“Fine. What time?”
“Would one or two o’clock be all right?”
“One o’clock would be just right. I’ll see you then.” He turned to go, but she reached out and touched his arm.
“I meant what I said. I’ll never forget what you did for me. You saved me from a terrible fate.”
“I’m glad I was there. If I were you, I’d pay heed to Madame Billaud. It’s not good to roam the streets of Paris after dark.” He opened the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Rachel went to the stairwell and watched him exit the building, then saw Madame Billaud standing at her apartment door on the first floor looking up at her.
“Have nothing to do with him,” she warned, pointing her finger up at Rachel. “He’s a German.”
“But he came to my rescue. That counts for something, doesn’t it?”
Madame Billaud shook her head, a grimness on her face. “He may seem nice enough, but they’re all the same. Stay away from him.”
Rachel did not argue. “Good night,” she said, then turned and went back into her apartment. When she closed the door, she walked over to the window and looked out at the street below, but he was already gone. “Thank God he came!” she said aloud before turning to prepare for bed.
****
“Sometimes I think a sidewalk café in Paris is the most interesting place in the whole world.”
Rachel shook her head decidedly. “I don’t agree. I think almost any woods in the world with trees and grass and a running stream is better than any café on any street in Paris.” She took a bite of her cake.
“You’re just a romantic,” he said.
“I suppose I am, but then you are too.” Rachel watched as surprise washed across Derek’s face. The two had spent an hour and a half together at the library, talking incessantly. At Derek’s suggestion, they had left and made their way to a small café with five tables outside, all of which were now filled. She watched his face as he talked, impressed with his strength. His wide mouth was expressive when he smiled, and she noticed a small faint scar shaped like a fish hook at the left corner of his mouth.
“What makes you think I’m a romantic?” he asked.
Rachel sipped her tea and smiled, and once again he noticed the dimple that gave her a little-girl quality. “You like romantic literature,” she said, “and you like to rescue damsels in distress. I think you dramatize everything.”
“No, that’s not true!” he protested. “I’m very much of this world.”
“No, I think you came to my rescue because you’re a romantic. You see yourself as an Ivanhoe, and you came to the rescue of the Jewish maiden Rebecca.” She laughed at his expression. “You shouldn’t have told me you liked romantic novels like Ivanhoe. It tells me so much about you.”
“Well, I suppose you’re right. My father tried to get it all out of me when I was growing up, but he didn’t succeed too well, I’m afraid.”
Her companion seemed so strong, Rachel thought, yet she sensed that he was putting a damper on his youthful vitality. She noted that the corners of his lips had a tough, sharp set to them, yet behind the hardness was something else. Behind his light blue eyes lay an obvious compassion and interest in people. He seemed capable of looking deeply into others, and such a gift would bind people to him. There was also a deliberateness about him, and she knew he was a man who could spring into action. He had demonstrated that when he had come to her rescue.
Derek Grüber had a good sense of humor as well, sharp and sometimes self-ridiculing, which pleased her.
“You’re looking at me pretty closely,” he suddenly said. “What dark thoughts are running through your head now?”
Rachel returned his smile. “Whether to wear my blue dress or my green one tomorrow.”
“I’d wear the green dress if I were you. It’s my favorite color.”
The two sat there enjoying each other’s company, and Rachel knew this man had the ability to please women. Not that he appeared to be a womanizer, but he had a frank openness that invited female attention.
“What were you like when you were a little girl?” he asked.
“I was smaller.”
Derek laughed. “I know that. But what were you like?”
Rachel sipped her tea and shrugged her shoulders. “They tell me the first thing I reached for was the moon, but I’ve never been able to reach it.”
“Neither have I.”
She smiled as she remembered something that had happened when she was a young.
“What are you smiling about?”
“I just thought of something I hadn’t thought of in years. When I was a little girl of five or six, I asked my mom for a piece of—” she searched for the word in French and finally thought of it—”chalk and took a coin from my bank. I went out to the sidewalk and put the coin down, and then I drew a line all the way from the coin to the corner and down the other side. And then I wrote on the sidewalk, ‘Money this way.’ ”
“Did you stay to watch someone go find the money?”
“No, I never did. It’s fun to think about it, though.” She shrugged. “What a foolish thing to do.”
“Not at all. I did things like that. I used to put coins on the railroad track. The trains would pass over them and flatten them out, and I’d drill holes in them and string them together. I think I still have one of those strings somewhere.”
She ordered more tea, and he got more coffee, and he asked about her family.
“My parents are getting on in years,” she told him.
“They live in Czechoslovakia?”
“Yes. My father was a watchmaker, but he’s retired now. When I finish my coursework, I’ll go back—mostly to take care of them.” She looked at him over her teacup. “What about your family?”
“My mother’s dead. My father’s in the army.”
She heard the spareness of his reply. “What are you going to do?”
“My father wants me to go into the army.”
His answer troubled her, but she did not let it show. “Will you?”
“I don’t know. It’s not what I want to do.” He looked down at his hands as he answered.
“What would you like to do?”
