed through his soul. He had to be a collabo she could never love.
His soul ached. But he stepped up onto the curb and tipped his hat to her. “Hello, Lucie. What are you doing in this neighborhood?”
“I have a dentist appointment.” Her smile revealed pretty teeth any dentist would love. “My family lived in the 15th arrondissement when I was a girl. I’ve seen the same dentist all these years. He even schedules evening appointments.”
“I hope you aren’t in pain.”
“No, just a checkup.” In the early evening sun, the color of her suit brought out gold in her hair and eyes.
He wanted to keep her there and watch the light play as the sun set. But he couldn’t.
“On your way home?” she asked.
He hated to drive a wedge between them again, but he had to for her sake and the sake of his resistance work. And the perfect wedge lay in his toolbox, written on his calendar.
Paul set his chin, clamped his heart shut, and hammered that wedge into place. “I’m afraid I’m in a hurry. I’m expected this evening at the German Embassy.”
The light drained from her face. “The German Embassy?”
“You’ve heard of Otto Abetz?”
Lucie’s lips pinched. “I have.”
“He’s holding a reception for visiting German industrialists.” Paul grinned. “It’s excellent for business.”
He braced himself for searing fire, for shuddering ice. Instead her eyes saddened and her lower lip poked up. She was disappointed in him. He hadn’t braced for that.
He tipped his hat again. “I’ll see you Saturday.”
“Yes. Saturday.” She brushed past him and crossed the street.
Paul turned down rue du Capitaine Ménard, his gut churning with shame at knowing Abetz, frustration at not being able to show his true self, and pain—such pain—at disappointing her.
In front of the church, he paused to make sure Lucie was out of sight and the airmen were in sight. He pulled himself together. Distraction was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Too many lives were at stake along the escape line that ran to Gibraltar.
On the pediment above the door stood a statue of St. Christopher, the patron saint of travelers. Appropriate for these RAF men.
He stepped through the wooden doors and removed his hat. As a Protestant, he’d needed coaching on how to act in a Catholic church, coaching he passed on to the airmen.
At the font, Paul dipped his hand in the holy water and made the sign of the cross. Quietly he entered the sanctuary, which smelled of candle wax and incense. A rounded ceiling rose high, and light streamed through stained glass windows in sunbeam designs.
A handful of people occupied the sanctuary, mostly elderly men and women. Anyone could be an informant though, so Paul needed to follow protocol and stay alert.
Five rows from the front, he went down on one knee, then entered the row of chairs to his right, knelt, and made the sign of the cross. The airmen had been instructed to take seats two rows behind him and to the left.
Paul folded his hands on top of the chair before him. His watch read 6:43. At 6:50 he was to leave the church while the airmen remained. Ten minutes later, their contact would take Paul’s seat. After a few minutes, the contact would ask the menif they’d light a candle for a dying mother. The men would respond in a phrase they’d memorized.
What better way to spend seven minutes in church than to pray? With his eyes open and his ears tuned, Paul prayed hard. He prayed for the airmen’s safety, so they could return to England to fly again. He prayed for the helpers in the escape line, who could be executed if caught.
And he prayed for the ache inside. Now he had men who respected him—Bentley and Pendleton and even Moreau. He grew closer to Josie each day. To want Lucie’s love on top of that felt selfish.
To protect his work and all the people he aided, he had to push her away. He had to.
When the seven minutes passed, he made his way down the aisle. The airmen knelt two rows back, heads bowed. He didn’t look their way.
One more prayer for their safety, and Paul departed for home, to dress for the hateful reception at the German Embassy. But it was for a higher good.
