Page 42

Sixteen

Josef was worrying her. Oh, he’d got over the worst of the flu after a couple days, but it had been a week, and still he was so tired, so weak.

He needed a doctor—but of course, he didn’t want to risk seeing one.

Didn’t want anyone to ask him questions or get a good look at his face or, God forbid, recognize him from one of the lectures or book signings or readings he’d done over the years.

He didn’t want anyone to detect the slight German accent that emerged when he was tired and realize he was no native Frenchman, regardless of what his papers said.

Corinne strode beside Liana down the walkways of the Sorbonne, fingers worrying the strap of her bag.

She’d called him before she left home this morning, and he had sounded so tired .

Of course, when she’d mentioned it, he’d scoffed.

“You sound like Chris,” he’d said. “Who is also risking far too much by calling to check up on me, and you had better tell him to stop. Perhaps he’ll listen to you. ”

Unlikely, in this case. Christian still refused to let anyone tell him where Josef’s new flat was, but he’d finally agreed that his phone number wouldn’t hurt...because he couldn’t stand having no way to reach out in case of emergency. “He won’t.”

Josef had only grunted at that, and he had agreed—though he’d sounded none too pleased about it—to let her come and pick up Felix again after class, bring him home with her for a few days.

Madame Dardenne would watch him tomorrow while she was in class, and then they’d have the weekend together, and Josef could rest.

“Are you all right?” Liana asked as they turned toward Corinne’s building. Concern dug grooves into her usually flawless brow as she watched her. “You’ve been awfully distracted this last week.”

Corinne summoned up a smile. “Just worrying over a friend who’s been ill.” She didn’t say who. Liana didn’t ask. Just as Corinne never asked who was at their poetry readings or what “work of literature” they had discussed.

It was a strange friendship, in some ways. Both knowing the other was protecting secrets. Both knowing they’d approve of them, more or less. Both keeping their lips sealed though, because any stray word could spell the end.

Although if she planned to keep Felix all weekend...She cleared her throat. “Could you ask your mother if it’s all right if I bring a guest to dinner on Saturday?”

Liana came to a halt. Eyes blinking. Lips seeming torn between a smile and a frown. “A... male guest?”

Corinne paused too. And rolled her eyes. “Yes, actually, but—”

“Ah ha !” Liana poked a finger into Corinne’s shoulder.

“I knew it! I knew there was a man—that’s what’s put the twinkle in your eyes lately.

Only...” Her face fell all the way into consternation, and she stepped closer.

“I rather thought it was a certain professor who has poor taste in clothes. But you wouldn’t bring him for dinner—”

“No.” Secrets, so many secrets. She put her professional face on, covering any trace of emotion.

“I wouldn’t, and no, there’s no man. If you’ve seen any delight in my eyes lately, though, it is for my guest—Felix.

You remember the cousins I said I’ve been helping with?

The grandfather has been ill. I volunteered to watch the little one for a few days. ”

“Oh.” Liana blew the bangs of her hair out of her eyes. “Boring.”

Corinne snorted a laugh that slipped right through her facade. “You won’t say so after meeting the dreadful pirate Captain Goldenhair. He’ll have you rolling with laughter within ten minutes.”

Liana’s lips curved up again even at the mention of it. “I’m sure Maman won’t mind, but if Papa has failed to bring enough goodies home courtesy of the clientele, I will ring you up and let you know to stay home—or supplement our offerings. How are your contacts these days?”

She meant Oncle Georges—who didn’t, for some reason, share Corinne’s compunction against spending money in the black market—but that only made Corinne wince. “Better than I’d like in that particular way.”

But she’d gotten to speak to her mother each week, if only for a few minutes at a time. To hear her voice and assure herself that the renewed Blitz on London, with its even-more-devastating bombs, hadn’t laid claim to the indomitable Yvonne Bastien.

Given that, she could forgive her uncle his taste for black-market meat and sugar. She could thank him for making her feel useful, even as she knew well the information she passed along so far hadn’t actually done anything.

She didn’t know if it ever would. Didn’t know if it was truly worth the risk to her dispersed students.

But they, too, needed to do something to feel useful.

So she would continue to gather whatever they sent her, continue to pass it along.

