Page 125 of The Last Library of Paris

‘Keep an eye on the corridor, could you?’ Henry said. ‘I just need to check …’

I stood up and went to the door. There were people around, but they were loading suitcases onto the train, or looking for seats, and no one was paying us any attention. Henry began checking down the sides and backs of the benches in the compartment, looking for bugs or anything that could alert someone to our presence. But he found nothing.

I looked along the corridor to where a group of Nazi officers were filing into a compartment. They don’t know you from Adam, I told myself. They don’t care why you’re here or why you’re going to Paris. As I watched, one of the officers glanced up and caught my eye. He pulled his brows together in a little half-frown as if he recognised me but couldn’t place me, though he wasn’t familiar to me. I held my breath, and his gaze, until he nodded at me. Then forcing myself to retain my composure, I nodded back, giving him a small smile.

When the train finally clanked into life and began puffing out of the station, Henry looked delighted.

‘I love trains,’ he said. ‘Don’t you?’

Lara gazed at him in bafflement. ‘I can think of maybe fifty things I love more,’ she said in Ada’s dry drawl.

Henry tutted. ‘By the time we get to Paris you’ll have changed your mind,’ he said. ‘It’s the best way to travel.’

‘It would be if it wasn’t night-time,’ I said, trying to see out of the window but instead catching only my own reflection. I adjusted one of the curls on my wig, and turned back to Henry. ‘But I do rather like train travel. My erm …’

I paused. I had been about to say ‘my brother’ but in case anyone was listening, I used his name instead – after all, Ada was supposed to be my sister. ‘My Jamie was a proper railway buff. He used to say he wanted to be a train driver when he grew up. I suppose that’s why he chose to fly planes.’

Lara put her hand on top of mine and squeezed my fingers gently.

‘How about a game of cards?’ asked Henry.

‘Great,’ I said.

We played gin rummy for a while and chatted quietly. It was hard to resist discussing what we would do when we got to Paris, but as it turned out, Henry was quite the card shark and that distracted us for a good while.

As the night wore on, we crossed the border into Spain. The train stopped and some Spanish guards climbed aboard and asked to see our paperwork. I spoke a little Spanish, so I handed them our Certificates of Travel and answered their questions, which were brusque and just the basics – thank goodness. I could manage our names and destination.

The two guards in our compartment didn’t seem overly interested in us, and they soon moved on. When the train set off again, we were triumphant, though we tried not to react.

‘We’ll cross the French border at Hendaye. That will be in the early hours,’ said Henry, dealing another hand of cards.

I made a face, aware that Hendaye was in the occupied zone – the other side of southern France to where the escape routes were. I imagined the border checks there would be done by Nazis.

Lara put her cards down on the seat next to her and sighed heavily. ‘It’s not even midnight,’ she said. ‘We’ve hours and hours to go before we reach Paris.’

‘Do you want to stretch your legs?’ I asked. ‘We could go for a walk along the corridor.’

Lara’s eyes glinted. ‘I want a drink,’ she said. ‘Let’s go to the bar.’

‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea.’ Henry sounded stern.

‘Oh, come on,’ said Lara. ‘Just one, then we can come back here and doze off for a while before we get to France. It’ll help us sleep.’

Henry looked at me. ‘One can’t hurt, can it?’

‘It can,’ I said.

‘Well, Rhodri and I can go for a drink, can’t we, honey?’ said Lara, tossing her hair. ‘You can stay here and mind the bags.’

‘I’ll come,’ I said. I knew when I was beaten. ‘It’s best we all stay together.’

Lara clapped her hands delightedly.

‘Come on, then,’ she said. ‘Lead the way, Rhodri.’

We headed out into the corridor, swaying with the movement of the train, and made our way to the bar. It was quiet, which wasn’t surprising given it was almost midnight, and it was really rather lovely. The tables were covered in crisp white cloths, with little lamps on each one. There was a bar at the far end, with a smartly dressed barman chatting to a man who sat on a high stool, his back to us and a glass of whisky in front of him.

At another table sat a group of Nazi officers – including the one who’d noticed me earlier. He nodded again when we arrived and I acknowledged him. ‘Guten abend,’ I said as we walked by.