“It’s almost sunset,” he said. “The Tuileries will be quiet after dark.”
“Good.” Then they could speak more openly. And with the curfew extended to twenty-three hours, they had time.
Paul passed the elegant buildings of the Louvre, open to the public only a few days a week—but the paintings had been carted into storage anyway.
Although they couldn’t talk freely yet, she wanted to hear his voice. “How’s Josie?”
He chuckled. “I told her I had a meeting. If she knew I was here without her, she’d be vexed.”
“I’m so fond of her.” She watched the toes of her gray lace-up pumps in step with his polished black oxfords.
“You’re good for her.” His voice rasped. “And for me.”
Lucie didn’t dare look up, but she let her shoulder rest against his. “You’re good for me too.”
The backs of his fingers brushed the back of her hand, and her breath caught. Oh, goodness. What would she do if he embraced her? Kissed her? She just might fall to pieces.
He turned in to the Tuileries, down a broad walk edged with marble statues and topiaries in want of pruning, a casualty of the occupation. Only a few people roamed since most were eating dinner or on their way home.
“I gather I’m not your only ... customer.” His voice barely rose above the sound of their footsteps on the gravel.
“No, you are not.”
“I won’t ask any more.”
“Thank you.” She studied his profile in the twilight. “What can you—can you tell me anything?”
He stopped at a round reflecting pool. A couple of sparrows bathed, their wings rippling the water, and Paul watched them, his jaw working.
Then he circled the pool. “I can’t say why I’m visiting the store. Not that I don’t trust you. I do.”
“It’s all right. I understand.” The primary rule in the resistance was to only discuss operations with people vital to those operations. Even the strongest men and women caved under torture, and the fewer names known, the fewer revealed.
Paul cleared his throat. “Our long-term visitors would not approve of what I do.”
“The rock-monsters.”
He stopped and faced her, his jaw dangling. “Rock ...? Is that what Josie means?”
“I’m pretty sure. Their helmets, clomping around, stealing food.”
“I didn’t ... she’s very clever.”
“Very.”
Yet he frowned as he continued down the path, which headed between perfectly spaced rows of trees. “This isn’t a good place for little girls.”
No, it wasn’t, but he needed reassurance. “Thousands of little girls live in this city.”
“They don’t have an opportunity to leave. Mine does.”
“But you care about your workers.” How could she have seen him as a heartless oppressor? He was anything but.
Paul slipped his hands in his trouser pockets. “I also care about the factory. To be honest, I’ve invested a lot of time and money and heart into this venture, and I can’t bear to lose it.”
Lucie nudged him with her shoulder. “That’s why you stayed.”
He shook his head. “Simone and I planned to leave last yearin the exodus. She wanted one last drive at Montlhéry—the racetrack. But she crashed. Not a bad crash, but she had so many broken bones. They found cancer in her bones, throughout her body. She was dying. She begged me to take Josie to the States. But how could I leave her to die alone?”
