All the Ways We Said Goodbye

by Beatriz Williams

  For an instant, a terrible hope took hold of Daisy’s heart. “What’s happened?” she demanded. “Is he dead?”

  “Not dead. I’m afraid I’ve heard word that he’s shortly going to be arrested.” Von Sternburg glanced at Kit, and then back at Daisy. “For crimes against the German state.”

  Though the Ritz was only a few minutes’ walk away, Von Sternburg did not accompany her. “I have another urgent errand,” he said, glancing away, “and besides, it is perhaps best if we are not seen together, at the present time.”

  So Daisy continued on to rue Cambon, while Von Sternburg hurried around the corner and out of sight. The streets were cold and bare, the few pedestrians hunched over with hunger and anxiety. When she reached the warmth of the lobby, Daisy drew in a long, relieved breath. Surely nothing terrible could happen here, inside the Ritz.

  Upstairs, however, her confidence drained away. Grandmère paced across the rug in her kaftan of emerald silk, pausing only to add another splash of cognac into the glass she clutched in her hand. Daisy folded her arms. “Should you be drinking at a time like this?”

  “At a time like this, absolutely,” said Grandmère. “Did your German friend explain the situation?”

  “He’s not my friend,” said Daisy. “But yes, he did tell me something interesting. Pierre’s to be arrested, no?”

  “Within the day, according to Von Sternburg.”

  “And you believe him?”

  “About this?” Grandmère set down the glass on the sofa table. “I do.”

  “I don’t understand why you trust him. Mon Dieu, he’s a German officer! It might be a trap. Probably it is a trap. And now he knows about the bookshop, about Kit, about the hidden room—”

  “My dear, don’t you realize? He’s always known. All this time, all these months, Lieutenant Colonel von Sternburg has been your truest friend. Why do you think you haven’t been discovered? Arrested, like all the others? Do you think it’s because you’re such a very clever spy?”

  Daisy stared at her grandmother across the yards of soft, pastel carpet, the fragrant Ritz air. As always, Grandmère sparkled with jewels, on her earlobes and neck and tiny, pale fingers. She was like one of those delicate figures inside a music box, so crusted over by paste you almost couldn’t see where the fakery ended and the reality began. But her face. Oh, that was genuine, all right. Her eyes glared at Daisy, fringed by overlong, overthick, bristle-black eyelashes.

  “That’s ridiculous,” said Daisy. “Why would such a man protect me? I don’t even know him.”

  Grandmère gave her a worldly look and turned away to stride across the room, toward the curio case. “Regardless. The game’s up. They’ve intercepted some intelligence that could only have originated with Pierre—some report of yours—and now they’re just waiting for the proper warrant to come through. Even the Gestapo, it seems, must follow certain protocols where French officials are concerned. So it gives us a little time.”

  “Time for what? There’s nothing we can do. If we try to save Pierre, they’ll only discover what’s really going on.”

  Grandmère bent over the case and reached underneath for the latch. “It’s already too late. They’ll be searching your apartment—”

  “The apartment’s clean. They won’t find anything.” Daisy said it desperately, trying to hold on to some hope, some possibility of reprieve. “I know what to say. They think I’m just some empty-headed housewife—”

  “Daisy.” Grandmère turned to face her. “It’s time to go. You and the children, you’ve got to flee.”

  “I—I can’t. We can’t. There’s still so much work to do, and the network needs agents and money. I can’t abandon them now. And Kit . . . and the children . . .”

  “Daisy, the game’s up. You’re finished, at least for now. Legrand will be reassigned elsewhere, and you and I—”

  “No!”

  “—you and I will find some place to regroup, to see the children safe.” Her voice turned soft. “Oh, Daisy, my darling, I understand. I can see you’re in love. But it’s war, and such things cannot be allowed to compromise the safety of others. Do you want Legrand to be captured?”

  “Of course not!”

  “And your children? To lose a child, believe me, it’s worse than death.”

  “No!”

