“Disappeared?” Drew’s forehead wrinkled.
“Yes. There was a man who lived in the back of the bookstore. And one day poof he was gone, and so was the book.”
My gaze met Drew’s.
“This man—do you remember his name?” Drew asked.
“Oui. Christophe Legrand. He did special printing for my grandfather in the back room. I was never to mention it to anyone, especially to the Germans. He was a very nice man. He used to give me peppermints and play marbles with me. I was sad when he left.”
I attempted to keep my voice calm. “Do you remember anything about him? Anything that might help someone recognize him?”
His face scrunched in concentration before he spoke. “He smoked a pipe and he would sometimes let me help him to light it.”
My throat seemed to thicken, making it difficult to speak. “Anything else? A lot of gentlemen smoke pipes.”
He shook his head, and then stopped. “There is one thing. He wore a gold ring on his little finger. It had two swans on the flat part of it. I remember that because that’s the hand he’d use to hold his pipe.”
I felt Drew’s hand on my arm, and I realized I was shaking. He stepped away from Philippe, bringing me with him. “Kit?” he asked softly.
I nodded.
“Do you need to sit down? Or leave?”
I knew if I said yes, he wouldn’t hesitate. But I couldn’t stop here. We’d learned nothing, really, except that Kit had lived behind a bookseller’s shop under an assumed name during the war. And had perhaps stolen a book. As much as I wanted to leave, to accept that there was nothing more to be learned about my husband’s past and any association he might have had with La Fleur, I knew this couldn’t be the entire story. It was as if I’d seen my husband’s ghost, and I was determined to follow to see where it led.
“No, really. I’m fine. There was something else your father told you—something about a white wolf? Maybe Philippe will remember hearing a reference from his grandfather or Kit.”
He continued to gaze steadily at me. “Only if you’re sure. I’d be happy to walk you back to the hotel . . .”
“No,” I said a little too sharply, making him flinch slightly. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . .” I stopped, unsure what I was going to say. I took a deep breath. “I’d like to see this through. I’ve come all this way, so I might as well.” I forced a smile, probably the sort that Anne Boleyn wore to the chopping block, but at least it was a smile.
Keeping his gaze on me one moment longer, Drew referred to his notepaper once more before turning back to Philippe. “Do you remember your grandfather saying anything about a white wolf with a cross?”
Phillipe scrunched his face in an expression I was beginning to recognize. “Le loup?”
He bared his teeth and made a low growling sound.
“Oui,” I said, nodding. “Wolf. A white wolf with a cross. Does that remind you of something your grandfather or Christophe might have said?”
Philippe remained pensive as he continued to shake his head slowly. “No, it doesn’t. However.” He came from behind the counter and led us toward the back of the shop. “A white wolf and a cross sound like objects found on family crests, no? And I know a book that might tell us more.”
We stopped at the back wall lined with stuffed shelves of books. When he reached into a shelf on the far side, I expected him to retrieve a book, but instead we heard a small click as he must have pulled on some sort of lever. A section of shelves popped open and a dark, dusty room was revealed as Phillipe slid the bookcase out wide enough for a person to step through.
“One moment,” he said as he disappeared inside. After we waited for a minute, the space behind the shelf flooded with light. Philippe reappeared at the opening, beckoning us inside. “Come in, come in. Please excuse the dust—we don’t come in here often. It’s mostly used to store older books or those that have fallen out of favor and no one is looking for anymore.”
Drew followed me behind the bookcase and stopped beside me as we examined the room. The cramped, dusty space held a mottled yellow glow from the overhead bulbs and at first glance didn’t appear to be anything more than a storeroom. Shelves teetered with more books, and the odd store fixtures leaned haphazardly against walls and an assortment of furniture including a large wooden desk.
I would have dismissed all of it as having nothing to do with Kit. Except. Except when I’d first entered the room, I imagined I could detect the pungent scent of Kit’s pipe tobacco. “Is this where Monsieur Legrand lived?”
