Page 24 of The Lies We Leave Behind

24

Kate

France October 1944

“Ready?” Lee asked.

I took in a long breath, looking around the small but elegant hotel room I’d been in for the past three days.

The last time I was in Paris I’d been thirteen. As usual, my parents had sent Catrin and me off daily with our nanny while my father met with friends and investors, and my mother shopped and met friends for tea. In the evenings, the two of them went out to expensive dinners before attending a myriad of shows they raved about the following morning over breakfast.

On the rare occasion, they hosted a dinner in our penthouse apartment. I’d find a dress and accompanying accessories in my room with explicit instructions.

“At your mother’s nod, you are to curtsy,” Nanny Paulina would tell me. Or, “You are to kiss each of your parents’ cheeks upon entering the room, circulate for thirty minutes, and then return to your room.”

Circulating with a room full of adults was a most excruciating request. I both didn’t know how and didn’t want to start a conversation with any one of them. But I dared not complain. To complain was to be punished later, after the guests had gone, when no one but my sister and Nanny Paulina could bear witness.

When Catrin and I weren’t being put on display, little dollies to be dressed in designer clothes to be shown off, twirled, and pinched, we got to explore the city with Nanny Paulina whom, out of eyesight and earshot of my parents, became my conspirator. My confidante. And many times, my only friend in the world, besides Kitty Cat.

It was strange to return to the city as an adult after so much had happened. But with Paris now back in the hands of the Allies, it was the best starting point to what Lee had planned. Thanks to his connections and work within the government, we were able to fly straight into the city and take two rooms at a hotel he’d chosen “because I am familiar with the staff,” he’d told me.

I knew from a conversation we had before embarking on our mission that he would need to tread carefully in France. While he didn’t expect to run into any of his former German colleagues, “One can never be too careful,” he’d said. And thus, we were staying somewhere discretion could be counted on. As could the information he was given about the comings and goings of other guests.

While he conducted business during the day, about which I asked no questions, having learned early on from my aunt and uncle that sometimes being in possession of information was more dangerous than not, I explored the city, staring up at windows still blackened with paper, empty shop fronts, and piles of trash collected and waiting to be taken away.

Everywhere there were vacancy signs. Homes of those who had left or were taken up for grabs by desperate landlords trying to make a buck. But what if they came back, I wondered? It angered and saddened me to learn what some had done to survive. Something Lee had warned me not to speak of.

“The French, as you probably know, are a proud people. They are not proud that their government chose not to fight. There is a lot of shame. Tread carefully, and if you speak to anyone, I recommend only speaking of the weather.”

But he needn’t have worried. The only words I exchanged were with the young woman waiting tables in the café on the corner when I’d ordered food, which was scarce, rations still in place as the war raged on in other parts of the world. Restaurants where Nazis had frequented, ensuring food was brought in for their own consumption, were still benefitting from the business they’d created. American, British, and French soldiers and high-ranking officers took the enemy’s place at the bars and tables, their uniforms hard to get used to, a reminder of the men who had occupied those spaces for the past four years, but the company admittedly much friendlier. They reminded me of William, and when I’d first seen the American insignia my heart had leaped, thinking maybe he’d be here. But unfortunately I never saw those faded, denim-blue eyes among the many that swung my way.

Even though I was used to being surrounded by soldiers, it felt strange to sit among them in this place, sipping my weak coffee and trying to enjoy the pastry before me when so many in the city were still hungry. And I knew I looked out of place, a young, blonde woman on her own with her clean, pressed clothes, styled hair, and money to buy fresh baked goods. I could see the questions in their eyes, but kept my body language uninviting, my eyes turned toward the window to discourage their approach.

While I’d spent the daylight hours walking the city, giving shops what little business I could to help support them without increasing my load by too much, by nightfall I was back in my room where I waited for Lee to knock on my door at seven with an offer to join him in the restaurant downstairs. I was introduced as his niece and doted on by the staff while he told me a false account of his day in case anyone were listening.

I had no idea what business he’d been tending to when he was gone all day, but I assumed now some of it had to do with the car I’d seen him drive up in only a few minutes before, leaving it at the curb, the doorman keeping watch while he came up to get me. It was time to make our next move.

I grabbed my handbag, gave the room a last look, picked up my valise, and closed the door behind me.

Three weeks, he’d estimated, to get me from Paris, through northern France, to Germany and Hamburg. His plan was to follow in the footsteps of the Allied troops gaining back ground ahead of us. We were to head east first to Nancy, then up through Metz into Germany where we’d cross the border and head to Luxembourg, which was also now controlled by the Allies.

“From there it will possibly get trickier,” he’d warned me the night before over a small berry cobbler I couldn’t believe existed. “My contacts in Luxembourg will direct us on the safest route. But even they won’t be able to be absolutely certain what we’ll come up against in some of the smaller towns. Frankfurt has yet to be taken by our men. We should be okay with our papers and my contacts there, but we’ll need to be alert. It certainly wouldn’t do if we were to hand over the wrong set of papers to the wrong set of hands.”

“And after Frankfurt?” I’d asked.

