Chapter 23 Frances
Frances
Paris
‘I’m sorry, could you say that again?’ I stared at Marcus, not really understanding the words that were coming out of his mouth.
‘Guy Lambert and Sylvie Ducasse are fine,’ he said. ‘No concerns there.’
‘But Alain?’ I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry.
‘Alain does not exist.’
‘That’s what I thought you said.’ I sat down on the wide window ledge in my office as my legs started to shake violently.
‘There’s no French citizen named Alain Travers.’
‘Guy gave me his details,’ I said. ‘Perhaps he got the date of birth muddled. Or perhaps I did. I’m always swapping the numbers because we write them differently in America.’
But Marcus was shaking his head.
‘There’s no French citizen named Alain Travers at all.’
‘I checked,’ I said. ‘I double checked. Because even though I go by Frances, it’s my middle name so I know how things can get confusing.’
‘You asked Guy for the details?’
‘I did.’ I had done that because I didn’t want to alert Alain that we were having him vetted. But perhaps it had backfired. Perhaps Guy had given me the wrong information.
‘Maybe it’s just a spelling error?’ I suggested.
I stood up and went over to my desk where there was some Book Service paperwork.
‘Alain signed for a donation the other day when I was out,’ I said. ‘His name will be on the receipt, hold on …’
I leafed through until I found it. But there, clear as day in Alain’s handwriting, was his name – Alain Travers.
‘What does this mean?’
‘Does he have an ID card?’ Marcus asked.
‘Of course.’ The Nazis were very fond of doing spot checks on our identity cards and the punishments for not carrying them were severe.
‘It must be false.’
‘Shit,’ I said. ‘Where would he get false papers?’
Marcus shrugged. ‘The Resistance?’ he said.
‘Or the Germans?’
‘Possibly.’
‘I saw him with a Nazi.’
I looked at Marcus, standing in my office in his uniform, and thought about how I was with a Nazi too. Or at least, that’s how it would look if anyone saw us together. But this was different.
‘I saw him with a Nazi in the street.’
‘You didn’t say.’ A tiny muscle beside Marcus’s eye flickered but other than that he was still.
‘Sylvie convinced me he was selling him medication.’
‘He sells on the black market?’
I nodded. ‘Medication, food, drink … He can get hold of anything.’
Marcus took his hat off and rubbed his forehead, then he put it back on again.
‘Can you run the Book Service without Alain?’
I thought about it. ‘Yes. It is not complicated and we only send packages twice a month. But …’
‘But?’
‘We can’t do the deliveries without him.’
Marcus nodded. ‘Deliveries to the Jews?’
‘Yes. It’s so popular now, and we are getting more requests every day.
Too many for me alone. Guy helps of course, but he usually does the deliveries closer to the library because it is hard for him on a bicycle.
And Sylvie, well, she attracts a lot of attention.
She does a good job of hiding her hair under scarves, and she knows all the back streets and alleyways, but she’s noticeable. Memorable. Sending her out is a risk.’
‘You’ve been doing these deliveries since the start of the occupation you said?’
‘Yes.’
‘And has Alain been helping all this time?’
‘No.’ I went back to the window and sat down again, looking out over the quiet Paris streets. ‘He only got involved a few weeks ago. One of our readers was sick and he got him medicine.’
‘And he delivers the books himself?’
‘He does.’
‘And you’ve not had any interest from the Nazis since he started working with you? None of your readers have said anything? No one has been in trouble?’
‘No.’
‘How did you meet him?’
‘Through Guy,’ I said. I paused. ‘I think … I think perhaps they aren’t just friends.’
‘Right,’ said Marcus. He looked straight at me. ‘Do you trust him?’
I made a face. ‘No,’ I admitted. ‘But …’
‘But?’
‘I find him arrogant. Full of himself. Shockingly indiscreet; he told me he was with the Resistance about thirty seconds after I met him. But Sylvie says – and she’s right – that him being annoying isn’t reason enough to doubt him.’
Marcus gave a little laugh. ‘Sylvie is sharp.’
‘Isn’t she?’ I said. ‘I said Alain reminded me of my ex-husband. He was that way – making everything about him. Everything he did was the biggest or the best, or the worst even sometimes. Sylvie said that was why I didn’t like him.’
