Shadows of Yesterday

Chapter 13

Emilie Dufort didn’t understand Louie Bassett’s warning. What danger could she be facing? She wasn’t involved in the war effort—at least not yet. But he wouldn’t elaborate, leaving abruptly and teasing her for more. She wasn’t sure if a person posed the threat or her German heritage and family’s Nazi sympathies. But she was determined to find out.

After dinner that evening, as she finished washing the dishes, Jacques came into the kitchen. “I have to meet one of my contacts,” he said, offering no more.

“Where are you going?” she asked, trying to seem casual. His clandestine meetings had increased greatly since the Germans attacked. Formerly infrequent, he had claimed he had been meeting friends. Now he could no longer do so—perhaps what drove his recent confession.

“Much is happening,” he said with a shrug. “I must stay ahead of it, prepare for the worst.”

She frowned. “I was hoping we could spend the evening together.”

“I go because I must,” he said, watching her reaction. “Not because I want to.”

She fixed her gaze on his, but he looked away. He left almost every evening, sometimes missing dinner, rarely offering an explanation. But maybe there was no explanation. Maybe he did what he could to save France.

“I know war rages,” she said, “and you have much to do. But must you go every night?”

“I meet with people when they are available,” he said, trying to explain. “Not when it’s best for me.”

“Who are these people?” she asked. Louie Bassett’s warning made her doubt everything—even if Jacques told the truth. “If I knew more, I wouldn’t worry. The worse the war gets, the more concerned I am for you.”

He put his hands on her shoulders, pulled her close, and kissed her lips. “No one knows what I do or who I meet,” he said. “That’s how it must be.”

“Do what you must,” she muttered, stepping aside. Could Jacques be the danger Bassett had warned about? If nothing else, she was now suspicious. It was time she learned more—for a variety of reasons.

“I won’t be long,” he promised as he stepped out, closing the door behind him.

She waited a moment, gazing around an empty room. Did his meeting have to do with the war? Or was it something else? Why spend so much time in secret locations with faceless people? Did his duties demand it? Or did they not? But then she felt guilty. Maybe it was her secret, a German woman pretending to be French, that forced all to be viewed through a cloudy lens. Was she assuming everyone pretended to be what they weren’t only because she did?

Emilie removed the paper from her pocket, the address from Louie Bassett. He was a stranger trying to convince her to do what her family wanted—an agreement she made when she first came to Paris. He seemed authentic, but she doubted he was French. And he didn’t seem German—his accent wasn’t right. But he must somehow be linked to Germany. How else would he know about her and her family? She looked at the address: 8 Rue Serpente, eight or nine blocks from her apartment.

She put the paper back in her pocket and went out the front door, locking it behind her. The streets were dark, no lights, house shades drawn, minimizing targets for Luftwaffe bombs—should they ever come. Few people walked the street, but more walked the boulevard.

Jacques was far ahead. He moved quickly, hunched over, hands in his pockets. He had reached the corner, headed in the direction she would take if she went to the address Louie Bassett had given her. She hurried after him, staying close to buildings, knowing he might turn to see if anyone followed. She had to be more careful than he was if she wanted her presence to remain unknown.

He stopped at the next corner, turning abruptly. Emilie ducked in the recessed entrance to a hat store, hiding behind merchandise on display. She waited, her heart racing, knowing she shouldn’t do what she did. Or maybe she was only afraid of what she might find. But it would look horrible if she was caught. She waited a moment more and stepped out.

Jacques continued on his way, farther down the block. He was in a hurry, nothing distracting him, although not many strolled the pavement.

Emilie couldn’t keep up. If she hurried to get closer, he would see her. As she approached the corner, a taxi pulled up to the curb and discharged a passenger. As the man paid his fare, she climbed in.

“Where are you going, Madame?” the driver asked.

“Eight Rue Serpente.”

The driver hesitated. “That’s only five or six blocks. You can walk and save yourself money.”

“I’m late for an engagement,” she explained. “I have no choice.”

“I understand,” the driver said. He pulled away from the curb and rounded the corner.

Emilie wasn’t sure why she decided to visit the address offered by Louie Bassett. But she was certain that’s where Jacques was going. Was it instinct? A sneaking suspicion? The taxi went on a parallel street, a block from Jacques, and would approach the address from the opposite direction.

When the taxi reached Rue Serpente, she watched the addresses as they passed the buildings—twenty, eighteen, sixteen. “Can you please stop here?”

The driver pulled to the curb and turned, looking at her quizzically. “But your destination is only ten meters away?”

She smiled weakly. “I know, but I want to see who else arrives. Could you wait for a moment?”

The driver shrugged. “Yes, of course.”

A few minutes later, Jacques Dufort rounded the corner. He went to number eight, a two-story apartment building, paying no attention to the taxi. He rapped loudly on the entrance to the second-floor flat.

Emilie rolled down the window, hoping to overhear. A moment later, the door opened. An attractive woman stepped out, tall with brown hair that fell to her shoulders, wearing a crisp green dress that looked recently purchased.

“I’ve been waiting,” the woman said. She gave him a quick hug.

Jacques shrugged. “I couldn’t get away.”

“Did anyone see you?” she asked.

“No, it’s safe.”