Page 146 of The Last Library of Paris

‘It’s a safe house,’ Cassie said. I looked at her, wondering how she knew.

‘This is where Guy and I came,’ she explained. ‘He thought Alain might be here.’

Alain overheard.

‘I went to Pierre,’ he said. ‘Not here.’ He looked at Guy and his eyes were soft. ‘You came looking for me?’

‘Of course.’

The two men smiled at one another as though there was no one else in the room instead of the many, many people who were crowded inside.

‘Tell us what happened, Alain,’ said Archie. He sat down on an armchair beside the window, sending up a cloud of dust that made him sneeze.

We all sat down, perching on various pieces of rickety furniture.

Alain looked at Guy. ‘I didn’t mean to take the bullet for you,’ he admitted. ‘It all happened so fast I didn’t really have time to make a decision. Sylvie was right; I slipped on the brandy bottle. But …’ he added quickly. ‘I was so glad it was me who was shot instead of you. And I’d do it again.’

Concerned Guy would be upset, I looked at him, but he didn’t seem too bothered. He simply nodded at Alain. ‘Thank you,’ he said with a smile.

Alain looked at me and at Sylvie. ‘I do work with the Resistance,’ he said.

‘I can see that.’

‘But I also know that I am annoying, and I talk too much.’ He screwed his face up. ‘And sometimes I exaggerate.’

‘We all like a storyteller,’ I said.

‘I called you a coward,’ Sylvie said, taking his hand. ‘But you are a hero.’ Then with her trademark shrug she added: ‘But you are also very annoying.’

We all laughed.

‘I have a question,’ I said. I looked at Alain. ‘I know that Alain Travers isn’t your real name. What is it?’

He smiled. ‘I can’t tell you. We all use fake names in the Resistance.’

‘The less we know about each other, the less the Nazis can force us to tell them,’ said Pierre.

Alain winked at Guy, who flushed. ‘Some people know my real name,’ he said. ‘But not everyone.’

‘Alain told us you have been delivering books to Jewish readers,’ Pierre said.

‘That’s right.’

‘And collecting stories? About what the Nazis have been doing?’

‘That wasn’t my idea. It was Marcus – the British agent.’ I patted Alain’s bag which was slung safely across my body. ‘He put them all in books and I have them here. I added a few but he collected hundreds. We need to keep them safe. I promised I’d return them.’

‘Now you’re the storyteller,’ said Alain.

Sylvie was curled up on the dusty sofa, her eyes drooping. ‘We’re all storytellers,’ she murmured.

‘Perhaps we should try to sleep,’ I suggested. ‘Snatch a couple of hours before we have to get the train?’

‘I’m staying,’ said Sylvie, her eyes already closed.

‘I know,’ I said.

I was so on edge, pumping with adrenaline, that I didn’t think I would sleep. But I did. It felt like just a couple of minutes later, Cassie was gently rousing me.