Page 13 of The Secret Librarian

‘Avery,’ the woman said, her palm soft against Camille’s. ‘But there’s no need to apologise. You were right in speaking frankly, and it’s me who should be sorry. It was a silly question I asked.’

They both stared at each other for a long moment, before Camille finally spoke again. ‘May I help you find something while you’re here? A book perhaps? It’s the least I can do.’

‘Well,’ Avery said hesitantly, as if she wasn’t sure what to say, or perhaps she was trying to be careful with her words so she didn’t receive another sharply worded lecture. ‘I’m interested in books, but I’m really looking for newspapers.’

‘Foreign editions?’ Camille asked. ‘You mean British? German? Or our local Portuguese paper that’s delivered every day?’

Avery’s smile seemed more relaxed now, and Camille found herself curious all over again about who this woman actually was. Given how Avery had reacted to the tongue-lashing she’d given her, Camille was starting to wonder if she was perhaps just an innocent librarian and not a highly trained spy.

‘Well, anything you have would be a great start,’ Avery said. ‘I’d also, well, the book burning in Berlin ...’

Camille waited, not filling the silence and letting Avery continue talking instead.

‘The types of books that were destroyed, well, it would be a great shame to not preserve them for history’s sake, if you know what I mean. If you ever had a copy, I would most certainly be interested.’

Camille didn’t imagine for a moment that an American woman had been sent all the way to Portugal for history’s sake, but she went along with it anyway.

‘The books you speak of, if I were to have anything like that and the wrong person discovered such a thing ... Well.’ Camille paused and lowered her voice, realising just how ill-informed Avery truly was.

It was as if she didn’t even understand how careful she had to be, that a person couldn’t just speak their mind in such a way.

‘Avery, you can’t go around asking openly for those types of books.

Lisbon, all of Portugal in fact, leans very heavily towards fascism. ’

Avery visibly paled. ‘I thought, I meant I didn’t—’

‘I’d be thrown in a cell by the PVDE if I were to sell you such a book and they found out.

They take censorship very seriously, and I cannot have anything like that in my shop.

They raided me only last month, and another bookshop that was openly pro-Allies was closed down only weeks ago.

’ Before I took up with Kiefer. When they were more inclined to wonder if I was a Jewish sympathiser.

‘I-I thought Lisbon was neutral, but I’m guessing that’s just something else I’m wrong about?’ Avery asked.

Camille nodded, glancing around her shop at the wooden shelves heaving with books, considering her words before speaking again.

‘The authorities tolerate the Jews being here because they have to, because most of the locals are sympathetic, but we have to be careful about what we do, what we say, and certainly what we read. The authorities might let the Jews inhabit the streets, but they certainly don’t want their publications, or I dare say anything else that might paint Germany in a bad light.

It’s a very fine line to walk, and one you’ll have to learn to tread carefully if you’re going to live here. ’

Avery nodded and turned, walking slowly down the closest row of books, her fingers trailing over their spines. Camille watched as she glanced around the store, as if to check they were alone before she spoke again.

‘Are there many other French women living here?’

‘In Lisbon?’ Camille shook her head. ‘No, unless you count the French Jewish refugees waiting for boats. There are few French women living here.’

The American woman looked crestfallen, and Camille felt at least partly responsible. It was impossible not to be cynical and suspicious after what Camille had been through, but she could have been a little softer in her approach. She could see that now.

‘How about I take a look for the types of newspapers you’re searching for.

I’m sure there will be something in yesterday’s delivery that will be of interest to you, and I’ll be sure to include a copy of our local paper as well.

That’s published daily and I have them delivered every morning.

’ Avery’s face lit up and Camille went out the back into her office and took out the foreign papers she had sorted there, glancing through them and selecting a German one, as well as the British Daily Mirror and the local newspaper.

When she walked back out, Avery was glancing at a book, and Camille moved closer to see what she was looking at.

‘You have good taste.’ Avery was flicking through the first few pages of Virginia Woolf’s Mrs Dalloway.

‘The best part about working at a library is discovering authors. But I spent most of my time microfilming old books and newspapers that would otherwise have been disposed of.’

