Last Twilight in Paris

19. Louise

19

Louise

Paris, 1953

The door opens a crack and I lunge forward. Then, inches from raining down a blow on the intruder, I stop. “Lou?” a familiar voice calls.

There, standing before me, is Joe.

“Joe…” He does not speak but stands looking uncomfortable and out of place, in the doorway of a Paris hotel room, holding a small overnight bag. “What are you doing here?” My surprise is instantly replaced with happiness. Joe is my husband and, despite everything we have been through, the love of my life. Especially now, after everything that has happened, I am happy to see him.

“I was worried,” he says finally.

“I told you where I was going.”

“I rang the hotel, and when I couldn’t reach you, I grew worried. I regretted not coming with you. And I know it sounds silly, but some part of me was afraid you had gone for good.”

“It wasn’t like that,” I reply. “I would never leave you, or the children.” But I see now how it must have looked. To me, it had been just an errand. But to Joe, still carrying the pain and scars of the war, it had felt like abandonment and total loss all over again. “Joe, I’m terribly sorry. And I’m so glad you’re here.”

He stiffens and pulls away a bit. “Are you certain about that?” He hesitates. “When I called the hotel and asked for you, they said you were with your husband. Who was that, Lou?”

I realize that he is speaking of Ian and I’m amazed that the hotel front desk had so readily disclosed my personal affairs. “It’s not what you think,” I say, understanding how it must seem to Joe, that I was with another man at this hotel. “I ran into an old supervisor from the Red Cross,” I add.

A flash of recognition crosses his face. “Ian?” he asks.

“Yes.” I had mentioned Ian once or twice when I talked about my work during the war. I had not realized that Joe was listening—or would remember.

“I had asked Ian for help finding out about the necklace and its possible connection to Franny’s death. I thought because of his government work, he might have the connections to find out more about the person who owned the necklace. Only, Ian went missing and the necklace is gone, too… Please, you must trust me.” I press into him and his familiar scent envelops me. There has been so much distance between us. But now that he is here, there is no one else I would rather be with.

Joe pulls back. “When you needed help, you asked him and not me.”

“Oh, Joe, never! I was in London to see Millie about the necklace and I ran into…” I stop, unwilling to lie again. “That is, I remembered the Red Cross and I thought Ian could help, so I went and asked him. It was never about choosing him over you.”

“Where is Ian now?”

“I don’t know. He’s disappeared and I think he has the necklace with him. I went to the police, but I’m not certain that they will help. I was just packing up to come home this morning. I seem to have hit a dead end here in Paris. But I still need to find out what happened to Franny.”

“I don’t like this,” Joe says, his brow furrowing with concern. “If Ian left and took the necklace, there’s probably a reason. It could be dangerous, Lou. Why can’t you just let it go?”

I consider the question. I have spent my life laboring under the delusion that being safe might save me. All of my life, I have played by the rules, and it has gotten me nowhere. Not this time. “If there’s something that Ian was trying to keep from me about the necklace and Franny’s death, then that’s all the more reason I have to find out. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“In that case, let me help.”

I am surprised. “Really?”

“If that’s what you need to put all of this behind you, then yes.”

I expected Joe to insist we go home, but instead I see a glimpse of the old Joe, the man I fell in love with. “I won’t let you do this alone,” he adds.

I start to tell him no. This was my friend who had died and my mission, and I need to finish it myself.

“I know you can do it on your own,” Joe says, seeming to read my thoughts. “But you shouldn’t have to. It might seem like I’m not paying attention,” he adds. “But I understand what it took to come back from all you did during the war and care for our family, to carry the weight when I can’t. Now it’s my turn to be strong. I’ll help you. We’re a team, Lou.”

I realize then that not letting Joe in was what had nearly destroyed our marriage in the first place. I cannot afford to do that again. “I would like that very much.” I throw my arms around him. “Thank you.”

I take his hand. “I’m so glad you came. I thought after everything that happened, you might be too mad.”

“What did the war teach us if not about second chances?” he asks. “Believe me, the last thing I wanted to do was come to Paris.” I realize then how hard it must be for him to return to Europe and all of his painful memories as well. “But I know how important this is to you. You’ve always needed to know what happened to Franny. It’s partly self-interest, too. How can we move forward with our lives until you’ve made your peace with the past?”

“Then let’s figure this out so we can go home,” I reply.

He takes my arm protectively. “So what now?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “The necklace I found is gone. Ian had it and he must have taken it with him. It seemed like a dead end anyway.”

“But what about the other necklace?”

“The necklace with the other half of the heart?” Millie had mentioned the other half when I visited her jewelry shop in Portobello Road; so had Madame Dupree. I have been so focused on the one I had seen years ago, though, I have not stopped to think about where the other half might be—or the fact that it might have the answers I am looking for. “I have no idea. But even if I did, I’m not sure it would help. This is the half I saw during the war, I’m certain of it. It has the same half of the inscription and everything.”

“I understand. But if the man had one half, then surely his wife had the other.” The logic is as simple as it is brilliant. What if the one bearing the truth is still out there? “And perhaps the other half might contain the answers you are looking for,” Joe offers.

“Yes, but where in the world would that be? The cellist had the half I found. The other half was with his wife…” I remember then what Monsieur Brandon told me about the woman he knew at Lévitan—the one who was married to the cellist. My mind goes to the dormitory in the attic of the department store. “I have to go back to the store where she was kept prisoner during the war. If that’s the last place she lived, then perhaps there is some clue there about the necklace that I might have missed. I wasn’t thinking at all about it when I was there.”

