Page 42 of The Secret Librarian

Chapter Twenty-One

Camille

Camille reached into her bag as she walked through the hotel, placing her hand on the pistol and wrapping her fingers around it.

She felt calm, as if every step of the past year had been building up to this moment, and she was ready for it.

She’d made peace with the fact that it might not make her feel any better, that it would do nothing to ease the pain that ached so deeply inside of her, but at least she’d know that she’d done everything she could to avenge her husband’s death.

And to stop anyone else being deceived – to prevent more lives being lost.

When she neared the bar, Camille slowly and steadily took the gun from her bag and pressed it into the man’s back, snug against his spine.

‘Hello James,’ she murmured.

He stilled and she didn’t move, careful to keep her body tucked close to his so that no one could see what she was holding.

But the men in the hotel bar were too busy drinking and smoking to notice a woman with a gun, anyway – she may as well have been invisible.

All they saw was a pretty face – beyond that, they didn’t seem to register a thing.

She might have been amused if the situation were different.

‘Turn around. Slowly,’ she said, taking the pressure off a little but still keeping the pistol closely trained on him.

‘Camille, what are you doing?’ he asked, staring steadily into her eyes when he turned.

She was surprised by how calm he was, but then she supposed that a man like him was used to talking his way out of tricky situations, of deceiving those around him.

But she wasn’t going to let him talk his way out of this one, and she most definitely wasn’t going to let him do anything that took her attention off the gun in her hand.

‘I know who you are, James. I know that you’re a double agent, that you’ve been working for the Nazis,’ she said, keeping her voice low as she glared at him. ‘I know you’ve been in France.’

It seemed that he was an even better actor than she had thought. His eyes widened, and a look passed over his face that seemed like pure disbelief. Camille could see why Avery had been so easily fooled by him.

‘You’re the man responsible for my husband’s death, for betraying us, for the deaths of countless Jewish families,’ she hissed. ‘Don’t even try to deny it.’

James used his head to indicate the drink he was holding, a short glass still a quarter full of liquor. ‘May I?’

She nodded, but she didn’t look at the glass, keeping her gaze on him. It would be too easy for him to knock the gun from her hand or even turn it on her with one swift movement.

James downed the drink and gently placed it on the bar, his movements slow.

‘Camille, I’m not your double agent,’ he said. ‘You have the wrong man.’

She just stared at him.

‘You’re lying. I know where you’ve been, I’ve been tracking you.’

‘Camille, please,’ he said, grunting when she pushed the pistol into his stomach, moving closer to him, making it look to anyone else like she was about to press a kiss to his jaw.

‘I’m telling you, you have the wrong man.’

‘Shut up,’ she muttered. ‘You’re going to turn when I tell you to, and we’re going to walk towards the lobby and out on to the street. You’re not going to call for help or try to be your own hero. You’re going to do as I say.’

‘Camille,’ he said. ‘I can prove I’m not your double agent, but I know who is. I can explain where I’ve been, I—’

‘You’ve been in France, James. I know exactly where you’ve been and what you’ve done. I have proof.’

‘I had to pretend I was in France to convince the real double agent that he could trust me. I fed him false information, to plant a trap before having him arrested. I can walk you through every step of it if you want, but you have to believe me.’ He paused.

‘Just lower the gun and we can go somewhere quiet and talk.’

Her instincts were to soften her hold on the gun, but she ignored them, clenching her fingers even tighter. He was trying to sow doubt in her mind, and it was working.

‘You’re lying.’

‘I’m here at this bar tonight waiting for him. My instructions are to keep a close eye, not let him know that we’re on to him, and then my station head will have him arrested, but I haven’t been able to find him yet,’ James said. ‘You have to believe me, Camille.’

‘I’ve spent so long trying to understand what happened the night my husband died, who betrayed us, how someone could have infiltrated our network and used information against us,’ she said, blinking away tears now, ‘and I’m determined to understand why no one saw this coming.’

‘Camille, I don’t know how your husband died, but I do know that this man is responsible for selling classified information to the Nazis for personal gain.

He is paid predominantly in jewellery stolen from wealthy Jewish families, which he sends home to London, and we’ve just intercepted one such parcel.

The evidence I have is irrefutable, and if you’d give me the chance to explain myself without that gun trained on me, I will explain everything. I promise .’

Camille took a step back then, her hand starting to shake as James’s words ran through her mind.

She closed her eyes for a split second, saw the family standing before her, the family whose faces had haunted her ever since that night, coming to her in her dreams, leaving her wondering if they were already dead.

Imagining their fates and making her more determined than ever to find out who was responsible.

Benoit had told her to focus on staying alive, and to do everything in her power to get what he was covertly sending her from France to their Allied friends, which she’d been doing through Avery.

The pocket watch . The diamond and platinum pocket watch. She pressed the gun against James again even as her thoughts jumbled. What he’d said about being paid in jewellery had set off a light bulb in her mind.

