Page 18 of The Secret Librarian

The bell tinkled to announce the arrival of more customers, and Avery took the note and slipped it into her pocket.

‘I’ll see you there,’ Camille said, shaking her head at the American’s enthusiasm and wondering if she might regret her decision to meet for lunch.

It had been quite some time since Camille had seen someone socially, without it being part of her work, and as she watched Avery dash from the store she couldn’t deny that it would be nice to have lunch with another woman.

It also hadn’t been the worst feeling in the world to smile, so perhaps an hour away from the shop with the person who’d induced it wasn’t such a bad idea.

It wasn’t as if she’d made any friends in Lisbon, other than the lovely old man who’d once owned the bookstore.

Once there were no more customers in the shop, Camille took the opportunity to go to her office in the backroom.

She’d put up the bell on the door to her shop once she’d purchased the store, to alert her to any customers coming or going, which was especially helpful when she was in her office.

No one could sneak up on her and see what she was doing, and as she reached for the bulky item wrapped in a man’s shirt, she’d never been more grateful for that little bell.

She opened up the shirt, careful not to drop the precious wireless radio as she did so.

It was beautiful, and it was going to be her way of listening and finding out what was truly happening in other parts of Europe.

The foreign newspapers that she received were either out of date by the time they came in, or full of so much propaganda that she never knew what to believe.

But the radio? The radio felt like her gateway to the rest of the world.

It also made what she’d done with Kiefer in exchange for it almost bearable.

Almost. She was going to be one of the lucky few who could listen to what was actually happening in the world.

She was careful to fold it back up in the shirt again, placing it beneath the floorboards with some other precious things that she didn’t want anyone to find.

But as she did so, bending down and looking at the few possessions she still had from her old life, the memories hit her like a wave, reminding her of what she’d lost. Of what she’d left behind.

Of the life she’d once had that had meant more to her than anything else in the world.

The life that she’d do anything to go back to.

Camille reached for the desk beside her, placing her palms flat against it as she pushed herself up, but she couldn’t straighten; as Hugo came back to her, as the memories of him clawed at her, she was pulled back into the past. Usually it was at night that she twisted and turned, plagued by what had happened, but sometimes, like today, the memories came rushing into her mind as if it were only yesterday.

Unable to push them away, they turned into a nightmare that replayed itself over and over no matter how hard she fought against it.

And just like that she was back in the forest, looking over her shoulder at Hugo, screaming his name, watching him crumple to the ground.

She’d fought so hard to hide her identity, to leave behind the woman she once was for the woman she’d had to become in order to survive, but the pain of losing Hugo, of the betrayal they’d faced, was impossible to forget.

No amount of pretending would ever stop her from thinking about that night.

But it was what had happened next that kept coming back to her as she searched her memory for clues, for what she might have missed, replaying what she remembered of the family who’d stood before her and Hugo earlier that day, who they were supposed to save that fateful night – the family who had trusted her and Hugo to take them to safety.

‘Please, take it,’ the man said, reaching into his jacket and taking out the most beautiful pocket watch that she had ever seen.

He held it in the palm of his hand, and his eyes searched hers until she looked down again, admiring the diamonds that marked the face of the platinum watch. Just by glancing at it, she could tell how expensive it must be.

‘Please, for your troubles,’ he said, pleading with her as he waved his wife closer. ‘My wife’s rings, any of our jewellery, please, anything to keep us safe. We’ll give you anything if you just help us get to Portugal.’

She reached out and closed his fingers over his watch as Hugo spoke for them.

‘Keep your valuables,’ he said. ‘The only thing we want from you is your promise that you will listen to us at all times, and follow our lead. It’s a dangerous journey, but one we’ve made many times now, and when you arrive in Portugal you’ll need everything you have to secure passage to America.’

Tears formed in the man’s eyes as their two children crowded around the couple’s legs, his wife’s hands falling to their small shoulders as they looked up at her with the most hopeful expressions on their faces.

Camille couldn’t imagine what they must be thinking as they tried to understand why they were having to leave, why they were so hated for just being them, why their parents had made them flee their home.

‘But we must pay you something, for your—’

‘Our reward for doing this is knowing that you’re safe,’ she said. ‘Our network is helping Jews from all over France as best we can. Please, we don’t want your valuables.’

‘Why?’ the woman asked, her eyes wide as she looked back at her. ‘Why would you risk everything for strangers?’

Camille smiled, glancing down at the children and then reaching for the woman’s arm. ‘Because we know what it’s like to lose those we love. Because if we don’t fight against this regime, who will?’

‘You know where to meet us?’ Hugo asked.

The man nodded.

‘Don’t tell anyone where you’re going. We’ll meet after dark and begin our journey immediately.’ Hugo’s smile was kind, but she could see the worry etched on his face. ‘I suggest you rest until then, because once we start, we won’t stop walking until daybreak.’

