Page 34 of After Paris

Chapter Thirty-Four

Sylvia

Tuesday, July 7, 1942

7:00 p.m.

Hauptmann Wolfgang parked by Cécile’s apartment. Cécile left the car immediately and hurried into the building. I lingered.

The light from the dashboard sharpened the lines on the captain’s stern face. “I’ll make inquiries about Emile.”

“Thank you.”

“Do not hold out hope.” His voice was low and firm.

His hand rested on the seat. I leaned forward and laid mine over his. Usually, I didn’t dare a kiss with so many prying eyes. But I sensed this was our end. I pressed my lips to his. He kissed me back. A hot breeze gusted sharp through his open window and brushed my cheeks.

“Take care,” he said.

“You as well.”

The taste of him lingered on my lips as I opened the door. When I closed it behind me, I didn’t look back, but as I rushed toward the building’s entrance, I felt his gaze on me. The captain would be good to his word. He would ask about Emile. But if Emile was in prison, she was likely being tortured, and every second mattered. No one knew how strong they were until they were tested.

I found Cécile sitting at her makeup table, applying red lipstick. As soon as I entered the room, she glanced up at me.

“The captain’s going to ask about Emile,” I said.

A skeptical brow rose. “He won’t turn on you?”

I thought about our violent lovemaking. His thrusts had channeled as much desperation as his last gentle kiss. “I don’t think so, but it’s a risk.”

“The Gestapo lingered on the set long after you left,” Cécile said.

“They must know about Emile.”

“How could they not? I think the captain was playing a game with me.” She stood, stripped off her silk robe, and removed a simple dress from her closet. “I never found Henri alone on the set. I think he was avoiding me. I must see him now and ask him to help with Emile.”

“I thought he planned to leave town after the film wrapped?” I knew he kept a home in the country near Bordeaux and escaped Paris whenever he could.

“He hates to travel at night. I might still be able to catch him. He has friends in the police department.”

“I’ll go with you. But you must not wear that.”

She glanced at the black dress made of a delicate fabric. “This is my simplest outfit.”

“Let me give you something of mine. We need to blend in. And my jackets are all fitted with pockets. Take money, jewels, anything you might need. Assume we aren’t returning.”

“It can’t be that dire,” she said.

“We must assume it is.” I moved into my room and collected a brown suit. She took it and inspected the pockets in the lining.

“I’ve heard nothing of the roundups yet. Perhaps it was just rumor.”

“The Germans will strike. It’s just a matter of time,” I said.

Cécile left with her suit to change. I found my diary and tucked it into an inside jacket pocket. The weight of the last seven years felt heavy. I stuffed a roll of francs in another pocket and a knife in a small one on the right.

Minutes later, Cécile had changed into the simple suit I’d made years ago. Neatly tailored, the suit had a humble cut and fabric and echoed what most struggling women in Paris wore now. She ran her hand over the fabric, shaking her head.

“Not silk, but it functions well,” I said.

“I pass no judgment. Nothing changes. And then in a blink the world transforms into something I don’t recognize.” Cécile entered the living room, her hands brimming with money and jewels. Letters were tucked under her arm. She handed me several diamond bracelets and more francs. “Take these. In case we get separated.”

“I can’t even calculate the value.”

She pushed letters into an interior pocket. “Bribes are not cheap.”

As we descended the building’s main stairs, Madame Balzac opened her apartment door and regarded us. Our humble appearance must have raised questions. But instead of chiding us, she said, “Use the back door.”

The older woman hurried down the dimly lit center hallway. She fumbled with her ancient ring of keys and then opened the back door. On the other side was a dark alley that smelled of trash.

Silent, we set off toward Monsieur Archambeau’s apartment. It was two hours before the curfew, so we had some time.

It took an hour of walking to reach the director’s town house in the fifteenth arrondissement.

Cécile glanced up at the grand old building, studying it closely. She and Monsieur Archambeau had known each other for four years and had been lovers for three. “This is the home where he lives with his wife and children. I’ve never been here before.”

I rang the bell. We waited as footsteps clicked in the hallway. The door opened to a young serving girl in a black uniform trimmed with a white collar. When she met Cécile’s gaze, her eyes sparked with recognition.

“Mademoiselle Cécile? This visit is unexpected.”

Cécile pushed past the girl. “Where is he?”

“He’s not here.”

“He wouldn’t have left yet. He doesn’t travel after dinner.” She marched toward the dining room, the maid on her heels.

“Mademoiselle,” the maid rushed to say. “You can’t be here. The police were here. They are looking for you.”

“Then we’ll be quick.”

Cécile opened the pocket doors. Henri’s first reaction was shock at the unexpected intrusion. Then annoyance tightened the lines of his face.

“We need to talk,” Cécile said.

He grunted as he dropped his knife and fork on the china plate piled with roast beef and potatoes. Red wine filled a crystal glass.

“This isn’t appropriate,” he said. “This house is where I live with my wife and children. It’s sacred. Even you cannot have everything you want.”

As if he hadn’t spoken, she said, “Emile is missing.”

Monsieur Archambeau glanced toward me and then back at Cécile. “She’s not missing. She’s being questioned.”