  “Then you must say goodbye to your lover. It won’t be forever. I’m sure you will find some way to—”

  “I’m going to have his child.”

  Grandmère, who had started toward her, stopped short in the middle of the rug. “I see.”

  “So you see, he can’t be reassigned. He must come with us. We must stay together, at all costs.”

  Grandmère’s gaze dropped briefly to Daisy’s stomach, then she continued across the room until she stood before her granddaughter. “We will see what’s to be done. For now, you must listen. I’ve sent a message down the escape line. In a day or two, we will have arranged a safe house outside of Paris, where we can await the next move. Legrand has already made a set of papers. You and the children—”

  “The children! My God, I’ve got to—”

  “Hush. You’ll stay in the bookshop until I give the signal.” Grandmère held out her hand. “And you must take this with you.”

  “The talisman? But I can’t keep that with me. If I’m searched—”

  “Not to keep. I’ve made arrangements with an American contact of mine, in the intelligence service. Before you leave Paris, you’ll take this to him.”

  “And what’s he going to do with it?”

  “He’ll get us money for the jewels, which we badly need at the moment, as you know. The network’s about to be starved out of existence. And with the Germans taking over the free zone, it’s as impossible there as in Paris to sell the jewels. As for the talisman itself, it will be returned safely to the hands of the demoiselle.”

  “Oh, the old superstition,” Daisy said. She took the bundle of silk cloth from her grandmother’s hand and stuffed it in her pocket. “Just let me know where and when to make the drop. In the meantime, I’ve got to fetch the children from school.”

  “It’s already done, my dear. They’ll be waiting for you at the bookshop.”

  “What? By whom? When?”

  “Right now. Von Sternburg’s gone to get them.”

  Daisy thought she might explode. She whirled and turned for the door.

  “Daisy, wait! Stop!” Grandmère darted in front of her and stood before the door. “It’s all right. In the name of God, don’t go. He’ll get them out. The children know him, and Madame won’t question a German officer. It’s safer this way.”

  “I don’t understand! Why do you trust him like this? With your own great-grandchildren?”

  Grandmère opened her mouth and closed it. Her hand, which had found the door handle behind her, dropped away. “You’ll have to ask him that yourself,” she said softly. “In the meantime, keep that damned thing safe, do you understand me? Remember you’re the demoiselle.”

  “I’m not the demoiselle. The line of the Courcelles has died out, don’t you remember? It’s just a fiction, Grandmère, a fairy story. There is no demoiselle.”

  Grandmère only stared at her, neither fierce nor pitying, a dainty old woman on the verge of frailty. The kaftan stirred a little in the draft. She made a little sigh, just like a Frenchwoman.

  “Very well. Go. But remember, Daisy. It’s the talisman who finds the demoiselle, not the other way around.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Daisy said. “And if that Von Sternburg does not deliver Madeleine and Olivier to me within the hour, I swear before God that I will tear the both of you limb from limb. Now excuse me.”

  She stretched around her grandmother’s iron-straight body for the doorknob.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Babs

  Paris, France

  April 1964

  I stretched languorously in the bed, evaluating my current state of affairs. Which, at that
moment, consisted of a naked arm wrapped around my equally naked waist, pulling me close in a very intimate spooning position. I pressed back against the solid chest that was Drew, every inch of my skin sighing with happiness.

  When I closed my eyes—something that had been done rather infrequently in the last three days—I no longer saw Kit’s face. It wasn’t that I had erased him from my memories. It was more like I’d moved a favored childhood doll to a high shelf in my closet; protected and cherished, but no longer a part of my life. Kit had been my first love, the object of my childhood crush that hadn’t changed despite the years. It should have, I realized now. It might have saved us both a lot of heartache.

  Drew sighed in his sleep, and I felt the ripple of his breath on the back of my neck like a blessing. Kit would have understood. He had loved me, in a way, and would not have begrudged my happiness.

