The Book of Lost Names(30)

She laughed and quickly ducked her head so he couldn’t see the color blooming on her cheeks. “Is that a proposal?”

“No. You’ll know it when I propose.” He held her gaze for a long time before breaking into a grin. “And for the record, it’s Rémy Duchamp—just so you know the name you’ll take after we’re wed.” He nudged her with a grin as they began to circle the Place de la Bastille. The July Column soared over them, the gold-winged Génie de la Liberté statue staring down at the city in disappointment. “Now where are we going? It’s almost curfew, and we don’t want to be conspicuous.”

“To my family’s apartment.”

He stopped abruptly, forcing her to stop with him as his grip tightened on her hand. “Eva,” he said softly.

“What? Let’s go. You’re right. We should hurry.”

“Eva.” He waited for her to look at him. “Your apartment? We cannot.”

“It’s only five minutes away.”

“But you can’t think—” He shook his head. “Eva, I’m sorry, but we can’t go there.”

She pulled away and began to walk again. “I know what you’re trying to say. That the apartment has probably been ransacked, that it will be hard for me to see it that way. I know all that, and I’m prepared for it.”

“That’s not what I’m concerned about, Eva.”

“What, then, that the police will have their eye on the place? Certainly they have better things to do than watch the apartments of every deported Jew in Paris.”

“Eva—” Rémy seemed to be searching for words. “There’s a good chance the apartment won’t be empty.”

“Of course it will be.”

“Eva, people aren’t just ransacking apartments. They’re moving in. They assume you won’t be back.”

She stared at him, openmouthed. “You think a stranger is living in my apartment? Already?”

“I’m almost certain.”

“We only left a few days ago, though.”

“Scavengers work quickly.” He squeezed and released her hand. “Look, let me go in. I’ll knock on your door. If the apartment is occupied, I’ll tell the people I’m searching for my uncle and was given a wrong address. If it’s not, then, well, I’ll come get you, and we’ll move right in.”

She nodded, though her heart felt like it was a stone sinking in the sea of her chest. “All right. But I’m sure you’re wrong.”

Five wordless moments later, they were standing in the shadows outside Eva’s building as the last rays of twilight danced at the horizon. The curfew would be in effect soon; there wasn’t much time.

“Second floor, apartment C?” Rémy asked, his eyes full of a sympathy she hadn’t asked for and didn’t want.

“That’s right.”

“I’ll be back in a few minutes, Eva. Stay out of sight in case anyone recognizes you.”

She watched him go with a sinking heart, and when he returned three minutes later, she already knew.

“Who was it?” she asked dully as he put an arm around her and led her away from the place that had been home all her life. “Who was living there?”

“A woman with a face like a prune who had two young children, two girls,” he said as they walked quickly north, trying to beat the setting sun. “She called the smaller one Simone.”

“Madame Fontain.” Somehow, Eva wasn’t the least bit surprised.

“You borrowed your false name from that shrew?”

Eva sighed. “Well, she’s undoubtedly a Christian, isn’t she?”

It took Rémy a few minutes to reply. “If you ask me, that isn’t really Christian, isn’t it? To move into someone’s home like that the moment they’re gone? It’s like dancing with glee on a grave. Though I’d wager with a sour puss like that, Madame Fontain has never danced a day in her life.”

Eva couldn’t help but crack a smile at the thought of Madame Fontain attempting a jig. “I’m sorry for wasting your time. I should have believed you.”

Rémy shrugged. “Just remember from now on that I’m always right.”

Eva gave him a look, but he was grinning. “So what now?” she asked. “Where will we go?”

“I know a place.”

As Eva followed him into the falling darkness, she was suddenly too tired to think about any of it. She just wanted a place to sleep for the night where she wouldn’t have to worry about the Germans taking the pieces of her away one at a time until there was nothing left of her at all.





Chapter Eleven




“Awhorehouse? Really?” Eva asked thirty minutes later as they stood on a seedy side street in Pigalle, looking up at a stone building with opening hours listed on the left windowpane in both German and French. “You want me to stay here?”

“First of all, it’s called a brothel, not a whorehouse.” Rémy grinned at her, obviously enjoying her discomfort.

“A brothel, a bordello, a cathouse, does it matter?”

“Well, considering the fine folks here will be putting us up for the night, I would suggest being polite.”