by Jan Moran
“But what about your career? You’ve always wanted to be a surgeon. And how will you explain this to Hélène?”
Jean-Claude’s dark eyes blazed. “When there is peace, I’ll return to school. Hélène will understand. Eventually.”
“Why don’t you tell her?”
He shrugged. “She wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t like it. It’s just easier this way.” He took Danielle’s shoulders and gazed directly into her eyes. “We haven’t much time. Hélène will be ready in a moment, and we’re due at dinner in half an hour.” He extracted a small package from his jacket and handed it to her. “Here, open this first.”
Danielle did so. The package held a bright yellow fabric flower, and a brilliant yellow and green scarf. She raised a brow to Jean-Claude. “A parting gift?”
He flashed a conspiratorial grin. “You must wear these items tomorrow on your trip. Wait, there’s more.” He fished an envelope from the other side of his leather bomber jacket. “These are your official papers.”
Relief surged through Danielle. “Have any trouble getting them?”
“That’s what took me so long today.”
Danielle sorted through the documents as Jean-Claude explained each one. She was impressed with his efficiency, and made a mental note to emulate his tone and manner on her trip.
Jean-Claude pointed to the documents. “Here’s your passport, your travel visa. You’ll be traveling as the wife of a high-ranking Nazi party member.”
“Jean-Claude! Did you have to be so bold about my cover?”
He chuckled. “Trust me, this way you won’t be questioned much. No underling wants to incur the wrath of your husband.”
Danielle grimaced. “Nor do I. A devil, is he?”
“One of the worst.” His expression darkened. “D’accord, here’s the plan. Pin the flower to your hat, wear the scarf around your neck. Wear them at all times. At all times, do you understand?”
“At all times,” Danielle intoned.
“Bon. The scarf and flower will identify you to people who will look after you if, and only if, you need it.”
Danielle raised her chin. “Why would I need their help?”
Jean-Claude cast a sidelong glance at her. “Why do you think?”
“If I’m caught, I won’t reveal anything.”
“Danielle, I’m not saying you would.” He turned his back to her and crossed to the window. Standing to one side, he pulled the shade ajar and peered outside. “These people are only there to save you from disaster, if possible. Remember, finding Nicky and Sofia is only one part of your mission.”
Danielle watched Jean-Claude at the window, wondering who or what he was looking for. Suddenly, her decision to return to Poland seemed much more dangerous than she’d realized. Her mouth went dry.
Seeming satisfied, Jean-Claude turned back to her. “Now, when someone says to you, ‘Your flower is the color of the daffodils in my grandmother’s garden,’ just like the line from our nursery book, they can be trusted. Do precisely as they say. Speak to no one else. Trust no one.”
Danielle swallowed. “I understand.”
He gestured to the documents she held in her hand. “After dinner, study those well. Know them by heart—the address, your husband’s name and rank, every number in there.”
She scanned the documents. “These are quite convincing.”
“They’d better be.”
Sounds of Hélène bustling around the apartment filtered through the door.
Jean-Claude placed his hands on Danielle’s shoulders, searching her face. His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “Many lives depend on this mission. Not to put pressure on you, but so you understand.”
“I do,” she answered solemnly, and realized he was nervous about her mission, too. And I will do this, she told herself. For Nicky. With a trembling hand, she raised the passport. “Is there really a Frau Werner?”
“Yes, she sympathizes with us, and she’s happy to spend a week or two with her Jewish lover. As Frau Werner, you’re going ahead to sort out living arrangements at her husband’s new post, or that’s the story. You’ll have to work quickly, before he arrives.”
Danielle nodded, striving to commit every detail to memory. “What will I do when I arrive?”
“You’ll be met at the train by a driver who will recognize your hat and scarf.”
“Can the driver be trusted?”
Jean-Claude squeezed her shoulders. “Only if he says what?”
She furrowed her brow in thought. “Your flower is the color of the daffodils in my grandmother’s garden.”