  And oh, what happiness I’d found. Quite unexpected, but there it was, lying in the bed next to me. Drew was so very different from Kit—much broader, more muscular. So American. So unhaunted. Drew slept the sleep of contentment, as if nightmares didn’t exist. He never screamed a remembered torture or called out another woman’s name. Perhaps it was those differences that had made my coming to terms with Kit’s memory easier for me. And so very pleasurable.

  “Is there a cat in the room, or is that you purring?” Drew’s sleepy voice made dormant parts of my body stir.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You made that noise again. The noise you make in the back of your throat when you’re thinking. It sounds like a very happy cat.”

  I turned in his arms and looked into his eyes. They were green today, not hazel—definitely green. “No cat. Just a very happy, happy woman.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “Well, happy man, I meant. You’re an amazing woman, Babs Langford. I’m so glad you found me.”

  “Wasn’t it the other way around?”

  “I don’t think so.” He drew back, a questioning look on his face. “Is this our first argument?”

  I pretended to think. “It might just be.”

  He grinned. “I guess that means we need to have makeup sex to smooth over any hurt feelings.” And we proceeded to do just that.

  A knock on the door announced room service bringing us another meal. After the second day, I’d ceased to put the bedclothes over my head, having been reassured by Drew that the discreet staff at the Ritz had seen far worse than two people sharing a bed.

  The waiter kept a neutral smile on his face as he set out a brunch that seemed more like a holiday feast. It would take some getting used to Drew’s voracious appetite, although, owing to our recent physical exertions, I’d discovered a new appetite all of my own. After the waiter left, Drew retrieved our bathrobes from the floor, where they’d been hastily discarded the night before, and we sat at the two chairs pulled out at the table by the window.

  Drew filled two flutes from the pitcher of mimosas and handed one to me. “To another beautiful day,” he said as a toast. I lifted my glass, then cast my gaze outside, where a heavy spring downpour was currently bashing itself against the window.

  My smile faded a little. “It reminds me of England.”

  “Do you miss it?” he asked, tucking into a heaping plate of scrambled eggs and sausage.

  “Yes, a little. I’ve never lived anywhere else. It’s home. Even with the fickle weather, I do love it. My heart aches a bit when I think about it—which is silly, I know. Paris is rather nice. But there’s something rather perfect about the sky after an English country rainstorm, when the sun has a milky glow and paints the pastures with pale yellow. One can see it best from the top floor gallery at Langford Hall. After we were married, I had a window seat built there. Kit and I would sometimes sit with our tea and wait for the rain to stop.”

  Drew was looking at me with such sympathy and understanding that I had to look away. I felt very close to tears and quickly swallowed them. Brightening, I asked, “What about you? Have you ever lived outside of New York City?”

  “I was born and raised there, and have lived there ever since—except for six years in Boston.” He watched me fix my tea, his eyes thoughtful. “Have you ever wanted to live outside of England?”

  “I never really thought about it. I had a lovely childhood with wonderful parents, boisterous brothers and an older sister. And dogs. We always had dogs.”

  “So you love dogs.”

  “I do. A house hardly seems like a home without them. And you?”

  He shook his head. “We always lived in the city, and my mother said it wasn’t practical. But I always imagined I’d like to have one. Or three. I was an only child, and I always craved commotion.”

  “Well, Langford Hall was next door, so there was always quite a lot of rowdiness when all the boys were home from school. I followed them around like a lost puppy, wanting to be a part of all that. They only tolerated me for the most part. Except for Kit.”

  Drew’s green gaze settled on me, waiting for me to continue.

  “He was the only one who paid any attention to me, always made sure I didn’t fall too far behind, and helped me down from more than one tree. It’s why I fell in love with him. I suppose it just felt natural for us to marry when he came home from the war.” I stopped there, knowing that I was close to treading into dangerous territory.

  “You lived at Langford Hall after you were married?”

  “Yes. I’d always loved it. All that history. It was much older than our house—it was completed in 1799. Ours only dated back to Queen Victoria. So many nooks and crannies and things to explore. And in which to hide from my brothers when they’d discovered some horrid spider to put down my back. Kit would always find me first, but he’d never tell on me. He was kind that way.”