Philippe turned from where he was scanning one of the bookshelves and smiled. “Oui. There is a hidden room upstairs—the small hatch is hidden now by that bookshelf in the rear, but there are stairs you can pull down. Back during the war I wasn’t allowed to mention that this all was here to anyone so no one knew about it but Grandpère and me. Oh, and the nice lady with the two children.”
I shared a startled glance with Drew. “A lady?” Drew repeated.
“Um-hmm,” Philippe said, running his finger along dusty spines.
“Do you remember her name?” I asked.
He shook his head without looking at us. “I do not. But I do remember that she had a little boy and a little girl around my age and when they were home from school for the summer, they would spend a lot of time here with their mother.”
“And with Monsieur Legrand?” I asked, dreading his answer.
“Oui. I remember, too, that she was very beautiful—and very kind. She once gave me a little stuffed rabbit, just like the one her daughter had. Because of my last name, you see. Lapin. It means rabbit, no?”
“How thoughtful.”
Drew sent me a questioning glance, making me realize my tone sounded less than sympathetic.
“Did she return to the store after Monsieur Legrand disappeared?” Drew asked.
“Non. I never saw her again, or her children. I remember being very sad and missing them. My grandpère said I should be happy for them, since she and Monsieur Legrand were probably together. But I still missed them and cried every night.”
I made a good show of looking around the room, at the old wooden floors, and the collection of spiderwebs decorating the corners like architectural embellishments. Anywhere except at Drew’s face. Because even though whatever had transpired here in this room had happened before Kit and I were married, I couldn’t completely forget the final words of the letter that had arrived before we’d said our vows.
My only hope is that you remember me and the short time we had together and know that I will always love you. Always. La Fleur
“Ah, here it is,” Philippe said, sliding out a very thick leather-bound volume from a high shelf and stepping down the ladder. “When you mentioned a wolf and cross, I thought immediately that it sounded like something one of the grand families of France might have on their blason. In English I think you say ‘coat of arms.’”
“Of course,” Drew said. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that myself. Wolves are one of the most popularly used icons in heraldic coats of arms. It’s like football teams having some sort of ‘eagle’ in their mascot name. Of course, lots of teams put ‘flying’ or ‘fighting’ in front, but eagles still dominate in the world of football mascots.”
He stopped speaking, no doubt realizing that both Phillipe and I were staring at him.
“Sorry. I was a history major and played football in college, so I kind of know a lot of useless information about both topics.”
I wanted to tell him that they weren’t useless, but I was mentally occupied trying to squeeze all of my thoughts and feelings about Kit and La Fleur into a little box and lock it. It was all I could do to remain in the room without running outside for a gulp of fresh air that didn’t smell like pipe smoke.
Philippe approached the desk with the volume, its cover nicked and discolored in places, and plopped it on the surface in a cloud of dust. “Here. This is what I was looking for. It is damaged, but my grandpère never threw out anything.
So we keep it back here for reference—not that anyone has ever asked for it in the last twenty years.” He shrugged. “It’s a history of French noble families and includes their family crests. As a little boy, I loved to look at all the pretty pictures since I couldn’t read. And you are correct, monsieur. There are many with wolves—those were my favorites.”
A bell rang at the front of the store and Philippe looked up. “I will leave you here with this to see if you can find what you are looking for.”
We watched Philippe leave and then Drew turned to me. “I can come back alone if you want to get out of here.”
I found his solicitousness comforting, and his invitation tempting, but I couldn’t leave. I felt like the mouse at the edge of a trap, lured by the cheese even though it would result in the mouse’s imminent demise. “No. Really, I’m all right. Besides, I’m assuming you don’t read French.”
“Fair point.” He found a sturdy-enough chair and upended a small table with a round base, moving them both up to the desk, and we sat down. After a cursory thumbing through the pages, Drew said, “It looks like it’s alphabetical by family so let’s just hope the family name doesn’t start with Z.”
