The words sliced through Gabby’s heart. “Then let this be your final heroic gesture, Yvette. Now that you have put me, Maman, Catherine, and everyone else here in danger, do us all a favor and go. If they can’t find you, they might leave the rest of us alone.”
“You don’t understand what’s at stake!” Yvette stormed back to the drawing room and grabbed Catherine’s hands. “Just let me make that rendezvous for you, Catherine. At least let me do that.”
Catherine seemed unfazed by Yvette’s vehemence. “No, I’m sorry, little one. I cannot. Much as I admire your courage and your heart, your association with Jean-Luc, your actions tonight, have put the network at risk. If the gestapistes catch you, we are all as good as dead. No one withstands interrogation at rue de la Pompe.”
There was a quiet authority about Catherine that made Yvette lower her gaze and subside. She did not argue anymore and meekly did as Catherine bade her, drinking up the rest of her tea. She went to the little bed in the maid’s room with an air of submission. There was no protest when Gabby came to say her final goodbye.
Gabby sighed. “I am sorry, Yvette. I did not mean those things I said.” Awkwardly, for the space around the bed was not large, she perched on the edge of the little cot, beside Yvette’s curled-up form. After a hesitation, she reached out and stroked her sister’s hair. “You are a brave girl, Yvette. Sometimes turning away from a fight is the bravest thing to do.”
Yvette gazed at her with a new sorrow filling her eyes. “Gabby? Where is Madame LaRoq?”
YVETTE
Yvette woke in unfamiliar darkness, heart pounding with a nameless fear. She scrambled up, only to sink back again as her head throbbed with pain. Sluggishly, her brain caught up with her circumstances. She was in the maid’s room at Madame LaRoq’s apartment.
The news of madame’s death broke over her once more in a great wash of sadness. How could Gabby have kept it from her all that time? And she . . . she had been too busy playing spies even to realize madame was gone. Not that she hadn’t made the occasional attempt to visit, only to be headed off at the pass by Gabby, keeper of the key. But Yvette had been so self-absorbed, she hadn’t even suspected all this intrigue going on right under her nose. They could have told her! Catherine, at least, knew that she could keep a secret.
The noise that had woken her came again. The heavy rolling of casters across the floorboards. A crack of light appeared around the door frame. Then the door opened and Liliane Dietlin was there, an enormous laundry bag at her feet.
Her smile warm and sympathetic, Liliane beckoned to Yvette with one of her cheerful, birdlike movements. “Come. You must be on your way.”
“But it’s broad daylight. How can I leave now?”
“In this, of course.” Liliane nudged the laundry bag with her pointed toe, then held up a hand to forestall Yvette’s protests. “No arguments, please. We need to get you out without anyone seeing. It worked for Madame LaRoq.”
“You did this to madame?” Yvette’s voice cracked.
“There’s no time for this, little one,” said Liliane. “You must get in and stay there, no matter what. Don’t make a sound or come out until you are given the word, all right?” She kissed Yvette’s cheeks. “Go with God, my dear. May He protect you.”
Hearing the unwonted quaver in Liliane’s voice, Yvette obeyed. She stepped into the center of the puddle of canvas and pulled up the drawstring edges until she stood, fully covered by the laundry bag. The strings were drawn tight above her head, then heavy footsteps sounded across the floorboards.
The light was orange inside the bag, and the air smelled faintly of musk and sweat. She saw a large shadow moving toward her, heard her own breaths, quick and shallow, then a masculine grunt as she was lifted, none too gently, and slung over what she guessed to be a large, meaty shoulder.
The light dimmed, there was a descent, then brightness again as they left the building. She was deposited on a hard floor and heard the double thunk of doors shutting behind her. A van? They were moving and she had no choice but to allow herself to slide this way and that as they turned corners. Thankfully, it was a short drive to their destination. The van stopped again, the doors opened, and she was lifted out, carried upstairs this time, and dumped on what she assumed was a bed, springs creaking under her.
