Chapter 13
I barely slept a wink that night. I tossed and turned, worried about Marcus showing up at the library.
Despite him frightening me when he showed up at the library, I trusted him.
But was I being foolish? I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t even sure I could trust my own instincts anymore.
Look how I’d taken against Alain when I first met him.
And now, well, I wasn’t sure. I was convinced he was making up his tales of being in the Resistance – making himself sound more interesting than he really was.
But he was certainly proving helpful. He was always willing to muck in with deliveries and do whatever else we needed.
He had been kind to Maurice. He always let us know when there was – not always official – food for sale at the market.
And Guy clearly thought the world of him. Which was a worry in itself, if I was honest. While I thought it was no one’s business how people felt about one another, I knew the Nazis took a very dim view of certain relationships.
The trouble was, I thought, as I gave up on sleep altogether and pushed my tangled sheets aside … The trouble was that I just found Alain really annoying. He was so full of himself.
Just yesterday he’d been helping me shelve some books when he’d sighed happily. ‘This is very calming work,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you’re pleased to have me helping with deliveries so you have more time for this.’
‘Very pleased,’ I’d said, through slightly gritted teeth. And then because I couldn’t help myself, I added: ‘I’m not sure how we managed without you.’
‘I was saying that to Guy,’ said Alain, cheerfully. ‘It’s baffling really. You’re lucky I have time to help, because my friends in the Resistance are begging me to do more for them, too.’
‘Is that right?’ I said, shoving a book into the shelf.
‘It’s hard to say no,’ said Alain. He looked genuinely upset about it. ‘So I try to do it all. I don’t want to let anyone down.’
‘No, indeed not.’
I’d almost taken the brandy out of my desk drawer again after that conversation. At this rate I’d have to buy more before the week was out.
Now I decided to make the most of my early wake-up and go for a walk before I went to the library.
I got dressed and felt my stomach rumble. I thought of the times when I’d stop off for a croissant on my way to work – those days were long gone.
Then I got on my bicycle and headed to the river. I liked being by the water. The rain had cleared away the stuffy heat, and the city looked clean and bright this morning. It was so early there were few people about. Paris was all mine and I could pretend the Nazis had never come.
I stopped by the river and looked down into the swirling brown water.
That was always the same. The Seine would have looked this way during the Revolution, and it would look this way long after the Nazis had gone.
Surely, they would leave one day? I kept my gaze firmly away from the Eiffel Tower with its black and red flags.
Eventually, I got back onto my bicycle and cycled up to the road, and across the bridge and down the other side.
Up ahead, on a corner, I saw a group of about four men, all wearing the same sort of clothes that Alain wore: baggy trousers and caps.
I watched as they said goodbye to one another and all went separate ways.
One crossed the road in front of me, heading down a side street, and I realised that he actually was Alain.
I could tell by his walk more than anything else.
He had a very distinctive gait – head held high, chest puffed out.
I thought about waving but he was just too far away, and he was looking in the opposite direction as he crossed.
I cycled a little slower when I passed the end of the street he’d walked down, wondering where he was going. I knew where he lived and it was quite a way from here, and he wasn’t walking towards the library either.
I was cycling so slowly now, I was in danger of my bicycle toppling over as I saw a soldier in uniform melt out of the shadows at the side of the road. I put my feet down, coming to a standstill, and I held my breath, poised to act – though I had no idea how – if it seemed Alain was in trouble.
The Nazi glanced round, then as he walked past Alain, he handed something to him, subtly. So subtly you’d never notice if you weren’t watching, and Alain gave him something in return, and then they both walked on. It was quick and half in shadow, but I knew what I’d seen.
I fiddled with the basket of my bike to give myself a reason for stopping, then when the Nazi approached the end of the street, coming towards me, I headed off again, pedalling much faster this time.
My hands were sweating as I gripped the handlebars.
Why was Alain passing things to Nazi soldiers?
Had I made a terrible mistake inviting him into our library and our tiny acts of rebellion?
I pedalled faster, my thoughts racing as my legs pumped.
What if he’d passed the soldier a list of Jewish names?
The Nazis would not be happy to know anyone was acting on behalf of the people they were ostracising. I felt sick.
When I arrived at the library, I was clammy and upset. I hurried inside and found Sylvie arranging the loans desk. She looked at me with undisguised horror.
‘What has happened?’ she said. ‘Why is your hair like this …’ She gestured to her own lovely head of hair, smoothing it down flat against her forehead.
‘Oh,’ I said, touching my sweaty bangs. ‘I was cycling.’
‘It’s not raining.’
‘No.’
There was a pause. I took off my cardigan, ignoring Sylvie’s grimace as I dropped it on the desk.
‘Sylvie, I just saw Alain with a Nazi soldier.’
She nodded slowly. ‘Is he in trouble?’
‘No. He gave him something.’
‘What did he give him?’
‘I’m not sure. I couldn’t see. Something small. And the Nazi gave him something in return.’
‘Money?’ said Sylvie.
‘Perhaps.’
Sylvie’s shoulders relaxed, as though that was a relief. ‘Alain knows where to get things.’
‘What kind of things?’
‘Medication. Alcohol.’
‘Nazis have their own doctors.’
‘For some things.’ Sylvie straightened a pen on her desk. ‘But other illnesses are harder to get medicine for. You know what I mean? Alain gets the drugs people need.’
‘For Parisians,’ I said. ‘Not for Nazis.’
‘For whoever can pay.’
‘It’s not right.’
Sylvie sighed as if I was being terribly stupid. ‘If Alain gets medication, or alcohol, or anything else for Nazis, he can charge them a lot of money for it. And that money pays for other things like the medication he gave to Maurice.’
I shook my head. ‘I don’t like it.’
‘I don’t like any of this,’ said Sylvie bleakly. ‘Ils nous prennant tout.’
They take everything. People were saying that more and more now about the Nazis. They had stripped Paris of everything from its food shops to its art and its people. They’d taken our dignity, our friendships, our trust. Now I was doubting a man who had helped us.
A man I didn’t much like.
And whom I still didn’t trust, despite what Sylvie was saying.
‘I’ll open up,’ I said.
She reached over the desk and took my hand. ‘Alain is the most annoying man I have ever met.’ A tiny smile twitched on her lips. ‘And I admit I find many people very annoying.’
‘He is annoying,’ I agreed.
‘But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t trust him.’
‘I suppose …’
‘It also doesn’t mean we should trust him,’ said Sylvie firmly. ‘We will be careful.’
I nodded, still full of worries, but glad to have spoken to her. I wondered if I should tell her about Marcus, too. But perhaps not. If he was who he said he was – and I had no reason to doubt him – then it was too risky to tell anyone.
All this subterfuge was too much for me. I was a librarian, not a spy. I had a sudden, fierce longing to be curled up in my childhood bedroom reading The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.
‘Hauts les cours,’ said Sylvie, obviously seeing my stricken expression.
‘In America we say “hang in there”,’ I told her.
‘The British say “chin up”,’ said Sylvie. She lifted her delicate chin and peered at me down her nose. ‘I think this works. It feels brave.’
I did the same, and found she was right; it did give me an air of defiance.
‘Chin up, hearts high, library open,’ I said. ‘And trust no one.’