Page 36 of The Last Library of Paris

Alain puffed his chest out like a cockerel. ‘De rien.’

‘It’s not nothing,’ I said. ‘It’s something. Thank you.’

I left them to pack up the donated books and went to find the list of book requests I’d had from our Parisian readers. Our readers had taken to adding little notes in the books they borrowed, so when Alain brought them back to the library, I would shake each volume and see if a scrap of paper would fall out.

When I found something, I would make a note on my list and then every day, I’d gather all the new loans, stamp them out, and send them off with Alain. There was no reason for me to stamp them; it hardly mattered if one or two books never came back. But I was determined to keep things going as normal.

The delivery loans kept me busy most of the day. I spent a couple of hours shelving returns, while Sylvie kept an eye on readers – not that there were many today. And then as evening crept in, I went upstairs to check on Guy’s progress. He’d done a marvellous job – he’d packed up the books in bundles of ten and tied them securely with string.

‘Did you stamp them all?’ I asked. I wanted the soldiers to know that the books had come from Paris. We thought they would find it a comfort to know we were thinking of them even in our darkest days. So, we stamped all the donations with ‘American Library of Paris’ before we sent them out into the world.

‘We did,’ said Guy.

‘Who’s collecting?’ asked Alain. ‘Where are they going?’

‘A chap called Eduard for the Red Cross,’ I told him.

He nodded.

‘We have a lot for local people too,’ I continued. ‘Too many for you – you won’t be back before curfew. I’ll take some this evening too.’

‘Be safe,’ Guy said with a frown.

‘The good thing about being a middle-aged woman is that I pose no threat to anyone,’ I said, more cheerfully than I felt. The idea of cycling around the city delivering books was always daunting, but I had been doing it for more than a year now and experience had taught me to gird my loins and get on with things.

‘Shall we get all these on a trolley, then?’ I asked. ‘We can put them in crates downstairs.’

It took us a while to get things organised and to get all the books downstairs. The library’s elevator was old and cranky and we needed to make several trips.

The sky outside was darkening though it was only early evening. ‘It’s going to rain,’ I said to Alain.

‘I have waterproofs.’ He gave his customary shrug again. ‘It’s fine.’

‘What time is the collection?’ Guy looked worried.

‘Any minute now,’ I said, checking my watch. ‘They’ll be here.’

‘Shall I lock up?’ he said. ‘I’ll tell Sylvie to go home.’

‘Yes, please do. Alain and I are fine here.’

Guy went back inside and I watched as Alain watched him go.

‘You’re good friends,’ I said. I knew I was digging, trying to gauge if Alain and Guy were just friends, or if they were more than that.

But Alain simply said: ‘He’s a nice man.’

‘He’s kind,’ I said. ‘And brave.’

‘Yes.’ I thought Alain was going to say something else, but he didn’t. He turned his head towards the street. ‘Eduard,’ he said.

Sure enough, I heard the sound of an engine and the van turned into the courtyard where we stood.

It drew to a halt beside us and Eduard jumped out of the driver’s seat. He greeted us both cheerfully and he and Alain began chatting so fast, with so many slang words, that despite my almost-fluent French, I struggled to follow.

Feeling a little awkward, I began to carry the crates of books over to the van.

With Eduard’s help, we had the books loaded on the van in no time at all. Overhead the clouds were gathering.