“I’d rather be a teacher.”
His answer surprised her, but when she gave it a moment’s thought, it made sense.
“I’d like to be a writer too,” he continued.
“I’d love to see what you’ve written.”
“I don’t feel comfortable showing my work to people.”
Rachel lifted her eyebrows with surprise. “What good will it do if nobody reads what you’ve written?”
“It does me good.”
She laughed. “I suppose that’s enough, then.” She looked at her watch and exclaimed, “I need to go!”
“There’s a play on tonight that you might like to see. It’s no fun to go alone. Would you go with me?” When she hesitated, he smiled. “I’m harmless, Rachel.”
“Well then . . . I’d love to go.”
“Good! I’ll pick you up at six. We’ll go out to eat, and maybe I’ll let you read one of my poems.”
“I’d like that very much.”
They got up, and he walked her back to her apartment. As she went inside the building, Madame Billaud said, “You’re with that German, I see.”
“He’s really very nice, Madame Billaud.”
The woman did not answer. She had lost her father in the Great War and had never forgiven the Germans for it. “You’d better stay away from him. I don’t trust that man Hitler. You mark my words. He won’t be satisfied with any less than ruling all of Europe—and maybe the world!”
****
Rachel lay back on the green grass, enjoying the warmth of the earth. Overhead a number of sparrows were flitting from limb to limb, and she watched them with delight. She turned her head to Derek, who was sitting beside her reading from a book he had brought along. The remnants of a picnic lunch lay to her righ
t, and there was a peace and quiet here from the incessant city noise. As they had eaten, they had debated the merits of various poets and quoted their favorite poems, but now Rachel was relaxing as Derek read.
May had come, and the hard winter was only a memory. She studied Derek, thinking, It hasn’t even been a year since we met, and I feel like I’ve known him all my life.
Derek noticed that she was looking at him, and humor danced in his eyes. He put his book down and leaned closer to her. “You think I’m a handsome fellow, don’t you?”
She did think him handsome but would not say it. “I think you’re egotistical.”
“Well, I think you’re handsome.” He reached out and touched the dimple in her cheek. “I wish I had dimples, one in each cheek, just like this one.”
“I hated that dimple when I was a girl.”
She sat up and stretched her legs out in front of her. “What are you reading?”
“A poem by a British poet, Thomas Hardy. It’s called ‘The Man He Killed.’ ”
“Oh yes. I’ve read a poem or two by Hardy. He writes long novels as well, doesn’t he? Very gloomy.”
He read the poem slowly. He was a good reader, and she loved the sound of his voice.
“Had he and I but met
By some old ancient inn,
We should have sat us down to wet
Right many a nipperkin!
“But ranged as infantry,
And staring face to face,
I shot at him as he at me,
And killed him in his place.
“I shot him dead because—
Because he was my foe,
Just so: my foe of course he was;
That’s clear enough; although
“He thought he’d ’list, perhaps,
Off-hand like—just as I—
Was out of work—had sold his traps—
No other reason why.
“Yes; quaint and curious war is!
You shoot a fellow down
You’d treat, if met where any bar is,
Or help to half-a-crown.”
“You like that poem? I wouldn’t think you would.”
“Why not?”
“Well, it’s an antiwar poem.”
“Yes, it is. That’s why I like it.” His eyes grew cloudy, and he spoke softly. “I feel like the speaker in the poem. Young men join the army for a lark. And when battle comes, they kill the soldiers in front of them—men who are like them in almost every way.”
Rachel shook her head. “You’re a mystery to me, Derek. The Germans are the most militaristic people on the face of the earth. Your father’s a general, and yet you don’t like war. I thought all Germans were warriors.”
“I suppose there’s a lot of that in my people, but that trait seems to have been left out of me.”
“Read me something you’ve written.”
“All right. I will.” He did not take out a piece of paper but turned to her. To her surprise he reached out and took her hand. “This one’s called ‘To Rachel.’ ”
Rachel’s face grew warm as she listened.
“I might have found beauty in the skies,
If I had never seen you.
But after I beheld your dark and lovely eyes
The heavens can offer nothing new!
“If I had never heard your voice,
The song of birds might have been sweet.
Now the mourning doves sound hoarse
And I live to hear my name your lips repeat.
“Before I saw your lovely face,
A new-sprung rose seemed tender and fair—
But once your skin beyond compare
I touched—I found the flower most rare!”
Rachel found herself unable to speak for a moment; then she whispered, “That’s beautiful, Derek. Thank you so much.”
Derek sat very still and watched her. She had not moved, and she was looking at him with her face lifted, her lips motionless. He saw the quick rise and fall of her bosom and the sunlight on her hair, and he drew her toward him in one quick gesture. He waited for her protest and was astonished when it didn’t come. He had found this woman full of grace and beauty, and now the yearning of a lone man moved toward her like the needle on a compass.
She caught his gaze and waited, saying nothing but arresting him with a sweetness that fueled his intense feelings for her.
