The Librarian Spy(30)

“Yes, I know that,” Ava said. “About the people who receive those magazines in exchange for helping us, I mean. But what if my mentioning him put the focus on my neighbor and that revealed whatever it was that caused his arrest?”

“Then you are not at fault. His actions were his own.”

If only it were so easy to brush aside an inflamed sense of guilt.

“Don’t you think the timing is strange?” she pressed. “I mention it to the Nazi and the next night, my neighbor gets arrested?”

Two men strode toward them, heads lowered beneath their fedoras, their identities obscured. James gently put his hand to Ava’s lower back and guided her forward, away from the strangers. “Come, we shouldn’t linger in the street.”

Ava allowed herself to be nudged onward, but she would not drop the topic so easily. “I want to find out what happened to him.”

James’s brows shot up. “From the PVDE?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, here we are.” He stopped in front of a blue-and-gold kiosk and ordered two capilé. The watery red drinks were served on ice with a neat lemon curl resting atop the liquid.

Ava accepted her cup with a nod of thanks and took a sip. The drink was light and refreshing with a delicate grassy note, a hint of orange blossom, and the slightest whisper of citrus.

“Interesting, isn’t it?” James asked. “It’s made from maidenhair leaves.”

“The fern?” Ava thoughtfully regarded her capilé. The glass had begun to sweat, leaving a frosting of condensation over the smooth surface.

He nodded and drank some of his, the ice cubes lightly clicking against one another as he did so. “Isn’t that fascinating?”

“It is.” Ava narrowed her eyes slightly. “Are you trying to distract me from what I was saying about my neighbor?”

“Absolutely.” He lowered his glass. “Anything involving the PVDE is terribly dangerous. They would not take kindly to you inquiring after their business.”

She gathered as much based on their brutal treatment of her neighbor when they arrested him. A shiver rippled down her spine.

“I feel responsible,” she said miserably.

“You are not.”

“And I wouldn’t be asking about the police, only the man who disappeared.”

“I can ask after the man for you, but even I won’t goad the PVDE beast.” He drained the last of the drink as though the matter were resolved.

“What?” She shook her head with a frown. “No, I refuse to let you take the risk for me. I merely wanted to know where to start.”

“And I refuse to allow you to take such an unnecessary risk yourself.” He tilted his head. “It appears we are at an impasse, Miss Harper.” He studied her for a moment, his eyes neither green nor blue, but an interesting amalgamation somewhere in between. “Give me some time?”

Before she could protest, he lifted his hand to stop her and continued, “Two weeks to gently poke around and then we can reevaluate.”

She drank from the glass and contemplated his offer. “Will it put you at risk?”

He shook his head.

“All right,” she agreed reluctantly. “But if I was involved with his arrest and he’s being held somewhere, we have to help.”

“Let me see what I can find first.”

In the distance, church bells tolled the hour. She would need to return to the embassy soon to begin the arduous task of taking picture after picture of various newspapers, magazines, and books.

“But nothing dangerous.” She shifted the messenger bag at her side where the corners of periodicals jutted out.

He watched her struggle with a slight curve of his lips. “I swear it.” He held out his hand for her empty glass. “And I think you need a larger sack.”

Yet another attempt to distract her. She gave him her cup. “One more thing...”

“Only one more?” he teased with a grin.

Heat flushed over her cheeks. She was asking for quite a lot. “I want to do something to help the refugees. I thought you might suggest...?”

A somberness touched his eyes and his smile melted away. “Allow me a few days.”

She nodded and tried to suppress the nettle of her forced dependence. In the past, she had always done the digging herself, flexing the acumen of her own ability to research. But this was a new world filled with new rules and going against any of them could tip the precarious scale of neutrality in a country that was allowing Americans to be there.

With that thought in mind, she had no choice but to bide her time and wait.



EIGHT


Elaine


The sky was overcast with a drizzle too light to require an umbrella, but substantial enough for the chilly dampness to seep into one’s bones. An ominous sensation, Elaine’s mother used to say with an exaggerated shiver and a laugh. But then, Maman was always cold.

It had been two long years since Elaine last saw her parents. They lived in Combs-la-Ville, a rural area about an hour by automobile from Paris where her father was the town’s doctor. Elaine hadn’t relished the quiet life there and had always been dazzled by Paris’s grandeur. Its lure had been irresistible after she completed her courses at lycée and set off on her own. As their only child, they had not been eager to see her leave, but supported her decision out of love for her.