Page 97 of The Last Library of Paris

‘I think there are twelve different books for now, but they’re intending to do more,’ I told her, watching as she pulled out The Patrician by John Galsworthy. ‘You won’t like that, Sylvie. It’s terribly English.’

Sylvie dropped the book back into the box like it was hot and I laughed, opening another box and finding Cold Comfort Farm inside.

‘You’d like this though.’ I handed it to her.

Sylvie began leafing through the pages, chuckling as she read.

Alain was looking at Brighton Rock.

‘These books have come from shops,’ he said, turning the novel round so we could all see the stamp in the front page.

I went cold. Of course, it had to be Alain who noticed that.

‘I’m not sure where they’ve come from.’ I kept my voice steady. ‘We’re just sending them out, that’s all.’

Alain nodded, frowning at the address in the front of the Graham Greene he was clutching. ‘Why haven’t the bookshops just sent them out to where they need to go?’

‘They don’t know where they need to go,’ I said. ‘That’s why the British asked us to help.’

‘Right,’ said Alain. He didn’t sound convinced. ‘It makes sense, I suppose.’

He looked down at the novel he was holding. ‘I’ve never heard of Graham Greene. He can’t be very good.’

‘He’s terrific,’ I said, sharply. ‘And this book is great. Perhaps you should read it? Read them all. You might learn something.’

Alain’s eyes widened.

‘I’m a great reader,’ he said. ‘I’ve read all the classics. I’ve done a bit of writing too. One of my professors at university said my prose was some of the best he’d read.’

And perhaps it was my nerves, or the lack of sleep, or just everything, but I snapped.

‘Oh, of course he did.’

Alain put Graham Greene back in the box and looked at me, a smirk on his face. ‘Tout va bien?’

‘No, I’m not all right,’ I said. ‘I am not. Because we are doing important work here and you are full of stories about university and books and the bloody Resistance, and you are getting on my last nerve.’

‘Frances,’ said Guy, holding his hand out towards me like I was an unpredictable dog. ‘Calm down …’

‘Get. Out,’ I said to Alain. ‘We don’t need you here. Go.’

Alain shrugged. ‘If that’s what you want.’

He turned to go.

‘Alain!’ said Guy, as Sylvie said, very firmly: ‘Stay here, Alain.’

Alain stopped where he was. I looked at him and at Guy and Sylvie.

‘We need Alain,’ said Sylvie. ‘We need him because we can’t do the deliveries without him. And if there are many boxes like these on their way, we can’t do the Soldiers’ Book Service without him either. And I know he is really annoying, and he is too fond of his own voice, and his stories are probably all lies, but we need him.’

‘Thank you?’ said Alain, exchanging a glance with Guy. ‘I think?’

Sylvie lifted her chin. ‘If you send Alain away,’ she said. ‘Guy and I will go too. We are a team. One for all, all for one. Like The Three Musketeers.’

Next to her, Guy chuckled, then put his hand over his mouth to stifle it.

My chest was tight and I felt close to tears. I was still suspicious about Alain, but I also knew Sylvie was right.