by Kate Parker
I found Mimi had brought Jane as far as the hallway where we started our tour. The original Maison Mareau was much larger than the salon in London, with five or six times the workers she would have room to employ in England.
“You don’t believe there is as big a market for your clothes in England as in France?” I asked her.
She lifted her hands and threw back her head. “Paris is the center of the fashion industry. There is a market in England, yes, but only a market. The entire world comes to my doorstep in Paris.”
I couldn’t hide a smile. “I don’t suppose you want me to put that in a London newspaper.”
She lowered her hands and returned my smile. “No. I do not think that would be good advertising. Speaking of advertising, how is your sketch coming along?”
I thought she’d ask that, so I’d brought the new version along. She studied it for a minute and said, “This is closer.” She pointed out a half-dozen tiny flaws and then said, “You have talent.”
She spoke as if she were discussing the weather, and I found this time I was sunk by her attitude and not lifted by her words.
We continued our tour, ending in the showroom. It was much like the one on Old Burlington Street, but larger and even more elegant. A sparkling chandelier hung from the ceiling. The floor shone. Champagne was on offer for the customers, even at that time of the morning.
I glanced over to see Brigette helping a customer nearby. “I see you brought Brigette back with you as well as Reina.”
“Of course. I never travel without Brigette. She is my assistant. My right hand. I could not do without her.”
I was surprised to hear Mimi say that. The girl wasn’t out of her teens yet. How could she have become so valuable to Mimi’s salon so quickly? “How long has she been with you?”
“Come upstairs.” Mimi gestured me away from the showroom toward the back staircase. I followed her, and found myself squeezed into the tiny office again, this time with Brigette and Mimi.
Mimi started speaking in English so it was unlikely her other employees could understand if they listened in. “You’re going to keep asking questions until you learn the truth, aren’t you?”
I thought of the dead man in her basement. “Yes.”
“It’s none of your business.”
I knew that. I was about to ask if Brigette was in some way connected to Elias, when Brigette said, “Oh, tell her, Mother. It doesn’t bother me. I’ve always felt it makes no difference.”
After a moment, Mimi said in a shrill voice, “This is not to be repeated.”
I nodded.
“After the war, I was young and full of ideas for my own salon, but I needed more capital than I could raise. The French banks turned me down.” Mimi’s body and voice seemed to shrink. “I met a Swedish banker, a Jew, associated with a bank here, who agreed to lend me the needed capital at a decent rate, and I took him as my lover.”
I looked from daughter to mother and lowered my voice to match Mimi’s murmur. “I’ve followed your career because I like your designs so much, because I’m in awe of your talent, but I’d never read of a marriage, Mimi.”
“There wasn’t one.” Brigette stood with her arms crossed, staring hard at me.
“Brigette was the result of this union.” I made it a statement.
“Yes. I’m the half-Jewish bastard,” Brigette said defiantly.
Mimi ignored her daughter. “Union? Hah! Not long after I found myself with child, he told me he was going back to Stockholm. When I mentioned marriage, he told me he had a wife and children at home. This had only been a bit of fun. My loan had been forgiven, and I could use my future success to raise my child unencumbered by debt.”
I cringed. That must have been a cold good-bye for a young, expectant woman.
“What a cad,” slipped out before I could stop it. “Who was this man?”
“His name was David Grenbaum. At least that’s what he told me.”
“Is this why you don’t like Jews?”
She glared at me. “Who told you that? Reina? That girl just wants everyone’s sympathy since she doesn’t get letters from her mother anymore. I told her to go, to see her mother, but she tells me she is afraid. She doesn’t think she could get out of Germany again. Jews. All this drama.”
I glared at her. How could a mind that created such beauty harbor such a lack of sympathy? Especially in light of her daughter’s parentage. “So I take it the answer is yes.”
She shrugged. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. But what I don’t like is that they keep themselves separate. They don’t try to be true Frenchmen. Different foods. Different dress. Their own neighborhoods. Their own rules.” Then she straightened and said, “Not a word of this to anyone. And certainly not in your newspaper. You British are too sympathetic.”
“We are? To whom?” I’d never heard that before.
Jane appeared in the doorway and said, “Can I get a photograph of you sitting at your desk, madame?”
Suddenly, Mimi was all smiles. “Of course. Brigette, Olivia, out,” she said as she sat behind her desk and beamed at Jane.
* * *
When I reached work the next morning, sleepy from being up most of the night on the boat train from Paris, I found a message on my desk to see Mr. Colinswood immediately. I showed it to Miss Westcott, who frowned and waved me away.
I reached Mr. Colinswood’s office to find him on the telephone. He glanced up, saw me, and put his hand over the receiver. “Go up and see the boss.”
Nodding, I continued up to the top floor. As I approached the secretary’s desk, she said, “Go straight in.”
Apparently, she had her orders. Sir Henry was in a hurry to see me, and that meant I was in trouble. I tapped twice on his door before I turned the handle and walked in.
“What was that about?” he said in an angry tone before I had the door shut.