‘Do you think she’s right?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said, slightly despairingly. ‘Maybe. Vince was a character, and I knew that, but I trusted him. And then it turned out he was cheating with women all over town. It made me feel like I couldn’t trust myself.’
I breathed out, watching the window fog. ‘So when it comes to Alain, I just can’t decide what to make of him.’
I rested my head on the window briefly. Then I turned back to look at Marcus.
‘What should I do?’
Marcus sighed. ‘It’s tricky,’ he said. ‘I’ll check with London, but I’d say it’s your call. There’s little risk with the Peacock books because you don’t have to tell the others what they’re for. Just say they’re an extra donation. They don’t need to know about hidden information inside.’
‘I suppose.’
‘It’s your other deliveries that carry the risk,’ he said. ‘And that’s really up to you.’
‘How about if I speak to Alain?’ I suggested. ‘Find out if he’s changed his name? Or perhaps he wasn’t born in France?’
‘If it makes you feel more confident,’ said Marcus. ‘But do it subtly, eh?’
‘I will.’
I felt sick, but I forced myself to smile.
‘So we can expect our first Peacock Books delivery soon?’
‘Any day now,’ Marcus said.
‘And what about you? Do you have any more of your books for me?’
‘I do. I’ll bring them when they’re ready.’
‘I’ll be here.’
Marcus and I walked downstairs where he said goodbye and headed out into the street, just as Alain and Guy were coming in. I froze for a second, but Marcus barely acknowledged the other two men, keeping his face stony.
Guy and Alain waited for him to leave, then they both hurried over to where I stood beside the reception desk.
‘What did he want?’ asked Guy, his brow wrinkling.
I put my hand on his to calm him. ‘Nothing to be concerned about,’ I said. ‘Just checking in with the Soldiers’ Book Service.’
‘It’s all fine?’ said Alain. He was more relaxed than Guy, but he still looked worried.
‘All fine.’
‘Good news,’ said Guy. He leaned against the desk, as if he’d run out of strength to stand up straight. ‘No questions about anything else?’
‘No.’
‘Is there a delivery later?’ Alain asked. ‘I’m free if you need my help.’
I wanted to say that we could manage without him, but I didn’t, because I knew we couldn’t, and I had piles of books that our Jewish friends were waiting for.
‘Thank you,’ I said. Then, because I was still wondering, I added: ‘You’re not needed by the Resistance today, then?’
‘No,’ said Alain, giving me a sidelong glance. ‘Not today.’
‘Is there a staff rota?’ I asked, aware I was being a little facetious. ‘Like we had here, before the war?’
‘No,’ said Alain quite patiently. ‘There’s no rota.’
‘How do you know when they need you?’
Alain preened. ‘They always need me. But I have other things to do, like helping here, and getting supplies.’
‘It’s hard to know how anyone gets along without you.’ I was being sarcastic, but Alain nodded, as though I’d said something very profound.
‘I do my best,’ he said modestly. ‘That’s all I can do.’
Guy frowned at me. ‘Why are you asking so many questions?’
‘I’m just nosy,’ I said with a chuckle that sounded fake to my own ears. ‘Curious.’
‘It’s a good way to be,’ said Alain.
‘I think so.’ I nodded vigorously. ‘For example, I don’t know much about you, Alain. Were you born in France?’
‘Was I born in France?’ he repeated, exchanging a puzzled glance with Guy. ‘Oui, je suis né à Paris.’
‘Lovely,’ I said. ‘Magnifique.’
‘Yes,’ said Alain. ‘Shall we bring the rest of the books down, if we’re going to work on deliveries here from now on?’
‘Yes, that would be great,’ I said, leaning my elbow on the desk and trying to look relaxed. ‘But first, tell me more about you. Alain is an interesting name. Is it short for something?’
‘It’s not short for anything,’ Alain said.
‘I had three boys called Alain in my class at school,’ said Guy. ‘Are you all right, Frances?’
‘I’m fine,’ I said, my voice a little shrill. ‘Absolutely fine.’
‘Are you rattled by that Nazi coming to the library?’ asked Guy. He looked back at the door, as though a horde of marauding Germans could arrive any minute.
With considerable effort, I pulled myself together.
‘It was a little unsettling,’ I said truthfully. ‘But I don’t think he’ll cause us any trouble.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ said Alain. He patted me on the back and I didn’t shrink away from his touch, which I considered a success. ‘Let’s get these books, shall we?’