“Gentlemen?” Catherine gave a faint, ironic smile when no one answered her straightaway.
Rafael sneered and thrust a crumpled piece of paper at her. “We’re here to seize the goods of one Madame LaRoq, who is believed to have been harboring enemies of the Third Reich in this very building, mademoiselle.”
Catherine’s eyes widened as she scanned the warrant. “Enemies . . .” She shook her head. “No, no, you must have it wrong. Madame is—was—bedridden. She could not possibly . . .”
Rafael shrugged. “That is our information, mademoiselle.”
Danique Foucher spoke. “Sadly, madame has just passed away, so it’s no use trying to arrest her.”
Gabby stared at her mother. She’d known all along? But of course, somehow Maman always knew everything that went on in the building. And she had clarified an issue Gabby hadn’t considered until Catherine’s slight slip with the tenses. Until now, they had covered up madame’s death. She would not be found in her room, however, so her very recent passing was the simplest explanation. Gabby would have to worry about what that meant for Jack later.
Rafael turned to Gabby. “In that case, you won’t mind letting us into the apartment. All madame’s property is to be seized.”
There was a glint in his eye, just for her. The blood drained from her face as she finally understood what was happening. No information had been laid against madame. This was about the sapphire ring she had used to barter for the sulfa pills, not her Englishman. Rafael thought there was more where it came from.
This was all her fault.
“You can’t do this,” she whispered. “Why—where is your evidence? You can’t simply go around accusing people of crimes so that you can take their things.”
But even before the words were out of her mouth, she knew how ludicrously naïve she sounded. The sneers on the men’s faces told her they thought the same. They were going to raid madame’s apartment and there was nothing she could do to stop them. Gabby’s heart pounded. What if they found Jack?
Catherine spoke, drawing everyone’s attention back to her. “I don’t think you’ll find anything of real value among madame’s things. She owned a few paintings, some silverware, and some jewelry. That’s it.”
“That’s right.” Gabby needed to hold herself together but her breath was coming in short pants. She knew what they did to prisoners at rue de la Pompe, had heard the screams with her own ears. She couldn’t let them find Jack. She’d die before she let them take him.
She took a deep breath and released it, trying to stay calm. Any more delay and obfuscation would only seem suspicious. Gabby unlocked the door to madame’s apartment, and the men filed in after her. Speaking clearly, she said, “I am afraid you will not find anything much to tempt you here, messieurs. The paintings might fetch something, as Miss Dior said.”
Rafael grunted. “Where did she keep the jewels?”
Gabby went to madame’s bedchamber and took the jewel box from beneath the floorboards. “Here.”
Rafael rummaged through the box, his big hands pawing over madame’s delicate pieces, then shut the lid with a snap. “I’ll take this.” He tucked the box under his arm and made for the door. “Ransack the place,” he ordered the other two men.
Gabby cried out, “No! Please do not destroy her things. Poor madame. She never did anything wrong.”
“You seem strangely upset for someone who just pawned the woman’s jewelry,” said Rafael, stepping back as his henchmen rampaged about the room, tipping over furniture, slitting cushion covers with their knives, getting the stuffing everywhere.
“It was for madame’s medicine,” she said quietly. “She asked me to do it.”
“Well, much good it did her.” He shrugged. “You might as well submit with good grace, mademoiselle. You brought this on yourself. You did not come to Berger with the information he required.”
So, not only was Rafael being greedily opportunistic, Berger was punishing her for not turning informer. There was no way out for Jack. If the men started on the silver cabinet, they might discover where he was hiding. Could he possibly shoot all three men with that pistol of his before they shot him? She didn’t think so. And anyway, shots would be heard far and wide, and bring more trouble down upon them.
Gabby winced and turned her face away as they smashed the glass in madame’s china cabinets and swept the ornaments off her mantel shelf. What was the point of all this? They seemed to take delight in needless destruction. When they moved on to the silver cabinet, Gabby yelped in fear.
“Enough!” her mother shouted. “I’ll give you what you want. Just stop this at once!”