I walked over to his desk and standing before it, looking down on Sir Henry, said, “I followed a line of inquiry. An inquiry suggested by the resettlement committee.”
“And you took Jane Seville with you?” His tone told me he hadn’t calmed down.
“I needed an excuse to get into Mimi’s Paris salon, since she has gone back there with Reina and Brigette. I needed to speak to Reina, alone if possible. When Jane points her camera at Mimi, Mimi forgets all about me.”
He tilted his head to the side as if considering. “Jane is good at that,” he finally conceded. “But a day early?”
I shrugged. “It was our day off. We arrived at the site of our assignment early.”
He shook his head. “What is this line of inquiry?”
I knew I had to convince him the trip was valuable. “Did you know Elias, under his real name Josef Meirsohn, was married?”
“No.” Sir Henry leaned back in his large, leather-upholstered chair and waited for me to continue. He was interested, and that meant Jane and I were out of trouble.
“He told Abram Mandel’s daughter at the resettlement committee meeting he attended. Then he ran into Reina on Oxford Street, quite by accident, and told her he had to see her and give her something. Could that something have anything to do with his wife? Or perhaps his smuggling operation?” Or his spying for the British government?
Or the identity of the French assassin that he hadn’t shared with the British?
I wished we had whatever was stolen from his body, or at least knew what it was. It held the answer to this mystery.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Sir Henry waved me into a chair. I sat, grateful since I was ready to drop from fatigue. “Reina was from the same village as Elias, and she met Elias’s wife the one time he brought her to meet his family. His wife was a city girl from a banking family and very young. She apparently wasn’t impressed with her husband’s hometown.”
“Does this point to anyone on the committee?”
“It points to everyone on the committee. They are members of wealthy families with roots in the same area as Elias, w
hen he was still known as Meirsohn. His wife died or went to prison when he was arrested. Did her family blame him for her death or imprisonment? Was it somehow his fault?”
When I saw I had his full attention, I continued. “And did this thing he wanted Reina to keep safe for him have anything to do with his wife or her fate? The police didn’t find it when they searched the body. Reina didn’t receive it. The killer must have taken it. Something a political assassin wouldn’t bother with.”
Then I looked at Sir Henry. “Unless I’m wrong.” Unless it had to do with the assassin’s identity or appearance. Something General Alford would want.
Sir Henry was frowning now. “What was his wife’s name before she was married?”
“Reina couldn’t remember, and Elias never mentioned it to Abram Mandel’s daughter.” I told him what little Reina had told me. “Reina is going to ask her cousin, who also lives in Paris now, in the hopes she can remember.”
“Elias would have only been twenty or twenty-one then. The bride must have been about eighteen, so she’d be between twenty-seven and thirty now if she is still alive.” Sir Henry looked at me. “You’ve given us quite a puzzle, Livvy.”
“And it means Nazi assassins might not have been involved in his death or even known he was here. He might have died at the hands of an irate in-law.”
The thought crossed my mind a moment before Sir Henry said, “Esther is questioning her friends, one of whom might be a killer.”
The look on his face told me that if anything happened to Esther or the baby, I would be out of a job. My nice, cushy, well-appreciated position, gone.
I’d be forced to live with my father.
And Esther was my closest friend.
“Do you want me to go with Esther when she talks to the committee members?” He might want it, but where would I find the time? Miss Westcott was already furious with me for missing so much time at work.
The phone rang. Holding up a hand, Sir Henry answered with, “Is Chamberlain headed off to some other crisis?”
Then he fell silent. His expression went from astonishment to amazement to anger.
Oh, my Lord, we’re going to war.
Sir Henry finally said, “Was he hurt?”
After a moment, he said, “Well, thank God for that. Keep me informed. What do you mean, we can’t print?”
When he hung up, I said, “What happened?”
“Someone tried to kill Winston Churchill with an exploding cigar.”
What? How could they…? My heart fluttered before it restarted. And then I wanted to giggle at the foolishness. “Aren’t they some sort of joke?”
“Not this one. Some sort of incendiary chemical was planted inside the cigars in a box that went out to Chartwell with the deliveries yesterday. He had lit one but was called out of the room almost immediately. A moment later the room was engulfed in flames. His study.”
No doubt where he did his writing and spent a lot of time. I was wide awake and on the edge of my chair. “Was he hurt? Did he lose his papers?”
“No. He’s fine,” Sir Henry told me. “They had a number of sand buckets nearby, because of Churchill’s habit of leaving burning cigars near combustibles. The papers on the desk were destroyed, and the fire put scorch marks on the rug and some books on a nearby table, but they kept it from spreading to the bookshelves and the draperies.”
He shook his head. “It could have been a great deal worse. Investigators from the military said the initial flare and the speed that the flames spread told them they were looking at a powerful incendiary agent.”
Churchill might just be an ordinary member of Parliament, but he was the most persistent voice for rearmament as the best way to stand up to Germany. And there was no one who wanted him dead more than the Nazis. “If Churchill had been sitting there with that cigar when it exploded, he could have been killed.” I couldn’t hide the shock in my voice.
