The Diplomat's Wife(32)

“Come on. Let’s get out of this mess.” Paul takes my hand again and leads me down a corridor to a stairwell. He drops to one of the stairs, still holding the champagne bottle.

“So what do we do now?” I ask, sitting down beside him.

“Good question. Now that the war is over, they’ll be sending us back to the States. But it’s still going to be at least a few weeks. I could send you ahead to my family in America and meet you there. Or you can wait here in Paris. Then I can try to get discharged over here and we can travel back together.”

I hesitate. It would be heavenly to spend a few weeks exploring Paris without being worried about the future. I could visit the museums, do all of the things I had only read about in books. But looking down at my bag, I know that I do not have the option. “I still have to go to London,” I say. “I have to see Rose’s aunt.”

“I could arrange to send her belongings on through the army,” Paul offers.

I shake my head. “I need to go myself and tell her in person what happened. I owe Rose that much.”

“I understand. But I wish you would reconsider. Traveling across the Channel alone. It’s so dangerous.”

Dangerous. Fighting with the resistance, being imprisoned by the Nazis, those things were dangerous. Being alone in Paris without anywhere to go had been scary, too, in a different way. But now that Paul and I are together I feel safe. Really safe. “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” he says reluctantly. “You go on to London tomorrow, while the visa is good. I’ll get discharged and meet you there in two weeks and we’ll go to America together and get married.” He pauses, thinking. “Let’s say Kings Cross Station, August 30 at seven in the evening. Agreed?”

I nod. “Paul, there’s one other thing….”

He looks down at me. “What is it?”

“Well, if we’re to be married…that is, you know that I’m Jewish?”

“I assumed it when we found you in the camp prison.”

There were non-Jews in the camps, too, I want to say. But that is beside the point at the moment. “Does that bother you?”

He shakes his head. “Not at all. I mean, it might give the folks of Ruddy Springs, North Carolina, a start….” He pauses, seeing my expression is serious. “Is it a problem for you?”

I hesitate. Before the war, marrying a non-Jew would have been unthinkable. “No. But I wanted to mention it because if we were ever to have children, I would want them to be raised Jewish.” I owe my parents that much.

He smiles down at me. “We can move to a bigger city, if need be. Somewhere with a synagogue and some other Jewish people. We’ll work it out, I promise. It’s getting late. Why don’t you stay here? Technically we aren’t allowed to have guests.” He gestures toward the lobby. “But my guess is no one is really going to look too closely in this chaos. You’re welcome to stay in my room.” He raises his hand. “I don’t mean that improperly. I can stay with one of my buddies so you have the room to yourself.”

“Staying here would be great,” I reply. “Thank you.”

We stand and make our way up one flight of stairs, then another. Paul leads me down the hallway. “Room 303. This should be it.” He unlocks the door and lets me in, then turns on the light. The room is small, barely wide enough for the single bed and washstand. The scent of mothballs hangs heavy in the damp air. “It’s not much, I’m afraid.”

I turn back toward him. “It’s fine. Thanks again.”

“I’m going to bunk with Mickey. He’s three doors down on the opposite side of the hall if you need anything. I think we passed a washroom just down the hall to the right. I’ll set the alarm and knock so you wake up in plenty of time for your train.” He pauses, looking down at me. Several seconds pass. Then he leans down and kisses me. Heat rises inside me as his lips press against mine, soft and full. A second later, he straightens. “Good night, Marta.” He walks toward the door.

“Wait,” I call as he turns the doorknob.

He turns back. “What is it? Do you need something?”

I hesitate. “No. It’s just that, you don’t have to leave.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Stay,” I blurt out. “There’s no need for you to sleep away, I mean, somewhere else. We already spent the night together once, in Salzburg, remember?”

He smiles. “I do. I just wanted to give you your privacy. Are you sure?”

I nod. In the morning, I will have to leave and then we’ll be separated again for weeks. The last thing I want to do is spend these few hours apart. “I’ll be right back.” I walk past him, out of the room and down the hallway to the washroom. Music and voices drift upward from the bar below. I splash some water on my face, then stare into the mirror above the basin. Paul and I are going to be married. The idea still seems like a dream.

When I return to the room, Paul is kneeling on the tiny floor space, making up a bed of blankets. “I took a few of the blankets from the bed, but you should still be warm enough,” he says. “Just let me finish this and I’ll step out so you can get changed.”

Inwardly I smile. Paul is still trying to protect me. He does not understand. I could let him continue making the separate bed, I consider. It would be the proper thing to do. But lying apart in the darkness would be torture. I want him beside me. Desire wells up inside me as I kneel down beside him. “That won’t be necessary.” I take the pillow he is holding and put it back up on the bed, then put my hand in his. “I mean, after all, we are engaged.”