The Book of Lost Names(19)

“What do you want?” she demanded. He began to speak, but she cut him off. “If you take a step closer, I’ll scream.”

She was suddenly acutely conscious that her mother, who could sleep through anything, was still in the room behind her.

“Mademoiselle, please. There’s no need for that, I promise. I’m a friend.”

“Friends don’t tail me through town and show up unannounced before dawn,” Eva shot back.

“Actually, I waited until after dawn, you’ll notice.” There was laughter in his eyes, and Eva was struck by the fact that he looked kind, which was unexpected. Without his lapels pulled up to cover his face, she could see the rest of his features—a clean-shaven chin, a wide mouth, a childlike dimple on the right side. He looked younger than he had yesterday, not as menacing. A gold cross sparkled at his neck, just above the collar of his shirt.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

“I am le Père Clément,” he said. “I’m the pastor of the église Saint-Alban, just at the top of the hill.”

“A priest?” she asked in disbelief. “Why is a Catholic priest following me around town?”

“I apologize, truly. I thought I was being more subtle.” He looked embarrassed. “That was, er, my first time doing that.”

“Doing what?”

He scratched the back of his head. “It’s just that, you see, Madame Barbier told me about your papers.”

Her whole body tensed again. “What about them? They’re perfectly in order.”

“Yes, actually, that’s what she said, too.” He hesitated. “She also said that your mother’s documents identify her as a Russian émigrée. And that she certainly isn’t Russian.”

“Of course she is,” Eva protested immediately, her face growing hot.

Père Clément looked uncomfortable. “You see, Madame Barbier was born in Russia. She actually was a white émigrée after the revolution. She was nearly positive that your mother is Polish, and is therefore traveling on false papers.”

“Of course, you’re wrong.” Eva couldn’t meet his eye. “So what? Are you going to report us?”

“No, no, nothing like that.”

“Then what?”

“I was just hoping you might tell me where you got your documents, though I think perhaps I’ve answered my own question.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your hands,” he said, his voice softer now.

Eva looked down and realized with a jolt of horror that her fingertips were gray with smudged ink. “It’s not what you think.”

He took a step back. “If you want to be left alone, mademoiselle, I will honor that, but you see, I have friends with ink-stained fingers, too. Madame Barbier was very impressed with your papers, and I—well, I think perhaps you and I could assist each other.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You can find me in the church anytime today. I can provide you with better tools than you can find at the bookstore.”

“But I—”

“The Germans don’t just look for identification documents, you know. You’ll need more than some drawing skills if you hope to safely move on.” When she didn’t answer, he smiled slightly. “I can help you. Please, consider it.” He nodded and turned quickly. She watched as he strode down the hallway and disappeared around the corner. A moment later, she could hear the front door of the boardinghouse open and close, and only then did she release the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. She had to move her mother immediately. Whether Père Clément had meant what he’d said or not, the fact remained that their cover had been blown—and it had been Eva’s fault.





Chapter Seven




“Wake up!” Eva nudged her mother, and as Mamusia blinked sleepily awake, Eva prodded her again, nearly shoving her onto the floor. “Come on, Mamusia. We’ve been found out. There’s no time to waste.”

“What do you mean?” Mamusia was instantly alert, scrambling for the skirt and blouse she’d worn yesterday, which lay neatly draped over the back of the chair near the window. “What’s happened?”

“Madame Barbier knows our papers are false. A man came to the door this morning asking about them.”

“What?” Her mother’s face was white as she buttoned her shirt with trembling fingers and shimmied her skirt over her full hips. “Was he police?” She began to grab things from around the room, throwing them into the suitcase.

“No.” Eva hesitated. “He was a priest.”

Her mother stopped what she was doing. “A priest?”

“That’s what he said.”

“But—why did he come? Does he work with the authorities?”

“I don’t think so.” Eva was still mulling over whether he was friend or foe. Certainly the fact that he’d left after issuing his invitation was a good sign, wasn’t it? “Maybe I’m wrong, but I think he was saying he works with other forgers. I—I believe he might have been asking me if I could come work with him.” The moment the words were out of Eva’s mouth, she wondered if she had completely misunderstood the conversation. A priest leading a band of document forgers? It sounded too far-fetched to be real.