She moved toward him. Her fists were clenched. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“You knew this day was coming. She’s been pressing the police and Gestapo for a long time. You can’t save her. If she’s smart, she’ll cooperate, and the questioning won’t be too extreme.” He sipped his wine. “The police won’t have patience with her this time.”

Cécile grabbed his arm. “You must make phone calls, ask for favors, and save her. I’ll do whatever you want.”

He jerked free of her grasp and stood. “What was she doing this time?”

“She was in the Marais, talking to families.”

“Talking. To Jews? Warning them.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

I closed the dining room door behind me as Monsieur Archambeau walked toward a sideboard. I had no idea if the maid was listening in the hallway, or if she’d call the police. I prayed she’d go upstairs and ignore us.

Monsieur Archambeau scoffed. “That section of town has been targeted.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“But I’d wager Emile did.”

“I would tell you if I knew, but I don’t.” Cécile channeled Francoise’s desperate tone as a tear slid down her cheeks. “I still love you. I’ll always love you.”

Monsieur Archambeau leaned closer and touched her face. “I almost believe you, Cécile.”

“Henri, it’s true. We have meant so much to each other.”

“You could have gone far. You really are a talented actress.”

“Find my sister, and I’ll send her away. She won’t be a bother to you ever again.”

“Your sister has never liked me. I tolerated her for you, but now she’s not worth the trouble. The Germans have lost all patience with anyone who interferes with their plans. She chose the wrong side.”

Fists clenched at her sides. “She’s my sister! I cannot abandon her.”

His eyes glistened with dark glee. “Did you know the Gestapo have been watching you? I was barely able to buy enough time so I could finish this film. Now the movie is finished, I don’t need you.”

“What does that mean? I’m the one that made you. I’m very popular with the audience and our benefactors.”

Monsieur Archambeau reached for a crystal decanter beside two gold statuettes of Louis XIV, the glorious Sun King of France who’d died over two hundred years ago. He poured two glasses of sherry and handed one to Cécile. “What do you think the police will learn from Emile when they question her?”

“She knows nothing,” Cécile insisted. “She’s involved in nothing.”

“Does she know about the March bombings of the Renault factory?”

Cécile never hesitated. “What are you talking about? She was shocked by the explosions like the rest of us.”

Monsieur Archambeau’s eyes narrowed. “You have a very, very good memory, and I’d wager that whatever you heard at a party or in bed with Schmidt imprinted on your brain. Did you pass on secrets to her via your dressmaker?” He looked toward me. “Hauptmann Wolfgang told me she makes deliveries to Emile every Tuesday.”

I shouldn’t have been surprised that the captain had been spying on me. My seduction powers were amateurish, but that didn’t change the fact I’d been using him.

Cécile showed no signs of shock or worry. “Sylvia takes my sister food and a bit of money. And of course, I had my driver take her. The streets are not safe.”

“The driver your dressmaker is sleeping with?”

I’d told no one about our affair because I’d been as afraid of retaliation as I was ashamed of my sexual satisfaction. He’d enjoyed me in his bed, but he appeared to have had no misgivings about who knew about us.

Cécile rested her hands on her hips and managed to look offended. “You’re sleeping with me and at least three other women. If sex is a sin, then you will join me in hell.” She smiled. “Unless you have a bias against German lovers?”

Tension tightened his haughty expression before it vanished. “Many said you’d be the ruin of me.”

The mirror behind Monsieur Archambeau caught her bitter smile. “We both will suffer the wrath of God.”

“Maybe.” He downed the amber liquid.

She chuckled, the sound bitter and broken. “We’ll make a fine couple in hell, no?”

An unpleasant smile twisted his lips. “There was a time when I was fond of you. And you’ve made me a great deal of money. So, I’ll do you this favor and give you a warning. The Gestapo will be arresting you. They are likely at your apartment now. Your dressmaker will also be detained.”

“Why her?”

“The high command suspects that you, your dressmaker, and your sister passed on secrets to the Allies. You three are quite the resisters.”

Had the captain known my arrest was imminent when he’d taken me to the brothel early this morning or kissed me in the car hours ago?

“You’re wrong about us,” Cécile said. “We did nothing to help the Allies.”

“You, my dear, must convince the interrogators, not me.” He sighed. “Because you meant something to me once, I’ll give you this chance. Run while you can. You have just hours. And then you and Mademoiselle Rousseau will vanish into the hole where Emile has fallen.”

Cécile stilled for a moment, took a sip from her glass, and set it next to one of the gilded Louis XIV statuettes. She reached for it and swung.

“What’re you—?” Monsieur Archambeau said.

Monsieur Archambeau’s question halted midsentence as the statuette struck him hard on the side of the head. He staggered back a step and then dropped to his knees before falling face first onto the floor. Blood from his head oozed on the white marble.

I rushed toward Cécile, took the statuette from her, and replaced it on the sideboard. Grabbing her shoulders, I forced her to look at me. Later, I would deal with the shock of this, but for now, there was no time. “We must go. They’ll kill us if we don’t run.”

She stared at the blood seeping toward her shoe. “Where is my sister?”

I clutched her cold hands in mine. “There will be no saving Emile if we don’t go now.”

Cécile looked at me, her gaze vacant. For the first time since we’d met, she looked lost.