The drawstring was untied, allowing Yvette to inhale fresh, pure air. Then she saw who had freed her. Vidar Lind.
“You! What?” She scrabbled backward, kicking away the laundry bag. “What’s going on?” Surely, Liliane’s contact hadn’t delivered her into the enemy’s hands.
Wildly, she looked around her. A tiny attic apartment, with just a bed and a washbasin. One exit, and Vidar was blocking it.
“Liliane Dietlin sent me.” When she just stared at him, he added, “I’m here to help you.”
“Just as you did last night?” she demanded.
His expression remained impassive. “You seem to be accusing me of something.”
“I saw you,” she hissed. “I saw you with the gang outside my apartment building. You looked very friendly with them.”
“Is that all?” He relaxed. “You know, for an intelligent girl, you jump to a lot of silly conclusions.” He got out a cigarette and tapped it on his silver case. Then he bent his head to light it, blew out smoke. “One must associate with many kinds of people in my line of work.”
“And what is that line of work, precisely?”
He shrugged. “Look, I don’t have time to waste bickering. I have to arrange your papers, tickets, everything. You will catch the train to Marseille tonight and then a guide will take you from there over the Pyrenees and into Spain.”
“Spain?” She’d known she was to leave Paris, but . . .
His hand came over hers. “You’ve had a shock. It is all happening too fast. I understand, but you need to get hold of yourself now, Yvette. Everyone is depending on you.”
Finally, it hit her. She was leaving not only Paris but France. And she would not return until the end of the war, whenever that might be.
“I wanted to see it,” she said when at last she could command her voice enough to speak. “I wanted to be here to see it when we won.” Liberation. They had all suffered so much and worked so hard.
How could a man be so duplicitous yet have such warm sympathy in his eyes? “You have played your part and played it well, Yvette. Now you must think of others and do what is right for them.”
A sense of fatalism overtook her then. The future had been ripped from her grasp. Far too much had happened last night for her to come to grips with it all or face it with her usual determination.
She still felt groggy and a little sick, and her headache had returned in full force. She put a hand to her temple. “I don’t feel well.” Then something clicked. The tisane. Her eyes widened. “Catherine drugged me!”
She said it with such indignation that Vidar smiled. “I expect you would not be here if she hadn’t.”
He was right. She remembered now. Last night, she’d been full of rebellion. Now she felt numb.
Vidar said, “Stay here. Don’t show yourself to anyone. I’ll be back when I’ve made the arrangements.”
He gazed down at her, a strange intensity in his expression. She thought for a moment that he might touch her, try to pull her into his arms. However, he must have read her mood, because he kept his hands by his sides. “If you want to leave, I can’t stop you, Yvette. But please do as I say. They are not looking for you yet, but it might only be a matter of time.”
GABBY
The day Yvette left was so sultry and stifling, the heat seemed to throb inside Gabby like a living thing, compounding her misery. As she worked, beads of sweat formed, slid down her face, mingling with the occasional tear.
Jack was gone. Yvette was gone. And she was left to carry on just as before. Maman had accepted the news about Yvette far more stoically than Gabby had expected. Despite the efforts of both her daughters, Danique Foucher seemed to have gu
essed their secrets.
Gabby herself could hardly function for worrying about both fugitives. Were they safe? Had there been an escape route already planned for Jack, or had the network been obliged to improvise? By now, he could have been arrested, subjected to all kinds of brutality. And she was here, sweeping floors and sorting mail, powerless to help him. And what about Yvette, holing up somewhere in Paris, waiting for the night train? Any number of things could go wrong . . .
Gabby was polishing the bannister in the stairwell when Catherine came down, looking smart, as always, a clutch under her arm, a jaunty hat on her head. Despite the blazing heat, she appeared cool and poised in her navy suit.
“Good morning, Gabby.” Catherine’s smile was friendly but distant, as if they had not committed all manner of crimes together the night before.
