The Book of Lost Names(51)

“Bonjour.” There was something familiar about him, something that unsettled her and made her feel as if she was somehow failing to connect the dots.

But then he unwrapped his scarf, and as he took off his hat and grinned at her, her jaw fell. “Joseph Pelletier?” she breathed.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my petit rat de bibliothèque. How is this possible?” As he took a step forward and pulled her into a tight embrace, her mind raced. She never imagined she would cross paths again with the suave Sorbonne student, and certainly not here, not in this new life where she had become someone the old Eva would hardly have recognized.

“You’re Gérard Faucon?”

“Indeed. And you’re Eva Moreau, the master forger?”

Eva nodded, though his words made her feel like a fool. “What on earth are you doing here, Joseph?”

“Well, fighting the damned Germans, of course,” he said cheerfully, finally pulling away and putting a frigid hand on her cheek. He stared at her, tilting her head slightly, as if making sure it was really her. “But who could have guessed that the talented young forger I’ve been hearing so much about was you all along?”





Chapter Seventeen




It took a full two minutes before the shock of seeing Joseph wore off enough for Eva to do more than stare in disbelief.

He looked more handsome than ever, his face chiseled by hunger, his shoulders broader, a single curl tumbling rakishly onto his forehead in a way that made her itch to reach out and brush it away. She shook her head at herself. They were both fighting for France, and she was letting herself succumb to the feelings of a silly child. “But… how are you here?”

“I could ask the same of you, Eva. How did you become involved? I have to say, I would not have expected this.”

She hardly knew where to begin, so she started with the moment that everything changed. “They took my father.”

“I heard. I’m very sorry.”

She shrugged, trying to pretend that it was all right, that she had come to terms with it, but to her horror, she began to cry. Joseph pulled her close again, murmuring into her hair as she tried to get ahold of herself. Finally, mortified, she pulled away. “I—I don’t know what came over me. I haven’t cried about him in months. It’s just that seeing you…”

“Seeing you brings the past rushing back for me, too, Eva.” His voice was even deeper than she remembered, almost as if time had hardened him into something different. Was he thinking the same of her?

“How did you end up here?” she asked.

“Of course, I’m not supposed to tell you—network protocol and all that—but you’re Eva Traube, for God’s sake.” He chuckled as if he still couldn’t believe it. “You see, Eva, I was working for a similar network in Paris. Remember when I told you about the plans for the roundup in July and suggested you warn your parents?” The question was mild, but Eva felt the blame in it. He had given her the information necessary to save her father, but she had squandered it. She looked away.

“I tried, Joseph, but they didn’t believe me.”

“There were many people who didn’t think it could possibly happen,” he said immediately. “But now we know. In any case, it turned out I was quite good at staying one step ahead of the enemy.” He flashed her another smile, and she was reminded that for all his charm, modesty had never been Joseph’s strong suit. “When there was the need to expand a network in this part of France, one that could work with the underground in Paris, I was asked to come.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Since the end of August.” He paused. “And your mother, Eva? Was she taken, too, along with your father?”

Eva felt a stab of pain. “No, thank goodness. She’s here with me.”

He looked surprised. “Well, then, you were lucky. She is well?”

Eva thought for a moment about pouring out the story of her mother’s increasing bitterness, and the way it felt like she blamed Eva for her father’s arrest. But Joseph hadn’t come to hear her woes, and she knew that her problems paled in comparison to the things he likely carried on his shoulders if he was active in the underground. “I suppose she’s as well as can be expected.”

“You must give her my regards.”

“She would love to see you. You should come to dinner tonight.” Eva felt like a fool the moment the invitation had been extended. It wasn’t as if she could offer him a gourmet meal. Even with her small salary from Père Clément and plenty of false ration cards at her disposal, it was nearly impossible to obtain anything decent in the middle of winter. Last night, for example, Madame Barbier had served a pot of vetch, which she’d been boiling all day. The hard grains were typically used only as animal feed, and as Eva had tried to choke down a few spoonfuls, she understood why: they tasted like dirty socks. Besides, even if Joseph happened to be a fan of stewed socks, certainly he had better things to do than come to dinner with Eva and Mamusia, more important people to spend his time with.

So she was surprised when Joseph smiled after only a brief hesitation. “You know what? I would love to. I will bring the materials with me.”

“Materials?”

“The things I wanted to discuss with the forger, Eva Moreau. I still can’t believe it’s you.” He patted her on the head, the way one might with a small child. “Give me your address, and I will be there.”