Page 23 of The Secret Librarian

Camille turned slightly so that Avery couldn’t see how much her hand was trembling, placing the book on the shelf and reaching for another.

She was still shaken up about the raid, but knowing that the American had only been at the square last night because she cared gave her the most overwhelming urge to talk to someone – to tell someone the truth so she wasn’t alone in her memories.

She’d spent so long alone, determined to complete what she’d set out to achieve, but knowing how easily it could all be taken away had rattled her more than she had realised.

‘There are things about me, Avery, things from my past ...’

Avery kept picking up books from the floor and shelving them, glancing up at Camille every so often, and Camille was struck by just how much empathy this woman had.

She couldn’t imagine anyone else she knew in Lisbon stopping to help put her bookshop back in order.

But it was then she noticed a dark bruise on Avery’s wrist.

‘How did you get that?’ Camille asked, moving closer to her.

Avery quickly pulled her arm away, her blouse covering the bruise. ‘It’s nothing.’

Camille reached out and nudged her sleeve back up, exposing the ugly purple welt.

‘Someone did this to you? Who?’

Avery sighed. ‘It seems you were right about needing to be careful, only it was another woman who grabbed me. She was looking for money or food I suppose.’

‘You were attacked?’ Camille blew out a breath. ‘After you went to the square?’

‘Yes, the first time I visited, that day we had lunch, but I’m fine now.

It rattled me at the time, but I learnt my lesson and I’ll be more careful next time.

’ Avery sighed. ‘There was also a man, although I didn’t catch his name, and he was passing by and intervened. I’m eternally grateful to him.’

Camille had always been a very good judge of character. And her instincts right now were to trust in Avery and her good nature.

‘Well, thank goodness for your mystery man. What do you think he was doing there?’

‘That’s the thing, he said he’d been taking some supplies to the square. I was rather touched by his kindness.’

Avery looked rattled still and Camille watched her for a moment, before saying something she had never intended on disclosing. ‘Avery, I haven’t been entirely honest with you.’ Avery stopped shelving, her hand hovering over a book as if she couldn’t move it and listen at the same time.

‘The PVDE have their suspicions about me, but nothing they can prove – yet,’ Camille said, shaking her head.

‘I have done things here they could arrest me for if they knew, things I don’t want to implicate you in, but I had another life before this.

In France. A life I’m certain that no one here knows about, and I intend on keeping it that way, no matter how badly they treat me. ’

Camille was torn between telling her everything and wishing she’d never started talking in the first place.

There was something about Avery that reminded her what it had been like to have friends, to have a life, to not have to hide in plain sight all on her own.

But there was another part that resented Avery for the life she led, for how little risk she was taking when there was so much more she could do.

‘I’m sorry, you don’t want to hear all this.

I’m fine, honestly. Thank you for helping, you certainly didn’t need to. You don’t have to stay and help.’

‘I do have to stay, I want to stay, but I have to ask,’ Avery said, ‘exactly what you’re doing for those people ...’

Avery was staring at her, waiting for a response, and Camille was lost for words.

She was torn between telling her the truth, and lying to put an end to her questions, but in the end, she decided to question Avery instead.

She needed to know whether she was just a woman feeling a moment of empathy, or someone who would do more if she could.

Once upon a time, I was this girl. Until Hugo told me what he was doing, until he let me see the world he was part of and gave me the chance to do more.

She could help me in ways that could change lives.

‘Avery, the work you’re doing here in Lisbon. How much do you actually think it helps your country?’

Avery looked puzzled. ‘Well, if I didn’t think it was worthwhile, if my country didn’t think it was worthwhile, I wouldn’t be here.’

‘But how much help can newspapers be? What information is actually being gleaned from those publications you’re sourcing?’

Camille could see that Avery was flustered, if not downright upset, but she needed to know. She needed to know just how far Avery was willing to go, and if she pushed her away entirely, then so be it.