Continue to pray that the Nazi invasion of Britain would hold off just a little bit longer, that her mother would be safe there, that every single thing in life hadn’t spun completely out of control, much as it felt like it most days.

“Dr. Bastien!”

At the too-familiar voice, Corinne groaned, turning to see which direction Professor Gustaf would be coming from this time.

She knew that Christian had developed a friendship with the man—and suspected that was why she hadn’t been sacked already—but couldn’t bring herself to like him even a little.

He was a parasite, always showing up to her classes when she least wanted him there.

Which, granted, was any time.

When she saw that he had another Nazi officer beside him today—this one with the insignia of an oberstleutnant on his shoulders—she gave Liana a nudge away, hiding the movement behind her back. “Go, quickly, Liana,” she muttered.

Theirs was, after all, a strange sort of friendship.

One in which they’d learned to trust each other implicitly and obey each other’s muttered warnings without question.

Liana flounced away as if simply in a hurry to get to class, calling out a farewell to Corinne in one breath and a hello to a classmate in another.

Corinne held her ground, mask firmly in place, chin raised, letting her impatience waft off her even as she offered the iciest skeleton of a smile. “Good morning, Sonderführer .” She shifted her gaze from Gustaf to his companion. “Oberstleutnant.”

The oberstleutnant reached for her hand, his eyes hard as the entrance exams and every bit as questioning. “Good morning ... Doctor.” He said it like the word tasted bitter on his tongue.

She knew the type. She met it with a sweet little smile.

Gustaf cleared his throat. “Doctor, allow me to introduce Oberstleutnant Ackermann. He’s the commanding officer of a friend of mine, the bibliotheksschutz .”

“Ah,” she said as if she’d never met the library protector—as if he hadn’t warned her about Ackermann. “How good to meet you, sir.” She motioned toward the building. “My class is starting soon. Will you be observing this morning, Sonderführer?”

Please say no, please say no, please say—

“We both will.” Gustaf beamed.

Ackermann sent her a scowl she had little choice but to classify as predatory.

Corinne nodded and turned. “Then I’ll invite you to walk with me instead of tarrying out here, so I’m not late.”

Gustaf prattled as they walked, telling her things she already knew but shouldn’t have—that he and Ackermann had met two weeks ago, that their foursome had taken up dining together every Friday evening, and how lovely—not Christian’s choice of word—it had proven for all of them, to spend time with men from other walks of life and different perspectives. ..

She tuned him out as they entered her lecture hall, where most of the students had already taken their usual seats. Gustaf started toward the back row, as he always did, but Ackermann ignored his example and took a place front and center—going so far as to order a student out of the seat he wanted.

Corinne set her bag on her desk, not shrinking from the gaze he leveled at her.

Just another bully, like so many she’d met before.

What gave her pause was when two more Nazi uniforms hurried in as the final bell of the hour tolled over the campus—Kraus and Christian. The younger looking a strange combination of eager and out of place, the elder looking as though he were trudging through molasses.

Ackermann had ordered him there. She knew it even before he took his seat in the back beside Gustaf and widened his eyes just slightly then glanced at his superior.

So be it. And praise God they were still working through their translation of Faust —Goethe was so well loved by Germans and so well respected by the French that he was some of the only common ground they could claim.

Her students had grown accustomed to Gustaf’s presence over the course of the semester, but the additional visitors clearly had them on edge. A few shifted and fidgeted far too much, others sat so perfectly still that they put her in mind of animals trying to avoid the attention of a hunter.

Lord, give me confidence and peace. She silently added the St. Michael the Archangel prayer—this was the battleground for her, after all—and drew in a breath.

Pasted on a smile. “Special welcome to our visitors this morning. I hope you all enjoy our continued discussion on Faust . And now if everyone would turn to where we left off on Tuesday. For those who are just joining us, we’re in part one, scene four, in the study with Faust and Mephistopheles.

I believe we left off at line 1712, when Mephistopheles is begging Faust for a few written words on life and death. ..”

Christian had to stifle the urge to elbow his aide when Kraus leaned over and whispered, “She’s a professor ?”

Gustaf only chuckled—because this was obviously a standard reaction to the too-young-looking Corinne—but Christian cut him what he hoped was a quelling look and said, “Shh.”