21. Louise
21
Louise
Paris, 1953
When I reach the department store, it is still early and I worry that they might still be closed. But I try the door and am relieved to find that it opens. I race inside and past the receptionist. “Pardon?” she calls, but I keep going, hoping she will not stop me. I sprint up the back stairwell without waiting to find out. I open the door to the dormitory and dash to the spot where we had stood on my previous visit. I scan the room, looking for clues. Nothing. Everything that had been in here during the war is gone.
My eyes lower to the hash marks we had seen last time where a prisoner seemed to have been marking the days. I scan the wall around the markings, noting how the plaster is cracked with age. My eyes are tracing the cracks when I notice a place on the wall where the paint is darker than the rest and a bit uneven. I run my hand along the wall, then tap on it. There is a spot that sounds different. Hollow.
I start digging at it, plaster caking under my fingernails and cutting the skin. The managing director is in the doorway now, starting toward me. “Madam, you must stop! You are destroying our property and I will be forced to call the police.”
Ignoring him, I tear at the wall. A moment later, it gives way, revealing a hole. I reach in through the dust and pull out a small journal. I open the cover.
There is a name inside: Helaine Weil Lemarque.
Gabriel’s wife.
My breath catches. Hurriedly, I reach into the hole once more, stretching farther, feeling for the locket. My hand closes around emptiness. There is nothing else.
I sink back, disappointed. The other half of the necklace is surely gone, and so, too, is anything I might have learned from it.
The managing director looks over my shoulder, more curious than angry now. “What is that? If it is some sort of artifact from the war, it must be turned over to the government. There is a law.”
Not responding, I open the journal and begin to page through it. There are stories, fiction by the looks of it, about a girl named Anna, and a few sketches, the words of a person trying to express themselves to survive their days in captivity. I don’t have time to read it all. I start to close the journal. Then on the inside cover, I see a sketch.
It is of a necklace with a half-heart shape.
There is no doubt that the owner of the notebook and the locket are one and the same. I still do not have the necklace. But it is a connection. It is something.
I study the name once more. Helaine Weil Lemarque. Our mystery woman has at last been identified.
But can she be found?
I race downstairs and start from the store. The managing director calls after me, insisting that I leave the journal. I keep going, half-afraid that he will follow me. He does not.
I step outside. I have the name of the cellist’s wife, but she could be anywhere, or even no longer alive. For a fleeting sec ond, I think of Ian and his connections. If he were still here, he might help me track her down. But I have to do this myself now. No, not completely myself. Joe is here. I decide to ring the hotel and see if he has returned yet. Perhaps we can figure out how to find Helaine together. I start for a telephone booth at the corner.
I dial the hotel and the front desk clerk answers. “This is Louise Burns. I’m staying at the hotel and I left a short while ago with my husband, Joe. I’m wondering if he has returned.”
“I have not seen him, madam, but I’ve just come on shift. I can check your room.”
“Please do.” There is a pause. I wait impatiently, my fingers ruffling a thick phone book on the shelf below the telephone.
A moment later, the clerk returns on the line. “I tried the room, but no one answered.”
“Thank you.” Joe is not back yet. I pause, considering what to do next. I know now who the cellist’s wife was. Is. Hopefully she survived the war and is alive somewhere. My mind races as I consider where she could be. People left in droves after the war. She might be anywhere. But people also went home. Most often went home, the policeman had said about Ian. And Helaine’s last known whereabouts were the department store.
What if she stayed right here in Paris?
I look down at the phone book. I try not to get my hopes up as I open it and thumb hurriedly through the pages. She might not have survived the department store. And even if she did, there was no reason to assume that she remained so close to her painful past.
Unable to stay calm, I continue paging through the phone book. I look first under Lemarque, checking both H for Helaine and G for Gabriel, just in case. Then I go to the W listings. There is nothing for Weil, H . My heart sinks. No, of course not, even now women are not considered important enough to be listed separately. But there is a G : Is it possible that Helaine is listed under her husband’s first initial, but her own surname? It seems unlikely, but it is my only hope, and the only clue I have. I scribble down the address, then step from the phone booth.
On the pavement, I pause, trying to decide what to do next. I want to go right to the address to see if Helaine is actually there. But I promised Joe I would meet him straightaway, and if he comes back and does not see me, he might worry.
I hurry back to the hotel, but Joe has not returned. Perhaps the film is taking longer than expected to develop. I scrawl him a note.
Found address for Gabriel’s wife at 8 Rue Petrelle. Going there. Meet me and let’s finish this so we can go home. Xo Lou
I fold the note and then set out once more.