Shocked at her mother’s unwonted ferocity, Gabby stared. The men halted and turned to stare at her, too.
Danique seemed to gather herself, then let out a long breath. “Come with me.” She shot a look at Rafael that was as hard and direct as a bullet. “I assure you, it will be worth your while.”
With a jerk of the head to his men to follow, Rafael went after her.
Before she could sag to the ground with the relief of it, Catherine’s arm came around Gabby to shore her up. “Go with them,” she whispered, her breath warm in Gabby’s ear. “They might get suspicious otherwise. I’ll stay here.”
Gabby wanted more than anything to stay with Jack, but that was impossible. She nodded and stepped carefully around the debris.
“I wonder what your mother has up her sleeve,” whispered Catherine as Gabby paused at the door.
“It had better be good,” Gabby whispered back. She left Catherine at the apartment and continued downstairs.
* * *
GABBY HAD NO trouble finding them. Rafael’s men seemed determined to make as much noise as possible. Their raucous laughter echoed through the cavernous cellars below.
The cellars? “What on earth?” Gabby murmured, descending after them.
The darkness of the subterranean cavern was profound and a damp cool pervaded the space, a contrast from the thick heat of the summer night aboveground. By feeling along one clammy wall, Gabby made her way down a corridor before she spotted the faint glow of light to her right.
The men must have brought flashlights with them. The cellars, with their row upon row of empty wine racks, stretched beyond.
But Danique did not venture as far as the wine cellars. She stopped at a large store cupboard and fumbled with a key.
One of Rafael’s men snatched the key from her and jammed it into the lock. He flung the cupboard door wide. Nothing. Shelves full of nothing. “What?” he spluttered. “You’d better not be playing some sort of game here, madame.”
“If you’ll allow me . . .” Danique waited until Rafael yanked the bully aside, then she felt along the edge of the cupboard. There was a click and a creak. The false front of shelving swung inward and Danique stepped through. The others followed. Impossible as it seemed, they all went in, one after the other, disappearing inside.
Everyone fell silent. The room, easily as big as madame’s front parlor, was stuffed full of treasure.
Gabby stared at her mother. “These belong to the tenants. The ones who were taken. The Bloms and the Gellners, and . . . You did this . . .”
“Hush, Gabby,” said Danique. To the men, she added, “Take it,” waving her hand around. “Take it all. But it’s everything, you hear me? It’s all we have, so take it and then leave my tenants alone.”
Gabby was too shocked to speak or protest. She just stood there, gaping at the Aladdin’s cave her mother had amassed without Gabby’s knowing a thing about it.
“You two make yourselves scarce,” said Rafael to the women. “Don’t get in our way.”
Shaking, Gabby turned to leave, but not before she heard him say, “Go get the van. There’s more here than we bargained for.”
Gabby hurried back to the loge. She longed to check on Jack, but she didn’t dare. Not until Rafael and his men were gone.
When her mother came in, Gabby eyed her warily. How could
Maman have looted those people’s homes? And what did it say about Gabby that she was thankful for her mother’s duplicity?
Danique’s cheeks reddened. “What? You think I stole it all? I was keeping it safe for them. In case they return.”
“But why hand it all over now, Maman? Why not keep the secret? Rafael would never have found your hiding place.”
“And let him find what you’re hiding up there?” Danique pointed to her own chest. “Me, I know all about it. You are reckless, Gabby. No better than your sister.”
Gabby could only stare dazedly at her mother, unable to voice the many conflicting thoughts that exploded and fizzed like fireworks in her head. Danique had known about madame, about Jack, probably about Catherine, too.
But the most important thing: Jack was safe. There was no reason for the gang to return to madame’s apartment now. And Maman had been looking after the absent tenants’ belongings for them all this time. Was her quiet, timid mother truly a heroine underneath? Sometimes, the people closest to you could surprise you the most.
“I’d better make sure they leave once they’ve emptied that cupboard,” said Danique, heading out. “You keep watch for your sister.”