A proud grin spread across Jean-Claude’s face. “Right. Now, here’s what we ask of you.” He released her and picked up the small brown train case he had put on the bed. “I’ve put some cosmetics in this. When you arrive, give the case to the driver. Until then, keep it with you at all times.”
The hair on Danielle’s neck prickled. “What’s in the case?”
Jean-Claude tugged on the bottom of the case. It swung open, revealing a false bottom containing row upon row of minuscule electrical devices. “Make sure it is secure, like so.” He snapped it back in place. “Here, you try it.”
Danielle limbered her fingers and tested the case.
“Perfect.” He took the case from her and put it by the door. “About your schedule: Every morning your driver will meet you, supposedly for you to shop for suitable accommodations. This is when you can search for Nicky and Sofia. But you must return every evening after the close of normal business hours. Otherwise, you’ll arouse suspicion. Do you understand?”
Listening intently, Danielle nodded. “Where will I stay?”
“Your driver will arrange that, as well as your return.”
Danielle lifted a brow. “Isn’t that worked out yet?”
Jean-Claude shot her a glance. “I’m working on it. You didn’t give me much notice, you know. Now, as for language, you must only speak German.”
“I’m glad we studied it in school.”
Jean-Claude grinned at her. “You were always good at languages. As Frau Werner, you do not understand any other language. If someone speaks to you in French, or Polish, or English, do not answer. Do not even appear to understand. You will tip your hand if you do. Keep your answers short and mind your pronunciation.”
“And if I need help?”
He handed her a slip of folded paper. “Your driver will arrange everything. If for any reason he does not appear one day, you must call this number and return immediately.” He paused to wipe perspiration from his upper lip. “Memorize the number and destroy this paper.”
Danielle placed the paper next to her purse. Her head swam with details, but she was determined. Nicky was waiting for her, somewhere. “Is that all?”
“One more thing.” His eyes roved over her hair. “You must hide that mane of auburn hair. It’s like a beacon, far too memorable.” He jerked a thumb toward the train case. “You’ll find a bottle of brown hair dye in there. Use it tonight.”
Danielle touched her hair, considering. “I’ll tell Maman that brunettes are all the rage.”
“That’s good, very good.” Jean-Claude folded his arms. “The rest is up to you, Danielle.”
Hélène’s voice sounded through the door. “Jean-Claude, Danielle. We’re ready to go.”
Danielle embraced her brother. “Thank you for helping me reunite my family, or what’s left of it.”
Jean-Claude touched her cheek. “Max was a good man, Danielle. He died a hero. I pray the life of his own son will be spared in return.”
His breath was warm against her hair and she remembered how, when she was a child, Jean-Claude had protected her from the neighborhood bullies. But she was soon to be on her own. And I must succeed. She shivered involuntarily, then caught herself. This was no time for nervousness.
Danielle pulled away. “Thank you, Jean-Claude, for what you and others have arranged for me. How can I repay you?”
Jean-Claude
looked at her with somber eyes. “Just deliver the train case. And don’t forget, you are one of us now. For the rest of your life.”
11
Hélène adjusted her brown felt beret, on which she had strategically fastened a faux cameo pin to hide the moth holes. She stood by the table in the tiny kitchen of their flat sorting through mail, waiting for her mother-in-law, Marie.
She’d arranged for Liliana to stay with a neighbor for the afternoon, because she had something terribly important to discuss with Marie. Since her mother died, Hélène had no one to confide in—no one whom she trusted enough to divulge her suspicions about Jean-Claude.
At the sound of the knock, Hélène opened the door.
Marie stepped inside. “Good morning, am I too early?”
“No, I’m ready to go.” She left the mail on the table for her husband, and picked up her gloves and purse.
Hélène glanced at Marie’s outfit, and felt dowdy in comparison. Marie looked beautiful in a pastel blue spring suit with a matching hat and purse. Hélène swallowed. Maybe she should try to dress better. Could that be why her husband had lost interest in her? She was only twenty-six. “Marie, how do you manage to always look so chic?”