‘All I know is that more people like me are being trained and deployed, to send back enemy publications. If our intelligence service didn’t think it was useful, I doubt they would be continuing the programme, and I have to believe that they’re uncovering information that’s worth my time in sending it back to Washington. ’

Camille nodded. ‘What if I told you that someone with an eye for detail like you could be directly helping the Jews arriving in Lisbon? That you could be doing so much more to help the war effort, in a different way?’ She took a breath.

‘Am I correct in believing that you’re highly proficient with a camera?

You mentioned you had been microfilming in America. ’

Avery’s eyes widened. ‘The allegations against you were true? You’ve been ...’ Avery lowered her voice. ‘ Forging identifications?’

Camille nodded. There was no point in hiding any part of the truth now. ‘You didn’t answer my question.’

‘Yes, I’m proficient with a camera. My work involves photographing documents on to microfilm.’ Avery stared at her, as if she’d only just understood why Camille had asked her the question. ‘You’re asking if I would help you?’ she asked. ‘You want me to create false documentation with you?’

‘I’m asking how far you’re willing to go to help those in need,’ Camille said. ‘And yes, whether you’d use your camera to help others who desperately need you.’

Avery was silent for a moment, and Camille watched as she bent to pick up a missed fallen book from the floor, before finally turning back to her.

‘I, well, I’d need to think about it.’

Camille could sense that Avery was interested in what she’d proposed, but she could also tell that if she wanted Avery’s help, she was going to have to open up to her.

‘Have you eaten today?’

Avery shook her head.

‘How about we go back to my apartment as soon as it’s time to close up, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.’

Less than an hour later, they walked in silence down the cobbled street to Camille’s apartment, but it was a comfortable silence and Camille found she was happy to be with Avery.

She’d spent her life surrounded by men after her mother had passed – her father, her brother and his friends, and then Hugo – and she hadn’t realised how much she’d been craving female companionship.

But she knew that she had to tread carefully – she hadn’t known Avery for long, and Camille wasn’t usually so quick to trust.

When they reached her apartment she showed Avery in, careful to lock the door behind her before turning on the light.

She only wished she had a gramophone to play some music on, which she’d always done when entertaining friends in Paris before the war.

You never could be too careful about blocking out conversation.

‘I hope you like a Merlot,’ she said, taking a bottle of red wine from the little kitchen sideboard. ‘One of my French customers traded it for books last week.’

‘I’m going to sound incredibly unsophisticated,’ Avery said as she took off her jacket and laid it on the arm of a chair, ‘but I’ve never actually tried red wine.’

Camille thought back to when Hugo had first come to her family’s home for dinner, recalling the look on his face when her father had questioned Hugo about his taste in wine, and how her father had watched Hugo trying his best Cabernet Sauvignon.

She took out two glasses and pulled the cork from the bottle, pushing the thoughts away.

‘You’ll come to like it, I promise,’ she said, before filling both glasses and turning to pass one to Avery. ‘But it might take some getting used to.’

Camille laughed at Avery’s expression when she took a hesitant sip, taking one herself and enjoying the familiar sensation of the wine calming her nerves.

She’d missed it – opening a bottle to share, relaxing at home, preparing food for someone other than herself.

It was as if opening up to Avery had broken down a barrier that had been in place ever since she’d left France, and rather than feeling uncertain about it, Camille felt a sense of relief.

‘I’ll put something together for us to eat. It won’t take long.’

‘Can I help?’

‘No, you enjoy the wine and I’ll prepare the food.

I like having something to do.’ Camille took out a knife and chopping board, deciding to slice cheese and some cold meats, along with bread and some vegetables that she had.

Like I used to do, when Papa and the boys would come home complaining of being so hungry that they couldn’t wait another moment to eat.

They loved cheese and cold meat, pickles and lightly toasted bread.

She glanced behind her and saw that Avery was tucked up in an armchair, glass of wine still in hand but her shoes kicked off. Camille certainly hadn’t scared her off by telling her she had secrets, which indicated that the American had more nerve than she might have previously given her credit for.

‘In France, my husband and I ...’ Camille paused, her tongue stalling on his name, finding it almost impossible to say. ‘ Hugo and I, we worked to transport Jews across the border to safety. He died in 1941. It was the reason I left my country and came to Portugal.’