Chapter 12 Frances
Frances
Paris
The downside to the Soldiers’ Book Service being up and running was that my nerves were constantly jangling.
Of course, my nerves had been on edge since the day the Nazis arrived, but we’d been in a little bubble, me, Guy and Sylvie. We’d open the library and deliver our books, and we kept ourselves to ourselves and no one paid us much attention.
But now we had vans coming and going. We had paperwork. People – Nazis – knew about us. It made me very antsy.
‘We are hiding in plain sight,’ said Alain.
That did not comfort me.
But we carried on. We were sending out hundreds of books a week now. Delivering dozens to Jewish Parisians. And we still opened the library every day, too.
We were all tired and anxious and even hungry a lot of the time. But we kept going.
‘Alain says there is a delivery due at the market,’ Guy said one day. ‘Would you like us to bring something back for you?’
I looked up. He and Alain were standing close together in the doorway. I thought of them as a pair now, I realised. A ‘you two’ my mother always called it.
‘Whatever you can find,’ I said. ‘Here, take some money.’
It was hard to know how much anything was going to cost now. I pulled some notes out of my purse and handed them to Guy. Then I pulled out another and gave him that, too.
‘We won’t be long,’ Alain said. I watched as Guy brushed Alain’s hand with his, and together they turned to leave.
I glanced at the clock. ‘Make sure you’re not late,’ I warned. ‘And come in the back way when you return. I’m going to lock up now.’
I added a final book to the piles for tomorrow’s deliveries, and went to lock the main door.
I was not one for ghost stories or spooky tales, but there was no doubt the high ceilings of the library made for odd noises and strange shadows when the building was empty and the sky was darkening.
I walked towards the doors, feeling my heart thumping.
‘Frances, you’re being a fool,’ I told myself out loud. My voice echoed round the room.
Outside, I unhooked the first door and shut it firmly. But as I went to pull the second door shut, a man loomed out of the darkness and made me shriek.
‘Frau Reed?’
Gathering myself, I leaned against the door, feeling my legs wobble with the shock.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Ja, ich bin Frau Reed.’ I didn’t want to tell him I went by Fraulein and make it clear I was a single woman with no man expecting me home.
‘Sorry to startle you.’ It was one of the Nazi officers I’d seen when Alain and I were loading the van.
‘You didn’t,’ I lied.
The German raised an eyebrow and I sighed. ‘You did. But it’s fine.’
He didn’t smile.
‘Can I come inside?’
‘Is there a problem?’
‘No problem. I have been asked to check some paperwork.’
Slowly, reluctantly, I straightened up and led him inside.
‘You were locking up?’ he said. His face was in shadow under the brim of his hat and it was hard to see his expression.
‘I was. There’s no one else here.’
‘Carry on.’
I looked at him for a moment, not relishing the idea of being locked in the building with the enemy. But he didn’t move and so I pulled the door closed and turned the key.
‘There’s no one else here?’ he repeated.
‘No.’ My voice was shaking.
‘Is there an office?’
‘Upstairs.’
‘Let’s go there.’
I took him up the wide, winding staircase from the main entrance, and along the corridor to my office.
My mind was racing; was there anything incriminating on display anywhere?
Anything that could reveal what we were doing with the loans to Jews?
I thought not – we were very careful – but I couldn’t be absolutely sure.
We reached the office and I turned the handle and showed him inside. He took his hat off and for the first time I saw his face properly. He had sharp eyes and a sombre expression.
‘Shut the door,’ he said. I did as he said, my breathing ragged.
‘What paperwork …’ I began. He held his hand up to quieten me and I shut my mouth.
Quickly, efficiently, he paced the room, feeling under the windowsills, and looking beneath the desk. On the wall was a painting of a beach and he took it off and examined it before he replaced it. As he moved, I saw he had a pistol in his belt. The realisation made me icy cold.
This man could shoot me now. He could shoot me and leave me bleeding on the floor for Guy to find. I steadied myself on the desk, worried I was going to pass out through sheer terror.
The Nazi looked at me.
‘Sit,’ he said.
He didn’t have to tell me twice. I almost collapsed onto the chair, trying to concentrate on my breathing as he continued his sweep of the room. What was he looking for? There was nothing here to interest him.
The officer looked in the light fittings and checked the telephone, and then finally he looked out of the windows for a long minute or two.
Satisfied with whatever he saw there, he turned to me.
‘Good,’ he said.
‘What are you looking for?’ I whispered, my mouth too dry to speak properly.
The Nazi went to the bookcase at the side of the room where there was a jug of water and a glass and poured me a drink. He handed it to me, and I took a grateful gulp.