“Yvette!” Gabby gasped and looked around. In all the commotion, she hadn’t realized her sister wasn’t there. It was past curfew. What on earth was she doing out so late?
Nerves taut, Gabby kept watch for Yvette as Rafael’s thugs looted the treasure in the cellar. The van Rafael had sent for arrived and drove past the loge, right into the central courtyard. Another two men jumped out.
Seconds later, a slight, furtive figure slipped through the street entrance. Gabby hurried to the vestibule to whisk her trembling, tearstained sister inside.
“Oh, God, Yvette!” Her hand came away sticky from Yvette’s arm. “What in the world?”
The darkness on Yvette’s hands, on her clothes . . . That smell . . . It was blood.
Earlier that day
YVETTE
Less than a week after her bicycle ride to Paris, Yvette heard that Louise Dulac was back at the Ritz. Yvette had arranged to have the pearls restrung and returned to the actress and hoped that would be the end of their association.
Yvette had completed her final round of deliveries for the day and did not have to return to Lelong until the next morning. The sun would not set for hours, and all around her, people complained about the heat. Would there be a storm tonight? Not if the clear sky was any indication. They would all have to sweat it out until the weather broke. Maybe tomorrow, rain would come.
She spotted Jean-Luc loitering at a newspaper stand by the Pont des Invalides, no doubt passing a message to his contact there. Yvette picked up a newspaper. As usual, the headlines heralded Nazi victory.
“Any real news?” she asked Jean-Luc when an old man had paid for his paper and moved away.
“The uprising. It is for tonight.” Although he muttered the words beneath his breath, she heard the tremor of excitement. “Come with us.”
“But—” She broke off because a German soldier had stopped by to purchase a paper flower on a pin for his girl. It seemed to take forever for him to pay, and then what must he do but stand there and flirt while he fixed the silly brooch to the girl’s lapel.
When the couple moved off at last, Yvette said, “But it is too soon, Jean-Luc. You know this. I told you what is being said. You need to coordinate with the Allies. You don’t have enough men to succeed on your own.”
“You don’t understand anything, Yvette,” said Jean-Luc, his dark eyes alight with fire. “When we do this, all of Paris will rise up with us. There will be no stopping the will of the people.”
This was crazy talk. She glanced around them, at the pragmatic Parisians going about their everyday business as best they could, trying to stay out of trouble. “Don’t you think that if they’d wanted to rise up they would have done it by now?”
But then another customer came to the newsstand, and Jean-Luc jerked his head, indicating that they should leave. They walked together, guiding their bicycles along the wide pavement, toward the bridge.
Halfway across the river, they propped their bicycles against the low stone balustrade. Jean-Luc leaned out, his gaze lifted to the peak of the Eiffel Tower, which rose to dizzying heights above the Paris skyline. He looked like a man who was contemplating a lofty place in history, but he might as well throw himself into the river below as carry out this stupid plan.
“Will you look at me?” she said.
Jaw tensing, mouth a hard line, Jean-Luc turned to face her. Yvette stared into his eyes, as if she could compel him with the force of her gaze. “Don’t do this, Jean-Luc. Please don’t. It is suicide.”
“I have to, Yvette. I can’t stand to wait another day.” He put his hand on her shoulder, one comrade to another. “The usual place. You know it.”
She did know it. There was a cellar beneath a seedy café in the Marais district where Jean-Luc and his comrades used to meet. A secret back-alley entrance. She had never been, but he had told her about it.
“We gather there at midnight.”
“Jean-Luc, no!”
But he wouldn’t listen. He was no longer the boy she had grown up with at Lelong, but a man. A proud, stupid, pigheaded man.
“You said you wanted to take action, not just talk,” he said. “Now’s your chance, Yvette.”
* * *
WHEN YVETTE RELATED this exchange to Catherine Dior, the other woman shook her head. “Fools. They risk all for no reward.”
“Can’t we find a way to stop them?” Yvette paced the floor of Catherine’s apartment, hands clenched, fingernails digging into her palms.