‘The watch,’ she gasped. ‘He had the watch.’

‘Who had what watch?’ James asked, looking confused.

‘William was wearing the watch,’ she whispered.

‘On the night my husband was killed, when we were ambushed, we were meeting a Jewish family to help them escape France to safety. The man had a watch, he’d shown it to us when we’d agreed to help him.

He’d tried to give it to us as payment, to ensure their safety, but we told him that he’d need all his valuables to secure safe passage to America when he reached Portugal. ’

James was intently staring at her, listening.

‘He was pouring champagne and he checked the time, the diamonds were glittering under the lights, and I recognised it but I couldn’t put my finger on it.’

‘Who, Camille? Who had this watch? When?’

‘William,’ she murmured. ‘William had the watch.’

‘ William is the double agent, Camille, not me. He’s the man I’m after. I can show you all the evidence I have. You can have whatever you need for me to prove this to you, but you have to believe me that the person you’re hunting is the very same person I’m following. He’s our mutual enemy here.’

William had played her like a fool! He’d even flaunted the stolen watch, not realising that she’d seen it before, not knowing what it meant to her.

But worst of all, she’d trusted him with Avery.

James reached out and placed his hand slowly on the pistol, gently pushing it away, and she let him, until it was hanging from her fingertips at her side.

‘Put that back in your bag before someone sees it,’ he said. ‘And tell me everything you know about William and his whereabouts. If he thinks you recognised the watch, it’s anyone’s guess what he’ll do next.’

‘He couldn’t know. There’s no way he’d make that connection, I’m certain of it.’

James shook his head. ‘He’s known for some time who you are, Camille. It’s one of the reasons I was so determined to catch him out, to protect you from him, so I wouldn’t leave anything to chance.’

Her blood ran cold. ‘You think he’d hurt me? Here, in Lisbon?’

‘I don’t know what a man like him is capable of, and if I’m honest, I don’t want to find out. But I’d say he’s the type to do anything he has to in order to hide his tracks.’

James turned to order drinks for them, calling out to the bartender and holding up two fingers, but Camille was frozen to the spot. When he passed her a glass, she just lifted her gaze to meet his.

‘James,’ she whispered, her heart beginning to hammer in her chest. ‘Do you think he’d hurt Avery?’

She thought he was going to drop the glass he was holding. His entire face drained of colour, going white as a sheet, as he stared back at her.

‘ Avery? What does Avery have to do with this?’

‘She was here with him tonight, when I saw his watch,’ Camille said. ‘They left together.’

‘Avery is with William? She’s with him now?’

Camille nodded, fear racing through her body as James put his glass back on the bar and grabbed hold of her hand.

‘Which way did they go? Where were they heading?’

‘I saw them walk out into the lobby, that’s all I know.

They might have gone elsewhere in the hotel, but equally he could have walked her home.

’ Camille racked her brain. ‘No, she told me that he doesn’t know where she lives.

She has a thing about wanting to keep her address secret, something about someone giving her a tip when she first arrived. ’

‘Quickly, follow me.’

They ran out to the lobby and James shouted to the concierge, the panic in his voice palpable.

‘Have you seen a pretty woman with dark-blonde hair and a British man? He has mid-brown hair, blue eyes, taller than me,’ James asked. ‘I need you to think very carefully about who came through the lobby.’

‘She was wearing a calf-length navy dress, her hair was twisted up and he was in a suit,’ Camille added. ‘They would have passed through here perhaps half an hour ago, maybe less.’

The man frowned. ‘I can’t give out personal information about our guests. You must understand—’

James took a step closer, and for the first time Camille saw his temper. ‘A woman’s life is in danger, so spare me the privacy speech. Did you see them or not? I need to know who’s come past you tonight.’

The concierge shook his head. ‘No, I didn’t see them come through the lobby together, but a British man fitting your description came down from his room asking for champagne not ten minutes ago. He’d left his bottle in the bar and we arranged a new one for him.’

‘That’s him! He had champagne, I had a glass before I left.’

‘Where did he go?’ James demanded, and she noticed his fists balled at his sides, his jaw clenched.

‘To his room, sir. He went up in the elevator five minutes ago.’

‘Which room!’ James demanded. ‘Tell me what floor he’s on!’

The man went to hold up his hands but James reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of cash, slamming it on to the counter. ‘Tell me the room he’s in, and if he hurts her before I get there, then I will hold you personally responsible.’

The man reached for his book, frantically flicking through pages, tracing his finger down a row of names. It felt like it took forever, but the more James glowered at him, the more the poor man’s hands shook.

‘Room 305.’

Camille turned to James, but he was already gone, running through the hotel lobby, past the door to the elevator and heading up the stairs.

Any doubts she might have had about him completely disappeared, and she thanked the concierge, took off her heels, and ran after him.

Her whole body was trembling, her mind racing, imagining the very worst of scenarios.

If anything happened to Avery, she’d never forgive herself.