Chapter 29 Frances
Frances
Paris
I was reading one of Marcus’s Flora and Fauna books when he arrived at the library. The tales they contained were shocking, too harrowing to read in one go. I turned to them in tiny doses, feeling it was important to know what was happening.
The books all included times, dates and names of the people who’d taken part in these atrocities.
Some of the names had been added by Marcus himself later, after he had done some investigations of his own.
Being part of the Nazis gave him access to people and records that others didn’t have.
I thought the books were vitally important evidence that could bring the worst criminals to justice after the war.
And I thought Marcus was astonishingly bold and incredibly brave for writing them.
But I hadn’t known he was coming today. If I had, I would have arranged for him to come when I was alone. But this visit was unexpected. And so, he came into my office followed by Sylvie, Guy and Alain. All three of them had faces like thunder.
Things had been tense among the four of us since I’d shouted at Alain and the others had stuck up for him.
But strangely we were all working hard. We’d sent out all of the blue Peacock books, and our Parisian deliveries were still happening regularly.
I’d written up my own stories – told to me by our readers – and Marcus had taken them away to add to his own books.
Things, I’d thought, were going well. But now Marcus was here in my office, in his Nazi uniform, his expression unreadable.
‘What is it?’ I said. I put the book down and stood up. ‘Has something happened?’
‘He just walked in like he owns the place,’ said Sylvie from behind Marcus. She sounded suspicious. ‘He knew where your office is.’
I looked at Marcus and he gave me a tiny nod. ‘Go ahead,’ he said in English. ‘Tell them.’
All three of the others started at his accent.
‘But …’ I began, glancing at Alain. Marcus shrugged. ‘Go ahead,’ he said.
‘Marcus is British,’ I said. ‘He is British but he is a sleeper agent with the Nazis. It was he who contacted me about sending out the Peacock books. They contain important information for lost airmen and soldiers.’
‘The addresses,’ said Alain, sounding triumphant. ‘I knew there was something odd about those. I was right.’
But I was not in the mood to listen to Alain’s boasts. Instead, I looked at Marcus’s stricken face.
‘Do they know?’ I asked. ‘Do the Nazis know what we’ve been doing?’
He nodded. ‘I’m afraid so. I’ve had communication from Lisbon that the project has been compromised.’
Fear made me angry. I marched across the room to where Alain stood and punched him hard on the arm.
‘You absolute piece of shit,’ I hissed. ‘You utter, treacherous bastard. How could you?’
‘Woah.’ Alain held his hands up in protest. ‘Arrête! I don’t know what’s happened but it had nothing to do with me.’
‘Oh, come on,’ I said. My vision blurred with tears, but I was too angry to cry. Or was it guilt I was feeling? ‘I saw you with a bloody Nazi. And I know Alain Travers isn’t your real name. Who are you really?’
Alain’s eyes widened. ‘What is this? Why are you angry with me again?’
I snorted, furious at his pretence at innocence and turned to Guy. ‘I’m sorry, I should have told you,’ I said. Despite my best efforts, a sob escaped my tight throat. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Guy was staring at me, then at Alain, then back to me. He didn’t speak.
‘This is literally the first time I’m hearing this,’ Alain said. He laughed, but it was awkward. ‘I didn’t know anything about these books.’
Marcus took my shoulders and turned me to face him. ‘It wasn’t Alain,’ he said. ‘It was someone in Lisbon. I’m not sure of the details.’
‘It wasn’t Alain?’ I said.
‘Not this time,’ said Alain, defiantly.
Shocked, my legs went weak and Marcus steered me into a chair. Sylvie came to my side.
‘Take some deep breaths,’ she said. ‘You made a mistake, that’s all.’
But I couldn’t take deep breaths. I was gasping for air, and I could feel my heart pounding.
‘Like this,’ Sylvie said. ‘In and out, that’s it. In … out.’
I tried to follow her breaths and found my heart slowing down.
‘There’s some brandy in the desk drawer,’ said Marcus. ‘Maybe that will help.’
‘You really have made yourself at home, haven’t you?’ Guy said, with barbs in his voice.
He went to my desk and took out one bottle with a small amount left, and another full one. ‘Is there a glass?’
I held my hand out. ‘Just give me the bottle.’
Guy gave me the almost-empty bottle and I drained it.
‘Right,’ I said, looking at the four faces all staring at me. ‘Right. I’m fine.’ I lifted my chin. ‘Alain, I’m sorry to have said those things.’
Alain gave me a brief nod. Guy stared at me in disbelief and I dropped my gaze, embarrassed.