Marie laughed. “I haven’t thrown anything out in decades. Over time, one develops a wardrobe with a sense of personal style. But life was different when my children were young. They were my priority then.”
“I’m proof of that,” Hélène said, self conscious of her moth-eaten beret. Maybe she spent too much time on her daughter. Could that be the reason Jean-Claude was out late every night? Hélène chewed her lip. How could she tell Marie?
Marie patted Hélène’s arm. “Don’t worry about your clothes, I’ll take you shopping. I wish I were as pretty as you.” She smiled at her. “Shall we start walking?”
Hélène nodded and shut the door behind them. They started off to a quaint little café around the corner.
Uneasy about raising the subject of her husband’s possible infidelity, Hélène eased into conversation. “How soon will your home be ready?”
Marie clucked her tongue. “The renovation is five months behind schedule. It’s been delayed because so many craftsmen have joined the war effort. As they should. Our home, as much as I love it, is not as important.” She shrugged. “Of course, Edouard is livid. He wants the house completed right away, now that we have the money to do it.” Marie gave a small laugh. “Men want instant gratification, don’t you think?”
Hélène felt like bursting into tears, but instead, she swallowed hard against the knot in her throat.
Without waiting for an answer, Marie continued. “I’m so glad you could join me for lunch, today. Edouard’s birthday is next month and I’m planning a weekend trip for us, but I’d like to have a surprise luncheon for him on the Friday before we leave.” They turned the corner. “Ah, here we are.”
The day was sunny and mild, so they decided to sit outside at a table. They ordered their food, then Marie went on. “I know Edouard would love to celebrate his birthday with you and Liliana. Naturally, Jean-Claude is welcome too, but I doubt if he’ll want to join us.”
“Jean-Claude is so incredibly stubborn.” Hélène sighed. She was losing her nerve to broach the subject of her marital woes. It seemed easier to let Marie do the talking.
Marie frowned at her. “What’s that, my dear?”
Hélène shifted in her chair. “I don’t suppose Jean-Claude will want to be part of Edouard’s birthday festivities.”
“Time will heal their differences, Hélène. Though Jean-Claude’s words have had a tremendous impact on Edouard.”
“Really?” Hélène didn’t think Edouard even listened to Jean-Claude. He seemed more stubborn than his son, if that were possible. “Two hard-headed men, that’s what they are.”
Marie put her hand over Hélène’s. “My dear Hélène. I fear my son’s been too hard on you.”
“I don’t know what to think, Marie.” Was it another woman?
“You poor dear.” Marie lowered her voice. “But you must see that Jean-Claude’s beliefs about the Nazi party have validity. Since the Great War, Europe has suffered a terrible depression. Although Hitler’s economic plan appears to have benefited his people, it’s at the expense of the European community. Yet, people overlook grave injustices when money is at stake, especially bankers.” Marie sniffed. “Men and their politics.”
Hélène stared at her. She thought Marie had picked up on her concern about Jean-Claude. What was she talking about?
A waiter brought a carafe of Beaujolais to their table and poured two glasses for them.
Marie took a sip of the red wine. “Very nice, quite refreshing.” She turned to Hélène. “You see, it’s precisely Jean-Claude’s stance, as well as Danielle’s situation, which has caused Edouard to reexamine the impact of the banking community’s actions.”
Hélène rubbed her forehead and tried to follow Marie. Politics was not one of her favorite subjects. “You mean, he has changed his mind?”
“Not entirely, mind you.” Marie leaned across the table. “It’s hard for him to get past the profits. But yes, he is delving into the political ramifications of the bank’s lending practices, and he never would have done that had Jean-Claude not been so steadfast in his argument. Edouard is reevaluating his priorities.”
“You mean, because of Jean-Claude?”
“You should be very proud of Jean-Claude, for his courage of conviction.”
Hélène shook her head in confusion.
Marie regarded her daughter-in-law with an earnest expression. “Jean-Claude is right, you know.”
“He is?”