But of course. Her mission. The one Yvette was supposed to be carrying out today.
Gabby glanced around, but no one was there to hear. A deadly fatalism swept over her. She felt oddly calm, at peace. “Don’t do it. Let me go.”
Catherine’s eyes widened. “No. Out of the question.”
“They don’t know me. No one will watch what I do.” She grabbed Catherine’s arm as the other woman made to brush by her, an impertinence she would never have committed even the day before.
Instead of reprimanding her, Catherine leaned in close and spoke low, under her breath. “Go back to your work, Gabby, do you hear? This is my work. I will handle it.”
A door opened above them. Clicking heels and the scamper of dog paws told them who had come out. Catherine slipped from Gabby’s grasp and went swiftly on her way.
Dully, Gabby watched her go.
“You missed a spot,” said a dry, crotchety voice. “And get that pail out of the way. Someone might trip.”
Gabby turned to look up at Madame Vasseur. “One can only hope,” she muttered. But she obeyed madame’s commands, and even mopped up the paw prints the poodle left after they’d gone. He would only leave more upon his return. She would clean them up, too.
“I’m going out,” Gabby told her mother when she returned to the loge. She needed a walk. Perhaps she’d go to the gardens, where the trees would provide a little shade from the sun. Or maybe to the river in hopes of catching a breeze?
She wandered without a purpose, her mind still numb with shock and grief. She’d experienced loss before. Her father. Her fiancé. This was different. Both those deaths had been sad but expected. To have the two people closest to her in the world ripped from her with no warning . . . She didn’t know how to go on after that.
“Ah, good day, Gabby! How are you today?” The smiling, always cheerful Liliane Dietlin hurried toward her and kissed her on both cheeks. Then she gripped Gabby’s arm and gave it a warning squeeze. “Come. Have a little coffee with me. My treat.”
Bemused, Gabby went with Liliane to a café full of German soldiers. Catching Gabby’s expression, Liliane laughed. “The safest place is in the thick of them, you know.” She chose a table where she could put her back to a wall and observe the rest of the clientele. “Let us sit and discuss.”
When they’d ordered, Liliane reached across the little table and took Gabby’s hand in hers. She seemed to know that any expression of sympathy would set Gabby off, so she said, “Horrible weather, isn’t it? But I am pleased to tell you that both packages are safe.”
The relief made Gabby choke back a sob. It wasn’t over, but at least there was no bad news yet.
Liliane’s eyes sparkled with sympathy. “But no, do not cry, my dear. Women like us, we must be strong.”
Gabby nodded, inhaling deeply to try to calm herself. “I know. I know I must.” And suddenly, she knew that the humdrum existence that now stretched before her would send her mad if she didn’t do something. After last night, she felt reckless, as if her own life did not matter too much anymore. For someone who had protected her own safety like a miser hoarded coins, there was a kind of liberation that went hand in hand with despair.
“I want to do more.” She heard herself saying the words and could hardly believe they were coming out of her own mouth. “There are at least four vacant apartments in the building. Other places, too . . .” She trailed off. “Or is it too little too late?”
“Not at all,” said Liliane, her eyes shining. “There are still so many of us being rounded up. The Boches are on the run, and like rats they turn most vicious when cornered. It is a good thing, Gabby. A very good thing.” Her gaze softened. “Jack would be proud.”
Liliane didn’t know Gabby’s motivation was the opposite of bravery, but Gabby didn’t intend to enlighten her. Someone so very courageous would never understand what drove Gabby now.
She drank the horrible fake coffee in one gulp. She took a deep breath and let it out again. “When do I start?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Paris, July 1944
YVETTE
When Vidar returned hours later with her false papers and train ticket, Yvette said, “I must go out.” It was six in the evening. Catherine would have completed her mission by now, be safe home. Yvette prayed it was so, but she had a sick feeling about it. She was stuck in this airless apartment, waiting, and that seemed to multiply her unease. All was set for her departure tonight on the train to Marseille, but she could not leave without knowing Catherine was safe.
