Page 77 of The Last Library of Paris

Henry looked at me.

‘Shall we get on?’ he said. ‘Any news from Peacock yet?’

Glad of the distraction, I smiled. ‘Yes, good news. They sent a telegram this morning to say they can provide all the books we’ve asked for.’

‘Oh, that is good news,’ said Henry. ‘The latest from the Ministry is …’

He began outlining where we were, and I forced myself to listen, pushing my concerns about Parrish aside.

Luckily, Henry and I were so busy all day I had no time to fret. Valentine didn’t reappear, and I was quite glad really. And when Henry and I finished, I hurried off to clerical where Edith was waiting and we bashed our way through several more visa applications.

‘We’re doing very well,’ Edith said, picking up her precious folder where she stashed the applications. ‘We’ve processed more than one hundred applications so far. That would usually take weeks.’

‘I wish we could do even more.’ I leaned my chin on my hand. ‘Poor sods have lost everything. What is it? What’s the matter?’

Edith had opened the folder and was staring at the contents, a puzzled look on her face.

‘Some of the applications aren’t here,’ she said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I looked at this earlier and I remember the application on the top of the pile was for a woman named Edith,’ she said. ‘That’s why I remember it.’

‘And?’

‘And now the application on top is for a man named Friedrich.’

‘Did you move some of them?’ I asked. ‘Take some out to send them on?’

Edith screwed her face up. ‘I must have done,’ she said. ‘I probably did it automatically and just didn’t think.’

‘Like when you walk somewhere you walk all the time and you can barely remember the journey,’ I said.

‘Yes, just like that,’ Edith said, though she sounded a little uncertain, I had to admit.

Wanting to lift my spirits when we’d finished, I walked home via the British Bar. I wasn’t sure if Lara was working, but I hoped she was. I wanted to see a friendly face and share my worries.

Lisbon was busy this evening. There were people sitting outside cafés and bars, shouting to friends, and laughing. I passed a group of Germans in uniform, resisting the urge to cross the road so I didn’t have to walk too close. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. Not today. Not ever.

So, I strolled by, head up, and noticed none of them gave me a second glance. Lisbon was a strange place with the Nazis and British sharing the same spaces. Lara hated it. She couldn’t bear that she’d serve men sitting on adjacent tables in the bar who’d shoot each other on a battlefield. She hated being polite to officers who’d kill her beloved cousin Wilf without hesitation.

I understood her point of view, and I sympathised, but I found it easier than Lara to shut my emotions away. I had always been good at that.

I crossed the road to the bar. It was lively already even though it was still fairly early, though the chill of the evening meant the outside tables were mostly empty.

Pausing for a second outside, I straightened my skirt. I considered myself an independent woman. I was bold. Unafraid. I could even be fierce when I had to be. But I was still rattled by Parrish, and the truth was, I didn’t really like walking into a bar by myself. I rolled my eyes at my own weakness and went closer to the window so I could check Lara was there.

The bar was dim after the evening sunshine outside, and it took a second for my eyes to adjust. I saw Miguel, Lara’s friend, clearing glasses from a table. And there was Lara, at the bar chatting to a man who was ordering beers.

Out of habit more than any genuine concern for who else might be in there, I scanned the bar, and I froze as I saw Parrish sitting in a shadowy corner.

‘Not you again,’ I whispered to myself.

Feeling a little off balance, I shrank back into the shadow cast by the awning outside the bar and fixed my eyes on Parrish. He looked on edge. Nervy even. He was drumming his fingers on the table, and he kept picking his drink up and putting it down again without taking a sip.

Then, to my absolute horror, Parrish picked up a brown folder from the table. He opened it and I gasped aloud. Inside was a bundle of visa applications. Of course, I couldn’t read them from where I stood but I recognised the way the photographs were clipped to the top of each paper. I would stake my life on them being the applications Edith had mislaid.

‘Bugger,’ I said. I felt a bit sick suddenly. ‘Bugger.’