Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
MARGOT
Once Margot reached the landing at the back of the house, she listened again for the knock.
It wasn’t coming from the front door of the bookshop, but from the street door that led to the flats.
She stood in the darkness for a moment, lit only by the small candle she carried, and waited for the last sounds of her friends to vanish from the cellar into the tunnels.
She carried on up the passage. Her heart was beating so loudly in her ears that it became confused with the sound of the knocks on her door.
‘Just a moment, please,’ she called as she turned the key. She held her breath as she opened the door, wondering if these would be her last few seconds of freedom.
The flickering candlelight illuminated the Professor’s face.
‘Professor?’ she whispered.
‘My home—’ the Professor began. He glanced down at the battered leather suitcase he was carrying.
Beneath his other arm there was a large box and Margot knew, without even thinking about it, that it contained the radio.
‘I was away for the evening when the plane hit my cottage.’ In the flickering candlelight, his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.
‘I’m sorry, Madame, but I have nowhere to go. And I think you have a room?’
The burnt-out ruins, which had seemed so much like a tomb, came back to her. If he was a German spy, as Beatrice suspected, she’d be putting everyone – her friends who were hiding banned books, Esther who was half of Chevalier and was wanted by the Nazis – at enormous risk.
But there was no way that she could refuse him. Just as she couldn’t refuse the Germans who came to browse in her shop.
‘Yes, I’m looking for a tenant for the flat upstairs,’ she said, picturing the dust sheets and rolled-up carpets. ‘It’s furnished, although it’s been empty a long time.’
‘I have no home,’ the Professor murmured and Margot thought again of the photographs, of the Professor smiling and happy with his wife and daughter.
He had had a real home, once. ‘I wouldn’t be any trouble to you and I can pay now as much as you want.
Please, madame, I can’t go to the hotel, not with my brother there. ’
Margot stepped back and held the door open for the Professor.
‘Please come in, Professor,’ she said. ‘I’ll take you up there now.’
This was madness, but then, if they were under the same roof, she could keep an eye on him. She’d be one step ahead. And besides, she needed the money.
The Professor bowed his head in thanks, then stepped into the hallway. ‘Everything burned,’ he murmured.
Margot led the way up to the flat, past the back of the shop and the door down to the cellar. They went up the stairs, past her own flat on the first floor. She was aware of him close by in the near-darkness, could hear each of his breaths and every footstep, and smell his cologne.
Once they reached the top she took the key from the nail by the door and opened it for him. A lantern sat on a table, and she lifted the glass to light it with the candle. Its glow illuminated the long room, showing furniture waiting like ghosts under the dust sheets.
‘There’s even a piano,’ she said, gesturing to the largest, shrouded shape.
‘It hasn’t been played for ages, though – I don’t know if you’ll be able to get a note out of it.
’ She gestured to the doors that opened off the room.
‘There’s a small bathroom and kitchen, a bedroom. This is the living room.’
‘Thank you,’ he said, looking around. Then he set down his suitcase and stooped to set the box carefully on the floor beside it. As he stood, he reached one hand into his tweed jacket and retrieved a handful of notes.
It was more money than Margot had seen in a long time and she wondered again at his life.
Where had he been the night the plane hit?
And where did he find money like this when his living came from giving piano lessons and playing a few nights a week at Petit’s?
He held out the money. ‘Just a few months in advance. I’m indebted to you. ’
‘Thank you,’ Margot said. She smiled as if he was just any other tenant. ‘If you need anything, I’m usually in my flat on the first floor, or in the bookshop. Just come and find me.’
Margot had lived in hope that her fortunes might change and the flat would be rented out.
She always made sure the rooms were aired, and that there were fresh blankets and sheets in the bedroom, and a towel and soap in the little bathroom.
And now she had a lodger with pockets full of money, but she had no idea if she could trust him.
Just as she turned to go, she heard the roar of engines outside. It sounded as if the street was suddenly full of vehicles, and then there was shouting – the hoarse bark in German and French that she knew could only be the enemy.
She froze on the spot.
Then she heard footsteps clattering up the stairs, the light steps of a child.
‘Margot!’ Beatrice called, ‘Margot! They’re rounding people up!’ She hurtled through the door and collided with the Professor, who instinctively reached out and put his hand lightly on Beatrice’s shoulder to steady her.
The little girl stared up at him through wide, frightened eyes. ‘You. It’s your lot!’ she said, a sob racking her voice. ‘They’re taking our friends away!’