Camille’s eyebrows lifted in question. ‘Disposed of?’

‘There simply isn’t room to store everything forever, but—’ Avery stopped talking, as if she’d suddenly realised she’d said too much.

‘Anyway, it’s nice to spend time looking at all your lovely books; you have an impressive inventory.

Tomorrow I might come back and find something to read for myself, if I have the chance. ’

‘This microfilming you speak of—’

‘Oh, it’s nothing. Something for another day,’ Avery said quickly. ‘What do you have there?’

‘It’s a German book on military tactics I thought might be of interest.’

Avery’s eyes widened as she reached for it, flicking through the first few pages and then smiling. ‘Thank you, this is definitely what I’m looking for.’

Camille was about to ask Avery another question, curious about what microfilming was, when the little bell above the door announced a new visitor. And her American customer must have noticed how still she had gone, because she immediately held out the book.

‘I’ll take it,’ Avery said.

Camille quickly folded the newspapers against it, wrapping them in brown paper and passing the package back to Avery. The American had been in her store for long enough – she didn’t need anyone who might be watching to think she was collaborating with an Allied spy.

‘I’m certain you’ll love the book,’ Camille said as she rang the sale up on the cash register and took the money Avery passed to her, trying not to look nervous as Kiefer stepped up to the counter.

Avery turned when Kiefer cleared his throat behind her. Or perhaps she was more perceptive than Camille had given her credit for and could sense the change in her, and wanted to see who was the cause of it.

‘Oh goodness, I wasn’t expecting such a handsome man to be standing so close,’ Avery said, clutching her book to her chest and moving quickly past Kiefer.

If Camille had doubted the woman’s ability to pass as a spy in the beginning, she didn’t now.

‘Oh dear, look at me being all clumsy,’ Avery said, knocking into a table and turning to give Camille a quick smile as Kiefer bent to collect the fallen books. ‘You’ve got me all flustered here.’

‘Be sure to come back when you’re ready for another good book,’ Camille called out.

‘A romance next time!’ Avery said. ‘Put something aside for me when you get a chance.’

With Kiefer’s attention diverted as he watched Avery leave the shop, Camille took a deep, shaky breath, grateful for the reprieve before readying herself with a practised smile.

‘Kiefer,’ she purred when he turned to her, the bell signalling that Avery had left. ‘What a wonderful surprise.’

‘Who was that woman?’ he asked, striding towards her and running a hand through his hair.

Camille shrugged. ‘A woman looking for a book to read, that’s all.’

‘An American?’ he asked.

She swallowed, knowing there was no point in lying to him. If he wanted to find out who Avery was, he’d follow her himself, so she may as well tell the truth.

‘An American librarian, actually,’ Camille said, reaching for the jacket she had folded behind the counter for him. She’d even dabbed a little drop of her perfume inside the collar. ‘This is for you.’

He took it from her, and before he could ask, she took out a small bundle of newspapers for him.

‘This is a copy of The Times from last week and today’s Portuguese newspaper.

’ She smiled. ‘I also have a very recent copy of an American Time magazine that I was able to procure. I thought it might be of interest.’

His smile told her that he’d already forgotten all about the American girl, and she realised that it had most definitely been worth giving him the single copy of Time that she’d had delivered. If anything, it would help him to trust her.

‘Well, aren’t you full of surprises today.’ He took the papers and tucked them under his arm.

‘Will I be seeing you tonight?’ she asked.

Kiefer shrugged. ‘Perhaps. But I have work to do today and it might spill over into tonight.’

‘Well, perhaps tomorrow night then,’ she said, relieved that she’d have time to work on her forgeries rather than having to see him, and just then the bell rang again and one of her regular customers entered – a mother with her young child on her hip.

The woman looked nervous, as many did when they saw a man like Kiefer.

With his blond hair and height, it was obvious he wasn’t local, not to mention his thick accent giving away that he was German.

If it had been a Jewish customer, she didn’t doubt that they would have run straight back out the door and disappeared on to the street, perhaps never to enter her bookshop again.

‘I should have what you asked me for later this week,’ he said. ‘You just keep these papers coming to me, yes? And I’ll see you another night.’