“Or we could start at the back of the book and go that way,” I suggested.
He frowned down at the pages. “Knowing my luck, the name will be somewhere in the middle.” He thought for a moment, flicking through the pages. “It looks like the pictures of the coats of arms all appear on the top right of the page. Why don’t we flip through the pictures and mark the pages where we find ones with a wolf and a cross, and then go from there?”
I scavenged for pieces of discarded paper scraps for bookmarks, but after more than an hour of scouring through the pages, we’d only marked a single page. There’d been many pictures of wolves and crosses with other icons including a plethora of dragons and unicorns, but there had been only a single crest that contained a simple lone white wolf on a royal-blue background, a thick gold cross dividing the crest into quadrants.
He turned the book to face me, his finger pointing at a name. “De Courcelles,” I read out loud first, if only not to hear Drew’s interpretation of how to pronounce it. I ran my finger down one of the columns of small French text. “It appears their family seat is in Picardy. And there’s a château.” I pointed to a pencil sketch of a grand French château with rounded towers and banners flying from the parapets and a small flock of sheep gathered in a pasture behind the castle walls.
“Where is Picardy?” Drew asked. “Is it close enough to drive?”
I flipped to the back of the book where a map showed black dots indicating the seats of the prominent families listed in the book. “It appears that it’s only a little more than seventy miles from Paris to Picardy. About a two-hour car ride, I should think.”
“Definitely close enough, then,” Drew said. “We should go. I’m sure it’s a wild goose chase, but we really don’t have any other leads to go on right now, so why not?”
“Oh, er . . .” I wasn’t sure why my words were trying to say no when the rest of me appeared quite a bit more interested. “Today?”
“Unfortunately, no. I’ve got to go into the office. What about tomorrow?” He seemed so matter-of-fact and strictly business about it all. Even Precious couldn’t read anything into his invitation. And then he added, “We could make a day of it, bring a picnic lunch, even.”
I just wouldn’t tell her about that last bit. “I, er, yes. I believe I’m free. Shall I ask the hotel to prepare the picnic basket?”
“Great idea—thank you. Ten o’clock in the lobby, then?”
“Yes. I’ll be ready.” I placed my hands on the desk to help myself stand, noticing the nicks and scratches in the wood, wondering if Kit had made any of them. Or La Fleur. And once again I imagined the faint scent of his tobacco, as warm and familiar to me as his touch.
“Are you okay to walk back? We could take a taxi.” Drew’s voice brought me back to the present.
I blinked up at him. “Yes. Quite all right. Just woolgathering.”
“You look a little pale. Maybe we should grab a drink in the bar when we get back?”
I must have turned a shade of green because he immediately said, “Never mind. Maybe all you need is fresh air.” He helped me stand, then brought the book to the front of the shop, where Philippe was handing a customer a package.
“Did you find what you needed?” he asked.
“We’re not sure.” Drew held up the book. “I’d like to buy it, just in case. How much?”
Philippe waved his hand. “Take it, please. It’s one less thing to fall on my head when I’m looking for something in the back room.”
“Mersy,” Drew said.
Philippe blinked once. “You are welcome.”
We said our goodbyes and turned to leave, but I held back. “One more question, Philippe. The woman with the children, the friend of Monsieur Legrand. You said you didn’t know her name. But did you ever have reason to believe that she might have been the famous French Resistance fighter La Fleur? Perhaps something your grandfather might have said?”
“La Fleur? Oh non, madame. La Fleur, I would have known if I’d met her. It is said if you looked directly into her eyes their fire would blind you. The woman I knew was very womanly. Soft, yes? Not like La Fleur at all.”
“I see,” I said. “Merci.” I followed Drew out onto the crowded sidewalk and we made the short walk back to the hotel. When we reached the Ritz I had no idea what we’d talked about, aware only of the scent of tobacco that seemed to follow me no matter how fast I walked.
