Last Twilight in Paris

Epilogue

EPILOGUE

Louise

England, 1953

The kettle whistles and I put water into two chipped teacups, one for me and one for Midge, and carry hers to the front of the shop where she is sorting. Then I return to the back office and sit down at the desk I’m using for my new venture. I feed a piece of crisp stationery into the typewriter. Louise Burns, Private Investigator , the heading reads. I’ve got half an hour until I have to leave to pick up the children from school and I want to finish the letter I’ve started to Gabriel, updating him on what I’ve learned so far about his youngest sister, Bette, during the war. I plan to write to Helaine separately, seeking details about her father so I can try to help her find him.

It has been nearly a month since I returned from Paris. I decided in earnest to help people find loved ones and other truths they are seeking. It has been slow going, just one case of a woman wanting to know what happened to her fiancé, who was missing in action during the war and never returned. I’ve made records inquiries and I will go to Europe if it turns up anything promising for her. I suspect I will never have another case as meaningful to me as discovering the connection between the locket and Franny’s death. But there is something fulfilling in helping people put together the pieces of their lives.

A bell tinkles in the front of the thrift store and I assume it is a customer. But a moment later, Joe appears in the doorway of the office. I stand. “What is it? Is everything all right?” He should be at work and I’m concerned.

“Perfectly fine.” He crosses the office and kisses me quickly on the lips. Things have been so much better since we returned from Paris. He is seeing a doctor to help him deal with the trauma of the war. It isn’t perfect or easy. Sometimes, examining the past will stir things up and he will cry for no reason or wake up yelling. Occasionally, we have an honest-to-goodness row about something silly. But I understand better now what he is dealing with and we are closer for it.

“It’s just that I have some information. The policeman from Paris called to tell us that Ian has been arrested. They caught him trying to flee to South America. He’s being extradited and sent back to Britain. And he will stand trial for his crimes—for the war crimes and for murdering Franny.”

When I think of Ian and his betrayal, a torrent of emotions comes washing back over me. How had I been so wrong about him? I had liked him, admired him. In the end, I had not known him at all. I wonder if his feelings for me had been a ruse. But when I see him in my mind’s eye, I know that they had not.

“So, it’s over?”

“It’s over.” I exhale with relief.

Except that it will never really be over. “If he stands trial, that means I will have to testify, won’t I?” And face him in court, I think, and relive it all again. I’m petrified of seeing him again, this time across a courtroom, of speaking the truth as he watches.

Joe pauses. “Probably. You don’t have to do it, of course. No one will force you.”

“But if I don’t testify, Ian could be exonerated.”

“They have very little evidence without you,” he concedes. “Just the photo. They will need you to put together all of the pieces of what Ian was doing in the camps, how he responded when Franny died.”

I square my shoulders. “I can do it.”

“And I’ll be there with you every step of the way,” Joe promises. “Anyhow, it’s over. We’re safe.” I fold myself into his arms, wanting to believe we are safe, but not sure I can ever feel that way again. We stand in a close embrace, letting the weight of the past and all that has happened wash over us and fade away. “There is one other thing,” Joe adds. “When Ian was arrested, they found the other half of the necklace among his possessions. They asked for our address so they can return it to you.”

“Tell them not to.”

Joe looks surprised. “You don’t want it back?”

“It was never mine in the first place.” I take a piece of paper and write down Helaine and Gabriel’s address in Paris. “Can you have them send it here instead?”

“Yes, of course. Anything for you. You must be so relieved to put this all behind you.”

“I am. It’s time to move on.”

Joe looks around the shop. “Are you almost done here?” he asks.

“I am.” I clear my teacup. The letter to Gabriel can wait until Monday. “I want to stop on the way home and get some of that bread my mum likes.”

I had reached out to my mum, but she had not wanted to come live with us. Her life in London, while dreadful to me, is her life and she does not want to leave it. But she has stopped drinking and comes to see the children often on weekends now. Joe and I plan to let her mind them overnight next summer when we take a night at the seashore just for us. “I’ll buy you your very own candy floss,” he promised teasingly when proposing the plan.

“What about you?” I ask. “It’s not even three. Do you have to go back to work?” Joe never misses time at the office—or at least the old Joe hadn’t.

He shakes his head, then holds up a package wrapped in brown store paper. “I’ve taken the rest of the day off. I bought a new kite and I thought that Ewen and Phed might like to go to the park and try it out. You could join us, too, if you would like.”

“I would love that.” I take his hand and together we leave the shop behind us and start the journey home into the light.

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