They said their goodbyes and she slipped her hand into Hugo’s as they made their way back to their apartment, both lost in their thoughts and neither saying a thing.

She wiped at her eyes as she remembered the steady way Hugo had held her hand, the kindness of his gaze and the warmth of his smile.

But she kept thinking about the Jewish man, too, prepared to give up anything and everything just to keep his family safe; the way they’d been betrayed by someone who’d known their precise movements, by someone they should have been able to trust.

There was still a glimmer of hope that someone from that beautiful little family had survived, but so far no one had been able to tell her what had happened, and she feared that with fewer and fewer families escaping France now, she might never find out.

Camille forced herself to stand, opening her eyes, pulling herself away from the past as best she could, trying to stop the memories from haunting her.

It was as if she could feel Hugo standing behind her, his steady hand on her shoulder as he coaxed her back to him, telling her everything was going to be alright, promising her that life was somehow worth living without him.

Only it wasn’t going to be alright, because he wasn’t here.

Camille’s life was empty without him; every single day a painful reminder of what she’d lost.

She took a few deep breaths and bent back down to collect the notebook she kept beneath the floorboards, before carefully replacing the boards.

Camille sat down and opened it, reading through her notes, trying to see if there was anything she’d missed.

She did this every week, hoping that something would stand out to her or that something new would come into her mind while she read back through the words she’d penned.

British intelligence. Could be a double agent or someone who’s gone rogue.

Special Operations Executive operative, which means he is most likely a spy sent for the Allies but bribed for some reason to work for Nazis. But why? What would make a man turn his back on his country. Money? Revenge? Retribution?

Resistance cell. Did someone on the inside betray us?

Did someone follow us? Did we get lazy with keeping watch?

The Jewish family. The last one. Was there something different about them? Were they of special interest to the Nazis for some reason? Was there a reason they/we were targeted?

Are there more new arrivals to question?

Camille had gone over their last days and weeks together with a fine-tooth comb, writing a diary of everything they’d done, the people they’d seen, the families they’d helped.

She’d created a cross-stitched memory of their movements, but still nothing had stood out to her as being unusual – no clues as to how or why they’d been betrayed.

Over the past year, she’d begun to include every tiny thing that she could recall; nothing was too insignificant – where they’d had lunch, who’d been with them, who they’d spoken to, what they’d been wearing.

But nothing had helped. The only thing it had done was keep her up late at night, her mind whirring as she punished herself for her inability to figure it all out, forcing herself to recall the same few days over and over again.

There must have been something. There must be some clue, some hint, some thing that I’m missing.

But the only thing she was certain of was that if it had been a double agent, then sooner or later he was going to show up in Lisbon – it was the only place spies from opposing sides could meet without drawing attention .

If I’m right in my suspicions, Kiefer will know him and be liaising with him.

If this SOE agent worked with the Nazis in France, then if he’s still alive, he’ll be working with them now, even if he’s still pretending to be loyal to Britain .

And if that was the case, then she intended on using Kiefer to find out everything she could.

But none of it was going to bring her Hugo back.

Even if the war ended, she had no life to return to, no family or loved ones waiting for her.

They were all gone. This war had taken everyone from her, and no matter what happened, she was still going to be alone.

Which meant that all she could do was save as many lives as she could, while she could, before exacting her revenge.

She closed the notebook and put it back, making sure no one could tell that the floorboards had been moved, placing a chair half over them and trying her hardest not to cry.

Some days were more challenging than others, and for some reason, meeting someone like Avery, making plans with Avery as if her life were normal, had only made the memories hit harder.

Camille brushed the tears from her eyes and took out her compact mirror, dusting her face with powder and applying a sweep of her favourite red lipstick in an attempt to right herself.

She put everything back in her bag and stopped by the counter, making a little ‘Back in an Hour’ sign and taping it to the glass.

Lunch sitting in the sunshine was exactly what she needed, and it wasn’t as if she ever usually did anything for herself.

Besides, she was still curious about the woman she was meeting.

Avery had seemed so innocent and naive when they’d first met, but she’d helped Camille without hesitation earlier, and regardless of how reckless that might have been, Camille felt that she at least owed her lunch.

Not to mention Camille kept wondering whether Avery might just be the perfect recruit for her little forgery business.

She’d been searching for someone she could trust for months, someone who could produce the photos she needed for brand-new identification papers, and perhaps a pretty American wouldn’t be suspected of helping Jews by the PVDE.

As much as she didn’t want to put anyone else in danger, there could be a way to keep Avery safe and help others in the process, if she was careful.

Or I could be entirely wrong and she could be the reason everything comes falling down around me.