We said goodbye in the lobby, and I was headed toward the lift in desperate need of solitude in my room to process the events of the day when the concierge flagged me down. “Madame Langford?”
“Yes?”
“Madame Lemouron has requested your presence upon your return.” He indicated the lift. “If you will, I can escort you to her suite.”
“I . . .” It took me a moment to recall the name, and when I did, I was at a loss for words. “She wants to see me? Now?”
“At your convenience, of course.” He looked at me expectantly.
“All right,” I said, stepping into the lift. “Did she say why?”
“She did not, but I suspect she would like to make a new friend. Madame Lemouron is a very special resident to us, and we try and accommodate her as best as we can. She cannot leave her room very often, so she invites friends to come see her.” He lowered his voice, as if loath to share a secret about a resident but already considering me a confidant. I had that sort of face, I supposed, having been subjected to strangers’ confessions and life stories on trains and in shop lines for most of my life. “I’m afraid she might be lonely.”
I considered his words as I followed him down a plushly carpeted hallway, stopping at a door at the end of the hall. “We wanted her to have a quiet room,” he explained. “So she can rest between treatments.”
“Of course,” I said, remembering what Prunella Schuyler had said about Margot being ill.
“May I put your book in your room?” He held out his hand for The Scarlet Pimpernel and I reluctantly handed it to him, although I was tired of carrying it. He tapped on the door, and a nurse opened it. She was a tall woman, with graying curls pushed ruthlessly under her nurse’s hat, and large green eyes behind silver-framed eyeglasses. When she saw me, she smiled. “Madame Langford?”
After I’d replied in the affirmative she nodded to the concierge, who retreated back down the hallway, and then she pulled the door open wider. “Perfect timing,” she said in English. “Madame has just finished her nap, and I’ve administered her medications, so she’s ready for company.” She turned toward a bench near the door and picked up a nurse’s bag. “I will be back this evening at eight o’clock. I’ve already said au revoir, so I will let myself out.”
“Yes, of course . . . ,” I began, then stopped when I realized I was speaking to the door. I stood there, at a loss, uncert
ain as to what I should do next.
“Barbara? Is that you?” I recognized the deep voice of the woman I’d met that morning.
“Yes, Margot. May I come in?”
“Of course. And thank you so much for coming. I do apologize for my impertinence, but I’m too tired to go downstairs and was looking for company.”
I walked from the entranceway, admiring the cream and gold of the suite’s color palette. It was more luxurious than mine, and larger, but that would be like saying Buckingham Palace was bigger and grander than Windsor Castle. It was all relative at the Ritz.
I turned in a circle, trying to determine where her voice was coming from, and was headed toward what looked like a bedroom door when Margot spoke again. “Would you mind pouring me a glass of water? My medications make me a bit parched, and I forgot to ask my nurse before she left.”
I spun toward the sound of the voice, finding myself facing an oversized upholstered chaise longue filled with satin cushions and blankets, and in the middle of it all the diminutive form of Margot Lemouron. Her head seemed even smaller against the giant lace pillow behind her, the skin on her face sallow against the white linen. Yet, despite the purple circles under her eyes, they had a light that was all their own. I wondered for a moment if that meant death was near, that each failure of the body was like candles being snuffed out one by one, until the only light left was in the eyes. It had been that way with Kit.
“Of course,” I said, hurrying to her side, where a water pitcher had been filled and placed next to an empty glass. “And I don’t think you’re impertinent at all. I, too, could use a little company.” This last wasn’t completely true, but it should have been. Diana said I spent far too much time alone. Not that she’d recommend I spend time with a possibly dying woman, but at least I was trying.
I handed her the glass and watched as she took several sips, noticing again the pallor of her skin. “Are you sure you’re up to talking? If you’d prefer to rest, I’m happy to just sit here and keep you company.” I recalled how Kit in the last months of his illness had been too tired to talk, but had wanted me nearby, as if my presence might somehow make it all less frightening.
All the Ways We Said Goodbye Page 19