“We cannot ignore the issues simply because they are inconvenient for us. Hélène, we are at war. While the fighting may not be on our land, the wolf is at the door.”
Hélène picked up her glass of wine and took several sips. Suddenly, her concern over her husband’s fidelity seemed to pale in comparison to Marie’s talk of war.
Marie continued, her voice growing stronger. “If Edouard’s beliefs truly shift, and I think they will, he must either work to change the bank’s policies, as well as the beliefs of his partners, or resign.”
Hélène twirled a strand of hair tightly around her finger, thinking. “The bank has been Edouard’s life, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, but he cannot disregard Hitler’s actions against the people of Europe.” As Marie spoke, she grew more visibly unsettled. “I’m beginning to think our fortifications may not be adequate to stand against Hitler.”
At Marie’s words, a chill coursed through Hélène. Hitler, in France? She reached for her wine.
Marie drew her brows together and set her mouth in a determined line. “What really brought this home to Edouard is the thought that in an indirect way he’s aiding a man who promotes an ideology aimed at destroying the very people he loves, only because of our heritage. Hitler is against anyone who is different from him, anyone who does not share Nazi party beliefs.” Marie grabbed Hélène’s hand. “This has shaken Edouard’s very foundation. How can he continue his business practices at the expense of his family, and of millions of others just like us? I don’t mind telling you, we have come very close to separating over all of this.”
Hélène stared at Marie. “You’ve had marital problems?”
At that, a soft smile spread across Marie’s face. “Every married couple has problems, Hélène.”
Somehow, Marie’s admission seemed to calm her. After another sip of wine, she raised her eyes to Marie. “This talk of war frightens me. And all this talk of heritage. We’re all Catholic, surely this doesn’t concern us, I mean, we are safe in France, aren’t we?”
Marie frowned and continued slowly. “I know it might be difficult for you to understand. You were raised in the Catholic church, as were my children, at my husband’s behest. This was a condition of our marriage, and I was in love.” She expressed a puff of air between her lips. “This, however, changes nothi
ng. According to Jewish law, my children—and according to Hitler’s laws, your Liliana, too—have Jewish blood in their veins. Nazi laws strip us of our rights. Imagine if Hitler’s troops were to invade France.”
Hélène shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Could Liliana be yanked from her arms? She shuddered at the thought, and wished she could shove everything away, all the problems of the world, and go back to being a mother and housewife—that was all she’d ever wanted. “What should we do?”
Marie’s voice dropped to a whisper and sounded more urgent. “We should all think of leaving France. Consider your daughter. Look at poor Danielle and Max, her son Nicky, and Max’s mother Sofia. Tragic. Hélène, I implore you to consider this.”
Hélène’s head was spinning. She was counting the days until her husband graduated from medical school and could begin his practice. She had endured living in their tiny flat and making do with what they had. They were so close to their goals. And now, this. To leave France was unimaginable—where would they go? Then she thought again of Liliana.
Hélène was relieved when the waiter interrupted them to serve the food, but she barely touched her meal.
After lunch, they walked back to Hélène’s flat. Though birds sang above, and the sun was warm and soothing, Hélène’s stomach churned with anxiety.
As they approached Hélène’s building, Marie turned to her daughter-in-law. “Think about what I’ve said. I know Jean-Claude is committed to France, but you should think of your daughter, too. Look at Danielle’s situation.”
“I will,” Hélène replied solemnly.
After they climbed the stairs, Marie stopped at the door. Reaching into her purse, she withdrew some money and pressed it into Hélène’s hand. “Tell Jean-Claude to take you out to dinner this weekend. I can tell that you need a special night out.”
Hélène shook her head. “But he studies so much.”
Marie lifted her chin. “He has time for his—his political interests, doesn’t he?”
Suddenly overcome, Hélène averted her eyes. “It’s another woman, I think.”
Marie stared at her, then shook her head, and smiled sadly. “My dear girl, Jean-Claude only has eyes for you.” She stopped, and tilted her head. “Is that what you thought?”