‘Marcus,’ I said. ‘Carry on.’
‘The important thing is the Nazis know,’ Marcus said. ‘And that means it’s no longer safe for you to be here.’
‘We need to leave the library?’ I said. ‘Really?’
Sylvie gripped my hand and I looked at this strange, mismatched team of people, and I wanted to cry.
‘It’s not safe,’ Marcus repeated.
‘You’re right.’ I wiped my eyes and tossed my hair back. ‘We need to go.’
I stood up. Then, still holding Sylvie’s hand, I reached out and took Guy’s too.
I couldn’t bring myself to look at Alain, who was standing on Guy’s other side.
I didn’t know if I felt guilty for wrongly accusing him, or vindicated in my suspicions.
Perhaps he hadn’t betrayed us, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t have done if he’d had the chance.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘It’s been a blast.’
‘Let’s hope not,’ said Alain, drole as ever. I ignored him.
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
But as we all dropped hands, I heard a noise downstairs. I froze. Was it footsteps?
‘Did you lock the door?’ I asked Guy.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘After the Nazi arrived.’
‘I’m not …’ Marcus began, but Guy just stared at him, and he didn’t finish his sentence. He simply nodded. ‘I saw him lock the main door.’
We all listened intently.
‘Perhaps it is a fant?me,’ said Alain.
Sylvie gave him a disdainful look. ‘Je ne pense pas.’ I don’t think so.
‘Shhh.’ I was trying to hear. Everyone stayed silent for a moment, and then there was a huge thud and a shout from downstairs, and my heart lurched.
‘Is it them?’ I said quietly. I felt oddly calm. My previous panic had gone and I felt clear-headed. ‘Is it the Nazis?’
‘It could be.’ Marcus looked grim-faced.
‘What should we do?’ I asked, not sure whether to stay up in the office, where we could perhaps be safe, or go down and see what was happening.
‘Stay here,’ said Marcus firmly, just as Alain said: ‘We need to go downstairs.’
The two men stared at one another. It felt like a silent struggle for power. Then Marcus said: ‘Let’s go very quietly to the top of the stairs and take a look.’
Alain nodded.
Guy stood up, too, but Alain shook his head at him. ‘Stay here,’ he said quietly. ‘Stay with Frances and Sylvie.’
The men crept out of the office. I went too, but only as far as the door because I could see Guy’s face was pale and Sylvie’s jaw was set, and I didn’t want to leave them alone and frightened.
I gripped the door frame and watched Alain and Marcus edge along the top of the stairs.
They both listened for a moment and then Marcus turned back to me.
‘Germans,’ he whispered. He looked relieved but I didn’t share that feeling. ‘I’ll go down. I can send them away.’
‘No,’ I said, but it was too late; he was heading downstairs.
On legs that trembled I went to my desk and picked up the empty brandy bottle. Then I went after Marcus, horribly aware that if his cover had been blown, he’d be shot.
Behind me I could sense the others following. Halfway down, on the curve of the staircase, we paused, hidden in the shadows, and I gasped aloud at the sight that greeted us.
It seemed like there were Nazis everywhere, though there were actually only five or six.
They were pulling books from shelves. Tearing out pages.
Throwing old and precious editions on the floor and trampling them.
As we looked on in horror, one soldier took out a cigarette lighter and singed the pages of a leather-bound book, dropping it on the floor when it burned his fingers.
Another soldier growled at him as the book smouldered on the floor, gesturing as flames began to lick the pages. So, laughing, the first soldier unbuttoned his fly and urinated on the book, leaving it damp, but no longer burning.
Sylvie let out a tiny squeak of distress, and I gripped her hand. Her fingers were cold and clammy, just like mine.
Marcus darted down to the bottom of the stairs. ‘Was ist los?’ he shouted. What’s going on?
One of the soldiers noticed him and started in surprise.
‘Wer bist du?’ he asked.
‘Oberst Marcus Berger,’ said Marcus.
Another Nazi, in a slightly different uniform from the rest, appeared from one of the stacks, smoking a cigarette. The other men paused in their destruction.
‘Was ist los?’ Marcus said again.
The other man spoke in such rapid, aggressive German that I couldn’t keep up. Marcus replied, just as quickly. Catching the odd word here and there was enough, though, and I realised they did indeed know we had been sending books containing information. My blood ran cold as I heard him say my name.
‘Frances Reed,’ the Nazi said, clear as day. There was no mistaking he knew who he was looking for.
