Escape From Paris (24 page)

Jonathan heard the slight click of the key in the lock and swung to face the door, his hands loose at his sides. When he saw Linda, his dark eyes lighted, he smiled and began to limp toward her. “What a nice surprise. I didn't expect you today.”

She came up to him, her cheeks red with cold and something more. “I wasn't supposed to come today. But I have something for you and I had to get it here before Robert comes with the new batch of men. There wasn't enough flour and sugar to make more than one. It's just a little something.” She held out the clump of tissue paper. As he unwrapped it, she said breathlessly, “My mother made them for us when we were little—it's a sugar crisp.”

He held the small pastry in his hand, a thin curl of dough baked in the shape of the letter J, sprinkled with precious sugar.

“Happy birthday, Jonathan.”

He stared at the pastry. His birthday. Yes, it was. November 23, 1940. He was twenty-six years old today. When had he told Linda his birth date? During one of those long restless nights when he was mending and she sat by the bed? She had talked to him, giving him by her very presence strength and will to survive. They had talked and talked and talked, of England and America, of Chaucer and medieval romances, of sea sides and mountains and cities, of Jonathan and Linda.

And she had remembered. She looked so young, standing there in that pale blue coat, her face thin and too pale, her eyes smudged with fatigue, young and a little frightened and uncertain.

He tried to speak, stopped.

“I'll make some tea,” she said, as the silence stretched. “I've saved a little bit.”

He followed her to the tiny kitchen and watched as she measured the water, set it on to boil.

“A clandestine tea party,” she said and laughed, but there were tears behind the laughter.

He insisted that they share the crisp. They sat close together at the little white wooden table and ate the delicacy and drank the steaming cups of tea and watched each other with eyes full of emotions they weren't free to express.

“You're walking better.”

“Much. My leg's stronger every day.” When his leg was strong enough . . . but they didn't talk about that either.

He was helping her wash up the little pile of dishes, standing close to her in the tiny kitchen, so close, when they both heard the rise and fall of the siren.

Linda lifted her head to listen.

He saw the flutter of a pulse in her throat and realized she was scarcely daring to breathe. He reached out, took her in his arms and she clung to him, burying his face against his shoulder.

“It isn't coming here, love. It isn't coming here. Can't you tell? It's turned away. Linda, don't be frightened, it isn't coming here.”

It was a long time before she would look at him and when she did her face was streaked with tears.

His hands tightened on her shoulders. Such small shoulders. “Linda, listen to me. Apply for an ausweis. You can get one. I'm sure of it. You're an American national. Your Embassy is still here. They'll help you.”

She pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling and shook her head.

“Why not?”

“I can't. It isn't fair.”

“What isn't fair?”

“For me to go home when Eleanor and Robert can't.” She paused, said miserably, “Why don't we be honest about it? Eleanor wouldn't leave if she could. She wants to stay here and keep on helping the soldiers escape. I think she feels like it is something for Andre.”

“That doesn't have anything to do with you,” he said gruffly. “You've done more than was ever your share anyway.”

“You don't think it would be deserting Eleanor?”

“No. And she wouldn't see it like that, either.”

She looked up into his eyes. “Jonathan . . .”

He smiled at her. “What?”

“You don't despise me?”

“Despise you?” He looked startled. “Is that what you think? My God, Linda, don't you know how much you mean to me? Don't you have any idea how much you've done for me? How much I admire you?”

“Even though I'm a coward?”

“A coward? You little fool,” he said angrily, “Don't you know we're all afraid? Don't you know that you're braver than any of us? Because you know what can happen. You can imagine it in your mind and know it and yet day after day you walk across Paris with men who will only go to prison if they are captured but you will die. Despise you? Linda, don't you know how much I—”

“Jonathan?” Robert's clear young voice called softly. “Jonathan, I've five of your ‘chaps' today. Come meet them.”

Jonathan and Linda looked at each other, then he sighed and turned toward the living room.

The butler began to close the door. “Madame is seeing no one.”

Eleanor startled him and herself as she pushed against the closing panel, slipped into the hall.

He drew himself up, his dark face reddening. “Madame is seeing no one,” he hissed.

The cavernous hall was achingly cold. The marble floors looked dull and dirty. Eleanor could remember another November evening, years before, when she and Andre had come to a formal dinner. Eleanor had worn an evening dress and a light shawl over her bare shoulders. Sleet had hissed against the dining room windows but fires flickered in every grate and every room had been warm. Past the archway to her right she could see the long formal dining room. The furniture was covered, the fireplace grates empty. No lights had been turned on though it was almost dark now.

“Tell Mme. Leclerc that I am here, that Eleanor Masson needs to see her. Tell her that it is very important.”

“Mme. Leclerc is seeing no one. I must ask you to leave.”

Why was he so determined? And so angry about it? Yet, at the same time, he gave an impression of furtiveness.

I don't like you, Eleanor thought, I don't like the way your eyes move. I don't like your face, the pasty look of your skin or your thin weak mouth or the sound of your voice.

“I must talk to her.” Eleanor was almost shouting now and the sound of her voice shocked her as it echoed in the huge hallway.

They both heard the door close above and the slow sound of steps. “Jules? Jules? What is happening?”

The man gave Eleanor such a hostile glance that she was startled. He turned walked midway up the stairs. “I am so sorry, Madame, but this person has pushed her way in, even though I told her you were resting.”

Resting? That wasn't what he had said. Eleanor came up the steps, too, stood just behind him, called out. “Jacqueline, I'm sorry to disturb you, but I must speak with you.”

“Eleanor? Is it you, Eleanor Masson?”

“Yes.”

The old woman stood at the top of the stairs. “My dear, forgive me if I don't come down to greet you properly. Please come up and we will go to my room. Eleanor, how kind of you to come.”

