The Winemaker's Wife(96)

“You will take him, yes?” Edouard spoke from the doorway, and Inès turned to find him watching her. “I cannot do this anymore.”

“But where is Edith?”

“She’s dead, Inès.”

From the expression on Edouard’s face, the shadows under his eyes, and the way he had avoided the question earlier, she had suspected as much. But hearing him say the words aloud still made her nearly double over with pain. She began to cry, and David frowned and reached out to touch the tears rolling down her cheeks. “How? What happened, Edouard?”

Edouard blinked a few times, his eyes wet, too. “It was just before the liberation. The Germans were going wild. They knew it was over. They came upon a meeting of résistants, and instead of arresting them, they broke down the door and just began firing.”

Inès covered her face with her hands. “My God, Edouard. She was shot?”

“In the head,” Edouard said, his voice flat as he touched the spot just above his brow. “She was unrecognizable. So when I was asked to identify her, I did not. I told the authorities she was you.”

Inès froze. “What?”

“I thought you were dead already, Inès. We all did. You see, if the Germans had confirmed that they’d killed Edith Thierry, they would likely have arrested me, or worse, come to kill me. And then who would have looked after David?”

“But how did you explain Edith’s absence, then?”

He shook his head. “Oh, I think everyone knew, including the Germans who used to frequent our brasserie. But it was all over by then anyhow, and in the chaos of the liberation, no one came looking. What mattered was that on paper, you, Inès, were the résistante, and Edith had simply vanished. You know the Germans and their adherence to their paperwork.”

“Edouard, I’m so sorry,” Inès said. “Maybe if I’d stayed . . .”

“It would not have mattered. Edith and I accepted our fate when we agreed to work with the Allies. And since Edith cared so much about protecting David, it was a responsibility I took seriously, too. As you can see, he is well fed, healthy.” He nodded at the boy, who was watching him with round eyes. Edouard’s tone was still strangely flat. “But I have nothing, Inès, nothing to give anymore. Edith was my world, and now she is gone. I cannot care for the boy any longer.”

“I’m so sorry, Edouard. For everything.” Inès wiped her tears away. “But what now? What do I do if everyone thinks I’m dead?”

He smiled slightly. “You become Edith. I quietly divorce you. And you go away and never come back.”

“But—”

“Everyone here thought you were on the side of the Nazis,” he went on without looking at her. “It was no secret here in Reims that you were the lover of Antoine Picard for a time. Just after the liberation, you know, he was executed for treason, based on a tip from a high-ranking maquisard.”

Inès nodded, surprised to realize that she felt no pain, no regret, no guilt—only gratitude to Captain Tardivat for keeping his word. “I see.”

“At best, Inès, you were thought to be a collaboratrice horizontale. At worst, an ally of the Nazis yourself, a traitor to France.”

“But I never—”

Edouard held up a hand. “It doesn’t matter, Inès. You are beyond redemption in this town.”

“But you could tell people—”

“Don’t you understand?” Edouard interrupted. “I was suspected for a long time of collaborating, too. People had seen the brasserie filled with Germans. I narrowly escaped execution myself, and only then because the Brits sent someone to vouch for me, to explain that Edith and I had been instrumental in delivering German secrets directly to the Allies, that we had risked our lives for France. I have no energy left, Inès, to prove myself again, or to go out on a limb for you. What have you done, anyhow, to deserve my help?”

Inès wanted to tell him about her months in the forests with the Maquis, the dozens of times she’d nearly lost her life, the German soldier she had been forced to kill with a pocketknife before he could arrest one of the leaders of the group. But what right did she have to compare her sacrifices to Edouard’s? He had lost everything, while Inès had been responsible for every loss that had befallen her. Besides, to bring up her work with the Maquis would be to suggest that it had washed away her sins, and she knew it had not. So she bowed her head and let his anger and blame wash over her, because she deserved it, all of it. “You’re right.”

“So go, Inès.” Edouard sounded exhausted. “Take Edith’s identity papers. The two of you always looked like sisters anyhow. Become her. Honor her name. Try to make something of yourself. And whatever you do, take care of the boy.”

Inès glanced at David, who was playing with her hair now, babbling to himself and paying them no mind. “I will,” she whispered.

“Good.” Edouard seemed as if he wanted to say something else, but after studying Inès intently, he simply shook his head and walked away, the apartment door slamming behind him. Inès knew she would never see him again.

? ? ?

A few weeks later, Inès had moved to Paris, taking David with her. She had chosen the city because it was the returning point for those who had been deported to concentration camps, and she was confident she would find Céline among the ghosts who were trickling back into the capital. It was her only hope of absolution.