Page 20 of The Secret Librarian
‘It’s true, there are many Allied and Axis spies here – it’s one of the only places they can move freely, after all – but this city is much more complex. I mean, look at the women around us, those seated alone. Have you asked yourself why?’
‘They could be spies?’ Avery said, keeping her voice deliberately low.
‘The women sitting alone? No, they’re refugees. They sit here to listen for news, and because they feel safe being somewhere busy.’
‘How long will they be in Lisbon for?’ Avery asked. ‘Are they just passing through?’
‘Some will have been waiting days, others weeks, some months,’ Camille said, and Avery heard her voice change, a huskiness audible as she looked away from the women, as if it caused her pain to see them. ‘Some may wait forever for a boat that never arrives.’
‘These women, they’re mostly Jewish?’ Avery was almost whispering now, not wanting their conversation to be overhead.
‘Mostly. They’ve found their way here, to safety, but the passage they’ve been promised to America is constantly delayed, if it ever comes at all.
So they’re alive, but it’s as if their lives are on hold, and they’re just hoping and waiting for a chance at a new life somewhere else.
They thought getting here was the hard part, but it turns out that leaving here is just as difficult as escaping wherever they came from in the first place. ’
Avery found herself dabbing at her eyes, and Camille’s expression softened.
‘They are alive though, Avery, and that’s what matters,’ Camille said. ‘Someone has risked their lives to help them escape the horrors of wherever they came from, and they’ve made it. However bad it is here waiting, it’s nothing like what they left behind.’
‘It’s just, well, people like me read about what’s happening in the newspapers from the comfort of home, and I’ve seen the photos of books being burned in Germany and’ – Avery lowered her voice – ‘of Jewish people being forced to wear the yellow star, but being here makes it feel real. I suppose I wondered if it was truly all that bad.’
‘It is that bad, I promise you it is. I saw it with my own eyes in France,’ Camille said. ‘The things I’ve seen, the truth I know, would break your heart.’
Avery waited for Camille to continue, but she was quick to change the subject, fixing her smile and thanking the waiter when her coffee arrived.
‘But Lisbon is far from all that, and here you can at least pretend that things aren’t so bad. Despite its downfalls, the locals make it a haven here, for many of us.’
Avery smiled also, sensing that Camille no longer wanted to talk about the sadness of it all.
‘This place, it’s more alive than anywhere I’ve ever been in my life before.
New York is nothing like this.’ Avery knew there was something almost ironic about her being there when all these refugees were desperate to get to New York, but it only made her more determined to ensure her work meant something – that she was doing something useful for the war effort.
‘So, tell me about yourself,’ Camille said, glancing down at Avery’s hand. ‘No husband? No fiancé waiting at home for you to return?’
Avery felt a sense of calm as she replied. ‘No, I’m not ready for marriage. I just have this sense that I want to see the world, as silly as that might sound.’
‘Not silly at all. When you meet someone who makes you feel as if your heart is going to burst from your chest if you can’t be with him, that’s when you’ll know you’re ready to get married.’
‘You speak from experience?’ Avery asked, hoping she wasn’t overstepping.
‘I do,’ Camille said, before reaching for the menu and artfully changing the subject again. ‘Shall we order something to eat?’
‘Thank you for lunch, Avery, and for your assistance earlier, but I’d best get back to the shop. My regulars often call by in the afternoon,’ Camille said, slowly rising and reaching for her purse an hour or so later.
Avery stood, too, kissing Camille on each cheek. ‘Shall we do it again sometime? It’s nice having another woman to spend time with.’
Camille nodded, her smile polite, but Avery found her hard to read. She hoped that Camille had enjoyed their time together as much as she had.
‘I’ll come by on Thursday and see if you have any more newspapers for me,’ Avery said.
Camille nodded and said goodbye, and Avery watched her go before heading off in the other direction, towards her apartment. She wanted to see for herself the families displaced and waiting that Camille had spoken of.
Early that evening, Avery set off to look for the square.
It was very central, and it didn’t take her long to find where they all were – a city of families living in makeshift shelters covering the entire area.
Avery walked slowly to take it all in, noticing the differences between the locals and the refugees, the women with baskets held high on their heads carrying produce and the mothers with children clinging to their skirts.
Lisbon was sad in one way and vibrant in another, and it made Avery realise that no one back home in America could possibly imagine what it was like here.
Without the refugees, Lisbon was a city of music, smiles and happiness, a place that was somehow completely untouched by war, an oasis for the people who lived there and were able to continue their day-to-day lives.
But on the other hand, it was also a place that vividly showed the truth of war and the people displaced by it, which made something inside of her burn: a desire to do something, anything , to help them.
Only, she had no idea what or how to go about it.
Avery stood for a long time just watching, until the heat from the sun began to fade and a coolness brushed her shoulders, as if to tell her she’d been there long enough.
She sighed, and decided to make her way back to her apartment.
She had hours of microfilming ahead of her, and she wanted to write home while the day was still vivid in her mind, to tell her sister about Camille, and also write to Jack to remind him that she was thinking of him.
It had been ages since she’d received a letter in return, but then she imagined it would take some time for him to receive news of her change of address, or for her family to forward anything to her, so she was trying her best to be patient.
As she walked, she couldn’t help but notice a tall, handsome man with light-brown hair coming towards her. She was so distracted by him that she didn’t feel the tug on her handbag until it was too late.
‘No!’ she shouted, as fingers clenched tight around her wrist, so tightly that she felt as if they were going to pierce her skin.
She spun around and came face to face with a haggard-looking woman, the desperation in her eyes terrifying Avery more than the hold she had on her.
‘Please!’ she cried, fighting with the woman as her fingers moved up Avery’s arm, digging in.
‘Let go of her!’ came a deep voice, followed by large hands forcing the woman away.
Avery’s body trembled as she clutched her bag tightly to her chest, the woman backing away but not leaving as she gasped to catch her breath.
‘Please, just have this,’ Avery said, reaching into her bag and taking out some gum and a square of wrapped chocolate and throwing it towards the woman. It was only then that she realised her rescuer had his hand on her shoulder.
‘Are you alright?’ he asked, studying her with the warmest brown eyes she’d ever seen, as the woman scurried away.
‘I, ah, I’ll be fine,’ she stammered. ‘Thank you. I think she would have had my purse if you hadn’t intervened.’
His hand fell away and he stepped back. ‘Desperation brings out the worst in people,’ he said. ‘But I’m pleased you’re alright. You were coming from the square?’
‘Yes. I was just wanting to see the, ah, the situation there with my own eyes.’
The man nodded. ‘I understand. I’ve just returned from delivering some supplies there myself.’
Avery watched him as he held up his hand in a wave and then turned to walk away, looking over his shoulder to give her a quick smile that she couldn’t help but return.
What is it about this city and handsome men? First James and now this fine-looking stranger, and both British, too.
Avery rubbed at her wrist, glancing down and seeing that an ugly blue mark was appearing and her hands were still shaking. She turned on her heel and hurried home, lest she be the target of another hungry person desperate enough to rob her.
But as scared as she was, her curiosity had been piqued, and she knew that she would be back at the square before long to observe the comings and goings again. Only I won’t be stupid enough to bring a purse next time.