“Let me get everything up to the attic,” Camille said to Mme. Abadie. “Then I have to get rid of the truck.”
“Be careful,” Mme. Abadie warned. “Germans are everywhere. And so are those who befriended them.”
The steps to the attic were steep and narrow, not as finished and friendly as the stairs from the first to the second floor. Camille picked up a crate and started up the steps.
Lucien met her at the landing. “What should I do with everything?”
“Leave it at the top of the stairs for now,” she said, handing him the crate with the diamonds.
The attic was cramped and dark, just a single room with a sloped ceiling. A narrow window at the far wall overlooked the rooftop of the building behind it. A cot sat against one wall, two straight-backed chairs against a brick chimney.
Lucien went