“Everything north of Frankfurt is still under German control.” He leaned forward then and spoke softly . “Wie ist dein Deutsch?”

How was my German.

I grinned. I knew we would not have left England if he hadn’t been assured by my aunt and uncle that my German was perfect. What no one knew was that the three of us still spoke it at home when no one else was around.

“Gut,” I answered now, receiving a nod in return.

I set my fork on the plate and slid it away from me, resting my elbows on the table.

“Do you have people in Hamburg as well?” I asked.

“I do. It could get precarious though if the Allies are moving in.”

“But won’t that be good for us? For me?”

“It depends. You will be posing as...well...you. Should the Allies come, if you present as a German citizen, you could be jailed or worse. Sent to a work camp...or hurt.” He didn’t expand on that last part before changing the subject. “If you present as an American and they find your German papers, you could be brought in for questioning.”

“For what?”

“For being a German spy.”

I nodded, sweat dampening beneath my arms, my heart racing.

“And should the Germans somehow find you out,” he said. “They will deem you a traitor.” His eyes turned steely, sending a shiver down my spine. “They are not kind to traitors, Kate.”

I took in a shuddering breath.

“So, we will do this as thoughtfully as we can,” Lee said. “I have done my best to think of every situation and outcome, and I will give you names and addresses should you find you need to hide and I’m not around.”

I’d spent much of the night awake after that. And when I woke in the morning after only a couple hours’ sleep, I ran to the bathroom to be sick.

I’d never spent much time in the French countryside, my parents preferring the glamour of Paris or the sea views in Monaco or Nice instead every summer of my childhood. We stayed for a month at a time in beautiful hotel rooms that took up entire floors, our parents out nearly every hour of the day and night, Catrin and me racing ahead of Nanny Paulina as she took us for long walks near the Seine or by the sea.

But it was in the South of France that I got to experience childhood in a way I imagined other kids did. It was there I had freedom to play and explore, sing and dance, and run...as fast as my coltish legs could carry me, Catrin on my heels, Nanny Paulina urging us on from behind. It was there that our parents didn’t force us to join them, their days too busy with their friends to bother with us. And so we flourished, building memories cocooned in laughter, and whispering promises to the setting sun every time we left that one day we’d be back.

I stared out the window of the car Lee drove, remembering those sunny summer days as I took in the barren fields stretched out around us. We drove through towns like La Ferté-Gaucher, Sézanne, where we stayed a night in a small hotel with hardly any staff, and what was left of Vitry-le-Francois, which, from the looks of it, had suffered a terrible fire. Huts had been erected near the rubble that had once been homes and shops, small faces peering out from windows as we drove slowly by, the American insignia on the car on full display, letting them know they had nothing to fear from the people inside.

Every new town we entered we were stopped and asked to show our identification, questioned about our whereabouts, and the car was checked.

He parked in the newest town we’d be staying the night in, and we retrieved our bags from the trunk, my shoulders sagging a little as we walked into the entrance of the hotel. It was much like the ones before it. Small, quaint, with hardwood floors, flowery wallpaper, a gleaming if slightly shabby front desk, and the person standing behind it looking slightly shocked to see someone not in uniform approaching him.

“Do you have two rooms for the night?” Lee asked.

It wasn’t always guaranteed there’d be openings. Many times soldiers took up the rooms. But we’d only had trouble once so far, when there was a single room available and nothing else. Lee had given me the bed and had made himself a space on the floor. I’d felt a bit uncomfortable, lying in the dark with this man I hardly knew, despite our long hours in a car together. I’d wondered if he did too. But his breath slowed quickly as he fell to sleep, and so I’d turned over and done the same.

“We do,” the gentleman at the desk said. “And a dinner service at six in the dining room. Shall I make you a reservation?”

“Please.”

While Lee gave the man his information, I moved to the large front window and stared at the scene out front. Not that there was much of one. A woman and her young child, bundled against the cold, hurried into a shop across the street, while a handful of soldiers meandered, chatting as they went, their eyes taking in everything.

“Is there a post office?” I asked, turning back to the concierge.

His lips settled into a straight line.

“There is,” he said. “But it’s been closed the past three years. The man who ran it was...” He took in a breath and looked away, composing himself before turning back to me. “Well, he’s no longer here. I’m not sure if it will ever reopen. We’ve been driving two towns over to send mail, but no one’s received much. The Germans made communication nearly impossible in these parts. If you have something you need to send though, I can see about getting it out for you.”

“Thank you,” I said, resting my hand on my purse, where a letter I’d written to William four days ago sat safe inside. “Perhaps I’ll just wait and check the next town we stop in.”

I wondered if he’d written to me. If so, I hoped my aunt would find a way to forward his letters to me. But with the postal system not even existing in some cities, I was starting to have my doubts. What would he think if I wasn’t able to get a letter to him? If he wrote to me and his letters went unanswered?

My eyes filled at the thought.

“You alright?”

I jumped, not realizing Lee had finished checking us in and was standing before me, holding out the key to my room.

I sniffed and took the key. “Just tired,” I said, and followed him up the stairs to our second-floor rooms.