“I’m afraid not,” Catherine replied. “Even if I could get a message to my superiors that fast, they have no influence with this group.” Her dark eyes were compassionate. “There’s nothing we can do.”
“I’m so sick and tired of feeling helpless,” Yvette said wildly. “D-Day was weeks ago. Why don’t they come?”
“Fighting is still raging in Normandy,” said Catherine. “And who knows? The Allies might not plan to enter Paris at all for some time.”
Yvette stared at her. “But they must! It should be their first priority.” What was France without its capital?
Catherine smiled faintly. “If only wishing made it so. Strategically, the Allies might well bypass Paris altogether, fight their way to Germany.”
Yvette fell silent, dumbfounded by this disclosure. News of the Allied landings in early June had made hope leap in every Parisian’s heart. But as the weeks dragged on, it seemed as if the worst of Nazi aggression was yet to come and their saviors were not even a speck on the horizon. Now Catherine was telling her they might have even longer to wait.
Catherine went to the drinks cart and poured a tiny glass of crème de cassis for each of them. “The longer the delay, the worse it will be for us in Paris.” She handed Yvette the apéritif. “The Germans know they will lose. There will be reprisals, revenge, more rounding up of Jews and dissidents. The Nazis will most likely lay waste to the city before they surrender.”
“We can’t let that happen.” Yvette sat forward and sipped her drink. The alcohol stole her breath for a second. “And if our men sacrifice themselves now, who will there be to defend us later?”
“Your Jean-Luc and his crew are not the only fighters we have,” said Catherine. “Until then, we need to hold everything together and keep calm.” She hesitated. “I have a job for you tomorrow.”
“Yes. Of course.” Anything to be active, to do something instead of waiting and waiting for salvation to come.
“Things have become . . . difficult for me,” said Catherine. “I think I am being watched.” She frowned. “It could be that I am frightened of shadows, but I’d prefer to err on the side of caution.” She licked her lips. “I am to meet someone at the Place du Trocadéro tomorrow afternoon at five o’clock. I want you to go in my place.”
The message was in co
de and Yvette was to deliver it to the contact in a “brush-past” maneuver, a little like the passing of a baton in a relay race. She and Catherine practiced the move together until Yvette could manage it without detection.
“Thank you, my dear. Let me know how you get on, won’t you?”
“Yes, of course.”
Before Yvette left, Catherine took her chin and tilted her face up. “I know you are worried for your friend, my dear. But we all make our own decisions. He knows the risks, just as you and I do.” She sighed. “For some men, it is all about the grand gesture. It is their pride, you see. They cannot abide the waiting. But it is with patience and careful planning that we will prevail.”
She smiled, took Yvette’s shoulders, and kissed her on both cheeks. “Take care, Yvette. And go with God, my dear.”
* * *
YVETTE SPENT THAT night tossing and turning in her bed. Finally, she opened her eyes and frowned up at the ceiling. There was no way she could sleep until she had done all she could to prevent Jean-Luc from making a huge mistake.
Maybe she should go to the café to meet him, as he’d demanded. Maybe she could talk his friends out of their plans. Anyone with common sense would understand Catherine’s reasoning. The Germans needed little excuse to take out their fear and frustration on the civilian population, but in their eyes, a revolt of the kind planned tonight would give them plenty of justification to execute many innocent people in addition to the insurgents.
Ah, who was she kidding? Those men would not listen to her. She bit her lip and stared hard at the ceiling. But Jean-Luc might. Maybe she hadn’t tried hard enough this afternoon. Maybe she could persuade him not to join in. If she could save him, at least, she would have done something worthwhile.
The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became. She had to make the attempt.
What time was it? She flicked on her flashlight, taking care to shield it with her hand so as not to disturb Gabby, and looked at the bedside clock. Eleven-thirty. She had to hurry. She glanced over at her sister’s side of the bed, preparing to slip out without waking her. Gabby wasn’t there.
Sisters of the Resistance Page 24