  Drew took my hand. “My father only had the best things to say about Kit. I wish I could have known him.”

  I smiled, trying to imagine them meeting and couldn’t. It was a bit like two different worlds traveling on a perpetual parallel path. “Langford Hall also has the folly where Kit’s father would go write. It could only be reached by a little bridge his father had built because he refused to row across water after surviving the Lusitania. It was so pretty—I used to pretend a fairy prince and princess lived there.” I smiled into my cup, remembering. “There was a small family of beautiful swans that lived on the lake. They were rather wretched creatures, always nipping at one’s fingers when you fed them breadcrumbs. I suppose they hadn’t been taught the old adage about not biting the hand that feeds you.” I spread butter and marmalade on my scone as I remembered the swans and my mother-in-law’s intense dislike of one of the females she named Caroline.

  “There had always been swans on the lake, almost as long as there had been whippets at Langford Hall. It’s why the signet ring Kit inherited from his father had the swans engraved on the top. They were the unofficial emblem of the Langfords of Langford Hall. At least until the war.”

  “And what happened then?” He’d stopped chewing, anticipating my response.

  “We ate them.” I shrugged. “We were hungry, and they were readily available and not rationed. I remember them being quite tasty.”

  Drew let out a hearty laugh, and I joined him, although it didn’t eradicate my guilt. It was the reason we hadn’t had them replaced. It was as if we’d betrayed them in some way and didn’t deserve them anymore.

  “Do you miss New York?” I asked, half dreading the answer although I wasn’t sure why.

  He sat back in his chair and drew a deep breath. “Not as much as I thought I might. But I need to get back. I was only supposed to be in Paris for two weeks. I’ve been dragging my feet about buying my plane tickets because we haven’t solved the mystery of La Fleur. I hate to leave behind unfinished business.”

  I washed down my bite of scone with tea, and it all tasted like paper. “Unfinished business?”

  He leaned forward, his expr
ession earnest. “I wasn’t referring to you, Babs. You are . . .” He stopped, shook his head. “I can’t really describe you. Or the way you make me feel. It’s like trying to describe the pull of the moon, or the light from the sun, I guess. Just seeing your face in the morning makes my day brighter. Hearing your voice, even when you’re speaking in that funny accent when you’re trying to speak French, makes me feel like I’m home.”

  I couldn’t speak for a moment, afraid my raw emotions would show up as tears, or in a confession that I felt the same. But I couldn’t make this—whatever this was—more complicated that it already was. We were separated by more than just an ocean, but also by the specter of a stolen letter that floated unseen between us. A piece of paper that would show Drew that I wasn’t who he thought I was.

  I swallowed. “But you need to get back to New York.”

  “Yes, Babs. I do. I wasn’t sure how to tell you, or when the right time might be, but . . .” He drew a deep breath. “My plane leaves tonight.”

  A horrible stabbing pain that felt almost worse than childbirth tore at my insides as the implications of what he had just said settled on me. I took my own deep breath, bringing to mind what it was like to head a WI meeting and to bring up an unpleasant topic. “Well, then,” I said, proud of how calm my voice sounded, “I say we cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now I’m going to suggest we get dressed and leave this room and see if the world outside still exists.”

  “If we go early enough, I might still be able to take you to Maxim’s for an early dinner.”

  “We just ate, Drew. How can you be thinking of dinner already?”

  He gave me a grin that could only be described as wicked. “What can I say? You make me hungry, Babs. But you’re right. We need to bathe and get dressed.”

  “Ladies first.” I stood, already untying my robe.

  “I’d rather not wait,” he said, grabbing me by the waist and pulling me to him. “I hope you don’t mind sharing.”

  Our robes fell together in a pile of peach cashmere. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed my lips against his. “I don’t mind a bit,” I said against his mouth. “Not one bit.”