‘Well, like I always say to the chaps, you can’t be too bloody careful,’ he said in English. ‘There could be listening devices anywhere, or an actual person outside, watching.’
I almost spat my water across the desk as I stared at him in astonishment.
‘You’re British?’ His accent was cut-glass.
‘I am.’ He made a face. ‘Sorry to frighten you.’
It wasn’t often I found myself lost for words, but I really had nothing to say. I opened and closed my mouth like a goldfish.
‘Marcus Oxley,’ he said. ‘Marcus Berger to my German friends.’
I drained the glass of water and put it on the desk.
‘May I?’ said Marcus. ‘I think I saw …’ He came towards me, opened the bottom drawer and took out a bottle of brandy which I kept for special occasions. He uncorked the bottle and poured a generous measure into my empty glass, then he pushed it towards me. ‘It’s good for shock.’
I took a large swig and felt the warmth move down my throat and into my belly. My heart rate was beginning to slow.
I took another drink.
‘You’re British?’ I said again, finally. ‘How?’
‘I work for the SOE,’ he said. I must have looked blank because he added: ‘British intelligence.’
I nodded.
‘You’re a double agent.’
He screwed his nose up. ‘More a sleeper agent,’ he said.
I felt like I was the one who was sleeping.
‘You’re living as a German?’ I said, my head spinning. ‘Living a life as a Nazi officer.’
‘I’m half-German,’ he said. ‘On my mother’s side. Spent my early years in Hamburg but later childhood and the rest in London.’ He grimaced. ‘Things were tricky, after the last war. She had to pick a side, as it were.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘Got the tap on the shoulder when I was at Cambridge, back in ’25. Then I was sent over to Berlin in ’33 when things started to look a bit bleak in Europe.’
This whole situation was barely comprehensible. He looked like a Nazi, but the words coming out of his mouth were so very British, I was almost struggling to understand them. I had no idea what a tap on the shoulder meant, though of course I understood what intelligence was.
‘You’re sending information to the Brits?’ I rubbed my nose. ‘Information you pick up from being part of the army?’
‘That’s the long and short of it.’
I tipped the rest of my brandy into my mouth. ‘You’re a British spy infiltrating the German Army.’
‘Well, it sounds a little dramatic when you put it like that,’ he said, waving his hand modestly. ‘I’m just doing my bit.’
This man was something else.
‘And I am a fifty-year-old American librarian.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Forgive me if I ask, what on earth you want from me.’
‘I need to know I can trust you.’
I stared at him.
‘But you work for British intelligence?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I’m going to assume you’ve already checked me out.’
He looked slightly sheepish.
‘Yes, all right, I’ve done a bit of digging.’
‘So you’ll know I’m trustworthy.’
I leaned back in my chair, wondering when Guy and Alain would return and what they would think if they came back now.
Marcus was quiet for so long that I almost got up to give him a prod and check he hadn’t fallen asleep.
‘It’s not official,’ he said. ‘I won’t be offended if you say no.’
‘Go on.’
‘My mother is Jewish. She is not a woman of faith. I think her experiences during the last war convinced her there is no God. But she is Jewish.’
I looked at him. ‘And you?’
He nodded slowly. ‘Jewish enough for it to be a problem should anyone find out. Not so Jewish that anyone’s likely to.’
My stomach lurched. ‘Right.’
‘Things are bad.’
‘I know.’
‘I’ve been speaking to Jews.’
‘In Paris?’
‘Paris, yes, but all over. Holland. Belgium. Germany, too. I started long before the war began.’
‘Started what?’
‘Writing their stories.’
‘What sort of stories?’
‘About what’s happening to them.’ He paused. ‘No, that sounds like it’s accidental. About what the Nazis are doing to them.’
I breathed in and out slowly. ‘Is it very bad?’
‘Very, very bad.’
For a second I considered telling him about our deliveries, but no. Not yet, I thought. Maybe in time. This could still be a trick.
‘Where are these stories now?’
‘In books,’ he said. He looked quite proud of himself. ‘My father was a bookbinder. I’ve bound the stories into books.’
‘How many?’
‘Four.’ He swallowed. ‘But I have just been to Poland. I have more stories to tell.’
‘What are you asking?’
He gave a tiny smile. ‘I live with three other officers,’ he said. ‘All three of them speak excellent English. I can’t keep the books at home. It’s too risky.’
‘You want me to take them?’
‘I thought the best place to hide books would be in a library.’
‘Do you think they’re important stories?’
‘I know they’re important.’ He looked far away for a second, his eyes dark. ‘One day this will be over, and we will need to tell the world what they did.’
‘Then I’ll keep them,’ I said. ‘Bring them to me and I will keep them.’