“Exactly.” He clenched his fists as he looked at me. “I believe the Nazis sent someone over with their newest technology to kill Churchill.”
“And we can’t print the story? Have the public looking for anyone concocting weird chemicals?” I heard what he’d repeated on the phone, and I didn’t think it was a good policy.
“The government is afraid we’ll start a panic. And Whitehall doesn’t want the Nazis to know how close they came to eliminating their greatest threat in England.”
“But who could do this? And how will they catch him?” Then I thought of General Alford and the French assassin who was reported to have come to England. Alford would begin pressing me for results.
“Fortunately, that’s not our problem. We only need to find Elias’s killer, or the person who led his killer to meet him in that basement. Livvy, I want you to start attending all the resettlement committee meetings until we catch this killer. There is a meeting every week or two. You can tell the members I’m sending you to protect Esther.”
“Doesn’t that tip our hand that we think one of them is the killer?”
He grumbled through clenched jaws. “Tell them I’ve made it known I’m searching for Elias’s killer, and I’m afraid the killer will know the best way to stop me is to injure Esther. I’ve sent you to shadow her.”
Esther was my closest school friend, and this would be an enjoyable assignment. “How are we going to justify this to Miss Westcott?”
“You don’t have to. Remember, she works for me.” The growl in his tone told me no one should argue with him about this. This was about protecting Esther.
This would not make me popular in the society page section. “When do you want me to start?”
“There’s a meeting tonight. I’ll tell Esther you’ll meet her at her house.”
I hoped the meeting wouldn’t last long. I needed some sleep.
“Don’t tell anyone about the attack on Churchill,” he continued. “I’ll let you decide how much to tell them about Elias’s real name and his marriage.”
I nodded. I had my orders. But first I needed to write up an article on Mimi’s French salon to go along with Jane’s photographs. And drink more coffee.
* * *
I went straight to Esther’s house after work to find her ready and waiting for me with her jacket on. “We’re going to be late,” she told me. “And why are you coming with me? My father made your attendance mandatory.”
“Let’s catch a taxi and I’ll tell you.”
As soon as we were settled in the back seat, I said, “Elias was married to a girl from a Berlin banking family. An arranged marriage. When he went to prison, she died or went to prison and then died. We have reason to believe his killer might have struck out in revenge.”
“Mr. Nauheim came from Germany, but at the turn of the century. Most of the people on the committee were born here. This makes no sense. Do you suspect Mr. Nauheim because he was German born?”
“No. Not really.” He seemed like a nice, sensible person.
“Then why are you acting as my guardian?”
“Because your father said I have to guard you with my life or lose my job.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
I gave her a wry smile. “He didn’t say that, but I don’t want to take any chances. And with your father so worried about his grandchild…”
“He’s not worried about me. It’s all about his grandchild. He wants a boy. You’d think James and I have nothing to do with it.” Esther sounded near tears of frustration.
“He is worried about you. When he lost your mother, you became the center of his universe. Now you’re expecting, and he sees that as terribly dangerous.”
She made a scoffing noise.
“He’s trying to look beyond that to having you and the baby here safely.” I squeezed her hand. “And we’re looking for a killer. The last thing he wants you to face.”
Esther studied my face for a full minute. Finally, she said, “You think one of those nice, ordinary people in the committee is a cold-blooded killer.”
/> “It’s a definite possibility.” Among others. “I hope it’s one of the other lines of inquiry that we’re following. Please, don’t let anyone know what we’re thinking.”
“What you’re thinking,” Esther corrected me as the cab pulled up to the curb. She nearly bolted up the pavement to the door, leaving me to pay and then catch up to her.
Mrs. Mandel and her daughter Valerie were the hostesses of this meeting, and Esther and I paid them well-deserved compliments on their lovely home. The downstairs appeared to be totally decorated in blues and grays, tranquil and refreshing. Then we walked into their large drawing room and found the talk was all about war.
“Hitler will walk into Czechoslovakia tomorrow and we will have to declare war,” a man’s voice proclaimed.
“Surely not. It is too far away for Britain to get involved,” another said.
Clusters of people stood, talking about the threat that had just been averted and the possibility of more trouble for the rest of Czechoslovakia. No one sat.
Abram Mandel moved to the center of the room and shouted, “Ladies and gentlemen, while war has been postponed, we must do what we can to help our brethren in Czechoslovakia. Please, sit down and let’s not waste time discussing rumors.”
People took their seats amid a sea of murmurs.
“Abram, I’ve been in touch with Rabbi Vltiva in Prague. He passed along our offer of one hundred sponsorships for young adults and young families and received over five hundred requests for those slots,” Daniel Nauheim said.
“Can we raise the amount of money for sponsorships to bring in more Czech Jews?” another man asked.
There were more murmurs around the room, and then after hushed consultations with their wives, further offers came forth from the men.
“Come, come. We need to get more of these young people to safety,” Mr. Mandel said. “We’ll need their help here in Britain to fight the Nazis when war comes.”
“Or to build up a Jewish homeland in Palestine,” another man I suspected was a Zionist said.