Derek touched his lips to hers and felt her surrender. He drew her closer, his heart aching with the feelings he had for her at this moment. She had the ability to touch him as no other woman he had ever met.
But then Rachel suddenly pushed him away, her expression disturbed. “We shouldn’t have done that,” she whispered.
“Why do you say that? You must know I’m falling in love with you.”
“But you can’t.”
“Why not?”
Rachel looked at him directly. “What would your father say?”
Her words stopped Derek as if he had run into a door. He had no answer. She rose to her feet and he followed. “We can never be more than very good friends, Derek. That’s all we can ever be.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Parting
January 1937 brought sharp Arctic blasts to Paris and sleet that coated the streets with an icy sheen. As Derek walked cautiously along the street, the sidewalk under his feet was one solid sheet of slippery ice. He had already seen two people slip and fall as if their legs had been jerked out from under them. Keeping his head down, he thought about the months that had passed since the day he had told Rachel he loved her. That had been a fine day! Even now, surrounded by ice and snow, he could almost smell the fresh green grass and hear birds chattering in the trees overhead and see the gleam of golden red that tinted Rachel’s hair in the bright sunlight.
He was savoring the memory when a dog appeared in front of him—an indeterminate breed, thin and with woeful eyes. It was a strange bluish-brown, and its ribs showed so plainly that Derek could count them. “What’s the matter, boy? Are you hungry?” The dog eyed him apprehensively, but as Derek did not move, it began to wag its tail. “It’s hard on fellows like you in the winter, isn’t it?” Derek noticed that there was a meat market across the street. “Wait here, friend. I’ll be right back.”
He disappeared inside the shop and came out almost at once. The dog was still there, and Derek opened the packet and took out a morsel of the meat. “How about this, fella?” he asked and extended the meat. The dog ducked its head, as if afraid of being struck, but when Derek silently stood there, it finally took the meat and swallowed it whole, then looked up eagerly, tail wagging again. “Here, you have a good breakfast, my friend.” He put the meat on the sidewalk, then patted the dog, which gobbled the meat frantically. When it was through, it moved forward and leaned against Derek’s legs.
“I’d like to take you home with me, but I’m leaving. I don’t think there’s any place for a French dog in the German army. Sorry.” He walked away, and the dog followed him for a time. Derek turned around and said, “Raus!” rather sharply. The dog looked at him in a hurt fashion, then slunk away. “Well, boy, you’ve had one good meal today.”
Derek continued his walk until he came to the small café where he had brought Rachel the day after they had met. It was so cold that no one was sitting outside drinking the strong coffee they served. As he opened the door, the tiny bell made a merry tinkling sound, and the owner, Monsieur Valdoux, came forward smiling and greeted him.
“Bonjour, Monsieur Grüber. Your lady, she is here before you today.”
“Thank you, Raoul.” He followed the pudgy owner over to the table in front of the window.
“I was starting to wonder if you were coming,” Rachel said.
“Sorry.” He sat down. “Just a Danish and good coffee, Raoul, if you please.”
“Certainement!”
When Raoul left, Derek leaned forward and extended one of his hands. Rachel reached out and took it, holding it in both of hers. She
was wearing a simple light green skirt with a darker green blouse that outlined her figure admirably. A chain of pearls and a pair of pearl earrings were her only adornment. She looked tired, and as she held his hand, Derek said, “I hate to go, Rachel!”
“I’ll be grieved when you’re gone.” She released his hand and shook her head. “I like things to be simple, Derek. There should be beautiful simplicity in every life, but it doesn’t happen, does it?”
Derek drank in her features, putting the memory of this moment into a safe deep within, knowing that he would go back to it many times and unlock the safe and remember her as she sat there. “I just know one phrase in Latin. I had to memorize many for school, but this is the only one I still remember.”
“What is it?”
“Omnia mutrantur, nos et mutamur in illis.”
“What does it mean?”
“All things are changing, and we are changing with them. That’s true, isn’t it? Nothing stays the same.”
Tears brimmed in Rachel’s eyes at the thought, and the two sat mostly in silence for a while. Conversation seemed to come hard.
Then a man entered the café who caught their attention, and both of them watched as he took a seat.
“He looks like a bank clerk who made off with his cash drawer,” Derek commented.
“I would have said more like a cheerful embalmer. It’s odd, isn’t it, how we see people? Who is that man? What are his problems? Is he happy in his marriage? We see people constantly, and we know nothing about them.”
“That’s true, isn’t it? Sometimes you go out to parties, and people are laughing and making a lot of noise, and they have smiles pasted on their faces, but you know they’re not really happy. Nothing is sadder than watching people trying to enjoy themselves as much as they can but not really having a good time at all.” Derek fidgeted with his napkin. “You’re the only one I could ever talk to and say whatever came into my mind. I’ve always had to guard my speech because I have such wild thoughts.”
“That’s the poet in you. Your mind is full of imaginative ideas. I’ll miss those crazy thoughts and the times we’ve had together.”
Raoul returned with Derek’s coffee and pastry and refilled Rachel’s coffee cup.
The Unlikely Allies Page 8