Eleanor was shaken by the change in Mme. Leclerc. They had to stop twice for the old woman to rest, the long way down the hall. However, the sitting room was warm. A good fire crackled in a little monkey stove. Madame Leclerc waved Eleanor to a seat beside the stove.

Eleanor held out her chilled hands. “This feels so good. How wonderful to be warm for a little while.”

Madame Leclerc smiled wryly. “I never thought it would ever come down to breaking up my furniture to keep warm. But it has.”

Eleanor was shocked. “You are burning your beautiful furniture?”

The old lady was calm. “Not the fine pieces. Not yet. All the servants are gone except for Jules and his wife, Margot. We've been breaking up all the wooden things in the servant's quarters. We may reach the salon eventually. I would rather be warm than have lovely furniture.” Jacqueline looked incredibly old and shrunken.

Eleanor started to speak, stopped. How could she involve this old, old lady in her problems.

Mme. Leclerc smiled at her kindly. “I've thought of you and Andre so often. I tried to get in touch with you, but there was only a small memorial service. There isn't any family left now, you know. No one.”

Eleanor reached out, touched those old gnarled hands that lay quietly on Mme. Leclerc's lap. “I'm sorry, Jacqueline, I didn't know.”

“He died the day Petain said he was asking for peace—June 17.” She looked at Eleanor steadily, but tears brimmed in her eyes. “We listened on the radio and then, without a word, he picked up his walking stick and stormed out.” She looked across the crowded room at a portrait above the mantel. It was scarcely visible in the early darkness of the winter afternoon. He was in uniform in the portrait and the brim of his cap shadowed his face. A World War I uniform, Eleanor realized. He looked toward them, out of the portrait, with unseeing canvas eyes, but they could each of them see him again, a slight but dignified man with bright and lively dark eyes and a firm but gentle mouth.

“We were at the Chateau. We had gone down in late May, after the blitzkrieg started. Felix felt we should see to our people. So we were there the day Petain said it was over, that France wouldn't fight on.” Tears trickled slowly down her face. “Felix didn't wait until the speech was over. He slammed out. I went after him.” She stopped then, looked down at her legs with a bitter face. “But I can't walk well and he wouldn't wait for me. He walked faster and faster along the line of poplar trees. That was the last I saw of him, striding, his head down, and the poplar trees stretching out ahead of him, green and gold in the sunlight. I sent Alphonse, the head gardener, after him. He found Felix at the cemetery.”

At the little village cemetery where Leclercs had been buried for three hundred years, they found Felix lying there beside the graves of his sons.

The old woman saw the surprise in Eleanor's eyes.

“Yes, we had three sons. You would not have known them. We lost all three of them in the first War. In the Great War. Rene was twenty-one when he died at Verdun. Henri was twenty-four when he was killed at Reims. Fabien was twenty-five when he died at Ypres.”

The fire crackled in the monkey stove. “I didn't know. Forgive me, I didn't know.”

Had she ever heard it mentioned, in the casual way that mutual acquaintances do, that the Leclercs had lost their sons in the Great War? If she had, it hadn't touched her. But now, in the dim sitting room with its crowd of furnishings, it touched her with horror. Andre, where are you? Are you anywhere? At least Robert is still a little boy. At least I still have my son.

“You are grieving too, aren't you?” Madame Leclerc asked.

Eleanor told her how they had received no word of Andre. “We still hope.”

“And I pray.”

“I will pray, too,” the old lady said simply.

Eleanor started to gather up her coat.

“Eleanor, you haven't told me why you came.”

“Oh, it's nothing really. I came for help but I didn't know Felix was gone. I'll be all right.”

The old woman caught her by the hand, pulled her down again on the sofa. “I told you, Eleanor, there isn't anyone left for me to care about. I haven't a child or a cousin or a sister or a brother. I can still care for my friends.”

Eleanor hesitated, leaned back. It wasn't taking advantage. Mme. Leclerc was old but she was still alert and capable. And if she would want to help, she could make such a difference.

The old woman listened intently. She clapped her hands in excitement when Eleanor told her how many soldiers had been saved so far. “Want to help? Eleanor, I would be honored, deeply honored, to be a part of this wonderful effort. What can I do?”

Eleanor rubbed her temples. She hated to ask for money. “It's money,” she said miserably. “I've run out of money. It takes so much, you see, with the black market and the train tickets and the necessary sums to pay the guides.” She spread her hands. “I've run out of money.”

“I have plenty of money,” Madame Leclerc said simply. She rose, pulling herself awkwardly up, and walked slowly toward the ormolu desk in the corner. “I'll write a check. Perhaps we should do it on a monthly basis rather than one huge sum.”

Eleanor came behind her. “Jacqueline, if I might suggest, it will be safer if it were handled in cash. You don't want a check written out to me in your records. If the Gestapo discovers me you will be safe.” If I can manage not to tell them what I know, Eleanor thought. Please God, I will try. I won't tell them. I won't. Somehow I will manage not to tell them.

“I see,” Mme. Leclerc said slowly. “I appreciate your thinking ahead for me. Not,” she added wearily, “that I find this life too much worth preserving now. But perhaps this is why I am still here.” She frowned at her checkbook. “I will get a fairly large sum, to begin, 50,000 francs. You can let me know when you need more.”

“Fifty thousand francs! Jacqueline, that will be marvelous. I will be very careful with the money. I'll give most of it to Father—to the man who is running the escape route. I'll just keep enough to tide us over until my next check comes, then I can give that sum to the escape route, too.” Eleanor leaned down and hugged Mme. Leclerc and felt the cool softness of her cheek and caught the delicate sweet scent of violet. “Jacqueline, you are wonderful.”