The Book of Lost Names(53)

How could Gaudibert so easily risk Rémy’s life? If he was captured, how could their network absorb the loss of such a skilled forger? She tried to push the thoughts from her mind, to turn to the dozens of papers she needed to forge that day, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to focus. Every time she blinked, she would see Rémy in her mind’s eye, cold and alone in a snowstorm, a Nazi rifle to his head.



* * *



“Joseph Pelletier?” Mamusia’s eyes lit up when Eva arrived home early that day to tell her they would be having an unexpected dinner guest that evening—but that they couldn’t utter his real name in front of Madame Barbier. It was the happiest Eva had seen her mother look in months. “Why, it’s a miracle! Do you know what he likes to eat, moje serduszko? We’ll make him something special.”

“Mamusia, I’m quite sure he understands the rations just like we do and would be grateful for anything we give him.”

“But it’s Joseph Pelletier! He was the handsomest boy in school, and from a good family, too. I’m sure I can impose upon Madame Barbier and her farmer friend to help us.”

Eva bit her lip before she could reply.

When Joseph arrived just after dark, he had changed into a charcoal wool sweater and pressed black slacks, which made him look as if he’d wandered in from an upscale Parisian café. Mamusia fluttered around him, gushing about how handsome he looked, how wonderful it was to see him, what an honor it was to have him to dinner. Madame Barbier—who had managed to procure a precious chicken and some potatoes for the occasion—seemed overly impressed, too. She was involved enough with the underground to know the name Gérard Faucon—and to realize he was someone important in the Resistance.

“Jo—Gérard,” Mamusia breathed, leaning forward hungrily as Madame Barbier uncorked a bottle of wine for them and then reluctantly disappeared to leave them in peace. “Isn’t it extraordinary that you and Eva have reunited here so far from home?”

“Mamusia,” Eva warned under her breath.

Joseph smiled, first at Mamusia and then at Eva, his gaze lingering on her. “Well, Eva herself is quite extraordinary.”

Mamusia reddened and fanned herself dramatically, as if she herself had been the object of Joseph’s compliment. “Oh, you’re very kind, Joseph. She’s quite a catch, don’t you think?”

“Mamusia, please!”

Joseph smiled at Eva again, his eyes meeting hers. “Yes, I’m certain she is.”

“Perhaps we could change the subject,” Eva said through gritted teeth.

“Very well.” Her mother sighed and plunged into a story about a party she had attended at the invitation of Joseph’s parents in the summer of 1937, at their grand apartment on the rue du Renard, and how she had told her husband that it was simply the height of glamour and class. But at the mention of Tatu?, her smile faltered a bit, and she trailed off and looked toward the door as if she half expected him to enter at any moment.

“I’m very sorry to hear about your husband’s deportation,” Joseph said gravely, reaching to touch Mamusia’s hand.

“Thank you, Joseph,” Mamusia said with a sniffle. “I look forward to being reunited with him when the war ends. It’s just that I miss him very much right now.”

Eva swallowed hard and stared at her plate. Mamusia seemed increasingly unable to process the possibility that there might not be a joyous reunion with Tatu? in the making. “Mamusia,” she said softly, but Joseph reached for Eva’s hand under the table, squeezed it gently, and didn’t let go.

“Madame Traube, I would be happy to inquire after him, if that would be helpful,” Joseph said, and Eva watched as her mother’s head jerked up.

“Inquire after my Leo?” Mamusia asked, her voice high and breathy. “You could do that?”

Joseph shrugged, as if it was nothing to obtain information from a Nazi labor camp, as if there were a correspondence secretary simply awaiting his letter in the land of death and despair. “I have many contacts,” he said. “I’d be happy to see if anyone can find out where your husband is now. I’m sure he’s thinking of you all the time, Madame Traube.”

“Joseph, I don’t think—” Eva began.

“Oh, Joseph,” Mamusia cut her off, her eyes twinkling with tears as she beamed at him. “I always knew you were a wonderful boy. I’ve always told Eva that, haven’t I, dear? You should wind up with a nice Jewish boy like Joseph, I’ve always said.”

Eva covered her eyes with her right hand, mortified, but Joseph didn’t laugh, nor did he let go of her left hand. He only squeezed tighter, and then his thumb began to stroke her palm, a motion of comfort, intimacy.

“Well, Madame Traube, I’d be very lucky to find a woman like Eva, too. You and your husband have raised a fine daughter.”

Mamusia fanned herself again and tittered like a teenager before excusing herself to go see about the main course in the kitchen. As soon as she was out of earshot, Eva groaned. “I’m so sorry about my mother. She seems to think this is a date.”

“And would that really be so bad?” Joseph asked, waiting until she looked up at him in surprise. “You have to admit, Eva, we would make a good pair.”

Eva pulled her hand away from him and looked down, suddenly embarrassed. “Joseph, I—”