The Paris Spy (Maggie Hope Mystery #7)(35)

“Are you all right, madame?” Maggie asked, sitting beside the dancer and placing a hand on her hard, muscular back.

“I’m fine,” Sarah mumbled. Then, “No—no, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” The dancer once again tried to rise. Then she crumpled.

“Madame Severin?” Maggie managed to catch her friend as she fell. “Madame!” Sarah didn’t respond. “Get a doctor!” Maggie called to the attendant. The woman scurried out the door.

For a moment, they were alone. “Sarah…” Maggie whispered urgently, laying her back on the cushion. “Sarah, can you hear me?”

The attendant returned, accompanied by a robust Frenchman whose fringe of sandy hair surrounded a shining bald spot, his face flushed from too much wine. “I’m Dr. Fournier,” he announced crisply, kneeling beside Sarah. “What happened to the young lady?”

“She seemed to be feeling dizzy,” Maggie told him. “Then she fainted.”

The doctor placed his meaty fingers around Sarah’s delicate wrist to feel her pulse. “Thready,” he reported. “Is she a dancer?” he asked, taking in her physique. “Did she perform tonight?”

“She is and she did.”

He snapped his fingers at the attendant. “Bring me a cool, damp cloth.”

“Yes…” The woman wet one of the towels under the faucet, wrung it out, then brought it to him. He folded it and placed it across Sarah’s temples.

Sarah’s eyelids fluttered open.

“Mademoiselle?” he asked.

Maggie bent to wipe a smudge of mascara from her friend’s lower eyelid. Oh, Sarah, don’t forget your cover now…

But Sarah didn’t break character. “Madame,” she corrected. “Madame Severin.”

“Madame, you fainted, but you seem to be fine. You need to eat more.” Maggie and the doctor both helped Sarah to sit up. “If I may ask, madame, have you been feeling fatigue lately?”

“Yes.”

“And have you noticed any breast tenderness?”

“…yes.”

“And, if I may ask, when was your last menstrual cycle?”

“I—I don’t remember. A few months ago, probably.”

“Well, then, madame—may I offer you congratulations? I believe you and your husband are to be parents!”

Sarah sagged, her face instantly ashen. “I—I…”

“I would recommend seeing a doctor tomorrow for a full examination to confirm, but…madame—I’m sorry, but you didn’t know?”

Sarah looked to Maggie with panicked eyes. “All best wishes, madame,” Maggie intervened evenly, before the dancer could speak. “I’ll take care of her, Doctor, don’t worry. We’ll just sit here for a moment, until Madame’s a bit steadier on her feet.”

When the doctor was gone, Sarah felt her breasts, then slid her hands down to her stomach. Maggie watched her face run through a storm of emotions—shock, joy, fear, then back to joy again. “It’s…I think—I think he might be right. I mean, I haven’t had my period since…But my body’s changing…I guess with all the…excitement…I haven’t been paying attention.”

“Congratulations, Madame Severin,” Maggie said a little too loudly, knowing the attendant was staring. “From the bottom of my heart—I mean it.” But all she could think was Pregnant? On a mission? We need to get you out of here—as soon as possible. “And to your husband, too.”

“It’s not the…best time to have a baby, you know,” Sarah said carefully. The attendant busied herself arranging the tray of combs and perfumes.

“No, not the ideal time.” Maggie squeezed her hand. “But I’m sure you’ll make a wonderful mother.”

“A mother…I never even imagined…”

“This is good. A good thing, a great thing, in a world gone mad.”

“I—I want this baby,” the dancer said, making her choice plain. “But I can’t…continue dancing.”

“Well, then you should take…time off. Surely they can call in…an understudy? So you can go home?”

“No, I can make it through the run,” Sarah insisted. “I don’t want to let anyone down.”

“Madame Severin, I’m sure you will make the right decision.” They embraced. “Please find me at the Ritz, if you’d ever like to have tea and talk further. Remember, my name is Paige. Paige Claire Kelly.”

Sarah’s lips curved at the bittersweet irony of Maggie’s cover name. “Oh, believe me,” the dancer said, rising with the ghost of a smile. “I could never forget that name.”

—

When Sarah returned to their table, she had a resolute look in her eyes.

“Are you all right, darling?” Hugh asked, frowning. “Is something wrong?”

“I’ll tell you later, my love.” Looking around, she caught a glimpse of Reichsminister Hans Fortner, who’d just arrived. He was over forty, sallow, and pot-bellied. His long thin arms and legs increased his unfortunate resemblance to a spider.

“Darling, I believe I see our friend Hans,” Sarah said pointedly. They still had one more act in their performance tonight. “Shall we go to his table and say hello?”