Vidar sighed. “Yvette—”
“I must know one thing. I will find out, and then I will go.”
“What is this thing you must find out? Let me help.” He moved closer. “After all this, you still don’t trust me?”
His gaze, intent and sincere, would have melted most hearts, but Yvette kept picturing him with those black-market thugs the night before. Just because Vidar Lind was involved with Liliane’s escape network, it didn’t mean she trusted him with information about her resistance cell.
She said, “It’s not a matter of trust but a matter of protocol. You don’t need to know. Therefore I do not tell you. Simple.” With an effort, she broke eye contact. “After all, I am sure there are any number of things you don’t tell me.”
“That’s different.”
“Why?” She glared up at him. “Because I’m just a silly girl?” The knowledge that she had behaved foolishly enough to get herself into this mess sharpened her tone.
When he didn’t answer, she said quietly, “I have a little pill. Liliane gave it to me. So don’t be afraid I’ll betray you. If they take me, I bite down on it. The end.”
“That is hardly a comfort to me, sweetheart.” Vidar reached for her, and she could almost believe he cared. But she knew that no matter how much he liked her, he did not have time to babysit her all evening.
She stepped back, evading his touch. “You have important things to do that cannot wait. I understand. So, unless you’re going to tie me up or drug me again, you will have to leave me alone in here. And I will go. You can’t stop me.”
Vidar shook his head. “It does no one any good for you to be caught, Yvette. What can you possibly seek to gain? You’ve done your part. Leave the fight to others now.”
He made sense, but she was beyond logic. She had a feeling in her bones that luck had run out for all of them last night, that Catherine was no exception. That this should happen when the Allies were so close, when winning the war seemed almost inevitable, made it all the more heartbreaking.
Yvette could not return to the rue Royale, and publicly accosting Liliane at the museum where she worked would put Liliane in danger. She would try Monsieur Arnaud, then. If anyone knew anything, he would.
When she entered the bookshop through the alley behind it, the place was deserted but a suitcase stood by the door. The stillness was ominous somehow, as if the shop were a living thing holding its breath. Until a faint shuffle alerted her to another’s presence.
“It’s all right,” she said softly. “It’s me. Yvette.”
Monsieur Arnaud emerged from the shadows behind a stack of boxes. �
��Oh, it is you.” He took out a handkerchief to mop his brow. “When did I ever give you permission to use the office door?”
“I thought it best.” She wasn’t going to alarm him further by explaining why she couldn’t be seen. “We don’t have much time. Tell me. Catherine. Is she safe?”
It was the look on his face. He seemed to age before her eyes. He gave the slightest shake of his head. The answer hit Yvette in the stomach like a fist. She doubled over, retching, but she hadn’t eaten anything that day, and all that came up was the sour taste of bile.
“Get out of here. Go! You need to go now.” Monsieur Arnaud tried to shepherd her back the way she’d come.
“But how? What happened? Where did they take her?”
“I don’t know. All I know is they took our leader to rue de la Pompe and they’ve rounded up several others. We have all been compromised. If you’re smart, you’ll get out while you can.”
Rue de la Pompe. Berger’s torture chamber. If they had taken Catherine there . . .
Only one person could help now. Yvette fled back down the alley and headed for the Ritz.
She longed for her bicycle, and she was hot and disheveled by the time she reached the hotel on foot. However, the doorman recognized her, even if he couldn’t remember her name. She greeted him and headed, with a smile, toward the guards.
These were not the same young men who had taunted her on that first day she had visited mademoiselle. These were older, career soldiers by the looks of them. Perhaps those younger ones had been called to the Russian front, like Sabine’s boyfriend and like so many others who had spent their leave sampling the delights of Paris. At any other time, she might have felt something about this, perhaps a twinge of sympathy, but now there was no room for anything but the need to save Catherine.
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