But Marcus was shaking his head, denying all knowledge as he stood on the bottom step. ‘Ich kenne sie nicht,’ he said. I don’t know her.
The German stared at him for a moment. Then, calmly, he flicked away his cigarette, and to my utter dismay, pulled a gun from his holster and aimed it at Marcus.
‘No!’ I shouted, letting go of Sylvie’s hand and running down the final few stairs.
‘It’s me,’ I said. ‘I’m Frances Reed. Ich bin Frances Reed.’
The German barked a few words at his men and suddenly I too had a gun trained on me. I’d never been held at gunpoint before. It wasn’t something that happened to librarians as a rule.
Slowly I put down the empty brandy bottle and raised my hands. I opened my mouth to speak, but all my German had completely deserted me. In fact, I couldn’t think of any English words either. All I could focus on was the dark eye of the gun that was pointing at me.
After what seemed like hours, but can’t have been more than seconds, I said: ‘Ich werde mitkommen.’ I’ll come with you. And then in English I added: ‘No one else was involved. Just me.’
‘Non!’ said Sylvie. She came down the stairs to stand next to me. And then so did Guy and Alain. The Three Musketeers, just as they’d said.
‘Si vous la prenez, vous nous prenez tous,’ said Sylvie boldly. If you take her, you take all of us.
‘Sylvie,’ I hissed under my breath, my eyes still glued to the gun. ‘No.’
But she stood firm.
‘Hands up,’ said the soldier in English, gesturing with the end of the gun in a way that made my breath catch in my throat. ‘And you.’
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sylvie lean back slightly and put something on the stair behind her, then she put her hands up.
Alain raised his hands slowly, gazing in defiance at the line of Nazis in front of us. But next to me, Guy was struggling to free his little hand from his pocket.
‘Hands. Up!’ the soldier barked again.
‘He’s trying,’ I said. ‘He can’t …’
‘He has a gun!’ the soldier said, his voice panicky and shrill. ‘He’s reaching for a gun!’
‘No!’ I shouted.
But the soldier pulled the trigger. The gunshot sounded impossibly loud as it echoed round the high ceilings of the library. There was smoke and shouting and suddenly Alain was lying on the floor, blood spilling from beneath him, and Guy – both hands now free – was looking at him in horror.
‘He pushed me,’ he was saying. ‘He pushed me out of the way.’ He crouched down beside Alain, and Sylvie pulled off her scarf and joined him, trying to stop the bleeding with a makeshift bandage.
Guy was sobbing. Sylvie was talking to Alain softly but urgently, begging him to stay awake.
I watched everything happening, like I was at the pictures. My mind was struggling to take in everything my eyes were seeing.
‘Stop!’ shouted Marcus. ‘Everyone stop!’
The soldiers all turned to him, their eyes wide with shock under the brim of their caps, and I realised with cold, brutal understanding that he had shouted in English.
Slowly, almost as though he was relishing the moment, the officer – the one whose gun was already trained on Marcus – took a step forward. He put the muzzle against Marcus’s forehead.
Everything went quiet, except for Guy’s unsteady breathing and my own blood pounding in my ears.
And then Sylvie, still crouching down next to Alain, stood up quickly, brandishing a second brandy bottle – the one that was full.
I realised that was what she had put down when the Nazi pointed the gun at her; she must have taken it from the office.
I watched in astonishment as in one rapid move she threw it, not at the man with the gun, or the others, but towards the door, where there was a smouldering pile of books.
Immediately, there was a strange whooshing sound, as though all the air had been sucked out of the room. The Germans all looked round as behind them the curtain hanging beside the main entrance went up in flames – all at once, like a candle.
The Nazis shouted, panicky now as their way out was blocked. One of them made a run for the main door, which was splintered and standing partly open. He shoved it open, and ducking through the flames, made a run for it. Another followed, then another.
The officer shouted at them, but Marcus took advantage of his enemy being distracted to tackle him to the floor.
There was another gunshot that left my ears ringing, and then the Nazis were gone, and Marcus was on the floor with more blood soaking the carpet, and the room was filling with smoke, and I felt panic rising inside me once more.
‘Frances!’ Sylvie was shouting at me. ‘Frances! What should we do?’
For a wild second, I thought about finding a book that would give us instructions on how to react in this situation.
But then my mind cleared and I looked down at Guy and Sylvie, who were both waiting for me to speak, and Marcus, whose trouser leg was soaked with blood but who was conscious and looking at me too, and at Alain, who was a horrible grey colour.
‘We need to get out of here,’ I said. ‘As quick as we can.’