“I’ll come with you,” Joe volunteers.

“No, you can’t,” I snap. He looks hurt and I realize it sounds as though I am rejecting him all over again. “That is, I need you to do something else.” I explain about the film and give him the address of the shop that is developing it. “It should be ready by now.”

“I will get the photograph while you go to the store.” It feels good to be working together, a true partnership.

I start for the door and then turn back. “Are the children still at Bea’s?” Their faces appear in my mind. I want to be home and holding them.

“They are now. But after you left, I brought them home from Bea’s and took care of them myself.” He smiles. “I was actually kind of good at it.” There is a note of pride in his voice. He can help, I see now, if only I make room to let him. “It’s been good for us in a way,” he adds. “We missed you, but it’s good for me to spend time with them and have them see that I can take care of them. That I’m capable. And for me to see it, too.”

“I know what you mean.”

Then he smiles. “Who am I kidding? The house is in shambles and we are desperate for you to be home.”

We take the lift down to the lobby. I look at Joe out of the corner of my eye. His gaze is fixed ahead with a kind of determination, his fingers are laced firmly with mine. He is here, and present now, in a way that he has not been since the war. In that moment, I know we are going to make it.

“Go get the film,” I say as we step outside. “I will check the store and I will meet you back here straightaway.”

“Promise?” I can sense his apprehension, and I kiss him squarely on the lips.

“Promise,” I respond. Then I set out.

Germany, 1944

My breath caught. The fact that the necklace was missing did not mean that someone had taken it. Franny could have had it with her when she was killed.

I set out to tell Ian all that I had learned. Surely now he would believe me. He would have to see that something was not right. But as I walked into his railcar, his face was a thundercloud. “I’m glad you’re here. Sit down.” He gestured to the lone chair across from his cot. I was surprised. I had come here to see Ian on my own, but he was acting as though he had summoned me.

He looked away and I wondered if he felt as awkward as I did about what had happened. “I know what you are going to say. I agree. It can’t happen again. It never should have happened in the first place.”

“I agree.” Though I had said as much, his acknowledgment still stung. I brushed it away. “But that’s not what this is about.”

“Then what?”

“I need to talk to you,” I began, but he raised his hand.

“No, me first. I don’t need to tell you how disruptive this situation with Franny has been.” My anger flared. It was not a disruption. She had been killed and he was boiling it down to some kind of inconvenience. “But we really can’t let this situation interfere with our mission. It’s become too much, you see, and it has to go away.”

I realized then that the mess he was talking about was not Franny’s murder. The mess he was talking about was me.

“You went and tried to talk to one of the prisoners.”

My confusion turned to alarm. How did he know about that? Then I remembered the guard who had been watching me. He must have told Ian. “I did. I was trying to find out the truth about what happened to Franny, which is more than I can say for you!”

“Louise, how could you?” he exploded. “I explained to you the constraints under which we operate here. You’ve gone too far and it’s out of my hands now. I can’t protect you.” Protect me from what? I wondered. Ian continued, “You must understand, I’m thinking of the lives of thousands of people. People who we will not be able to help if we are found meddling and sent home. It’s not that I’m not sad about Franny. I cared about her just as much as you. But I have to think of the greater good.”

He turned to some paperwork on his desk. “You’ll want to go home now, I expect. After everything that happened with Franny, the last thing you would want is to stay here.”

I looked at him in surprise. “No.” I was grieving for my friend. But I was more committed than ever to the work—and to finding the man with the necklace. “Ian, did Franny have anything on her when she died?”

He shook his head. “Not that I know of. Just her Red Cross identification card. Why?”

“The cellist gave Franny a necklace to deliver to his wife. She asked you to make sure it got delivered, didn’t she?” He did not say anything, but I already knew the answer. “I looked in Franny’s belongings, but the necklace is gone. Don’t you think that is strange? Or that maybe it has something to do with Franny’s death?”

I saw from his weary expression that he did not, and that he also didn’t believe me. “I think Franny got hit by a car because she liked to walk at night and it was a darkened country road,” he said, repeating the theory I would never believe. “And I think that I’ve got a dead actress.” I cringed at the coldness of his words. “And I’ve got prisoners who need our aid packages if they are to survive and a worker in the war zone who won’t follow instructions.” He would not sacrifice his work to help me. His principles and commitment, the very things that drew me to him, were the things that would in the end tear us apart.

He was looking squarely at me, an accusation. “I told you to leave this alone. And you didn’t. You should go home, Lou.”

“I’m not leaving until I find out what happened to Franny.”

“No,” he replied quietly. “You’re leaving now.” His expression hardened then. “Louise, you don’t understand, you’re being sent home.” He had been trying to give me the option. But now the truth was laid bare. I was being forced to leave. They weren’t giving me the choice.

In truth, we would have all been going home soon anyway. Still, it was upsetting to be told that I was no longer needed or wanted, that the trouble I was causing was greater than any help I could possibly offer.

“But why? I don’t understand.”

“When you asked about Franny, I told you to leave it alone. But you didn’t, did you? You kept asking questions when I asked you to stop, going places where you weren’t supposed to. The guards saw you talking to a prisoner in the barracks. You’ve been ordered to leave the country immediately.”

He slid a paper across the cot. Government orders, sending me home. And they had been signed by Ian himself.