The House of Dreams (40 page)

“Annie, I'm sorry—”

“Don't, Gabriel, please.” She pressed her fingers to my lips. “Don't make this any harder than it is.”

“You will come, tomorrow, to see the boat off?”

“Of course. Even my parents are coming. I think they want to make sure you've left the country.” She turned my hand over in hers, traced the long, firm arc of the lifeline with her index finger. “There, you've years and years ahead of you.…”

“I don't want to spend them without you.”

She shook her head, unable to look me in the eye. “You have to go, now. It's too dangerous here.” She touched the bandage on my cheek. “My poor darling,” she said. “You have a chance to get away from here. You can start a new life. No one knows you there. You'll just be Gabriel Lambert, not the father or the son. You can just be yourself, the very best self you can be.” She raised her gaze, her eyes glistening. “Promise me, Gabriel. Promise you'll never forget me.” I held her close, her head against my chest, my lips in her hair. “Live a good life, for both of us, Gabriel. Make it count.”

 

FIFTY-FOUR

M
ARSEILLE

Tuesday, March 25, 1941

G
ABRIEL

Dawn's silver light washed the horizon, crept wave by wave across the shore. The Quai de la Joliette was crammed with people by the time I arrived, carrying only my rucksack. I was leaving as I had arrived, with nothing more than the clothes I stood up in. I had even sold my easel. Once again, I had no money, no home. I had skipped out of the hotel owing the last of my bill.

I could see armed guards keeping the crowd separate from the passengers. People were so desperate to get out of the country, they would try anything. I saw an old man on his hands and knees, trying to creep past the guards, but they caught him and cracked his ribs with the butts of their rifles for his trouble.

“Where are they?” I said under my breath. I saw Varian then, shepherding his clients toward the gangplanks. I saw Breton, his hair gilded by the morning sun, carrying Aube in his arms. He was hand in hand with Jacqueline, and they pushed their way through. I've always hated crowds, and the noise, the shouts, the hot jostling figures, terrified me. My palms were sweating, my skin prickling with anxiety. All the Bouchards had to do was bring Annie to the docks, that was all. What if I never saw her again? I checked my watch. They were ten minutes late. The
Capitaine Paul Lemerle
was making ready to sail, sounding its great horns, steam pluming up into the air from the huge chimneys.
Where is she?
I looked frantically around and saw a lamppost to one side. I clambered up and looked around the bobbing sea of heads and hats.

“Annie!” I yelled above the noise of the crowd and the ship's horns. “Annie!”

“Gabriel!” I could hear her, followed the sound of her voice. There! I saw her pale hand waving like a drowning woman's, reaching out of the dark sea of hats. I jumped down and pushed my way through toward her, my heart thundering, my breath coming in short, tight gasps. I knocked over a man, tripping on the legs of someone who had fallen. Then she was there, in front of me.

“Annie,” I whispered, burying my face in her hair and holding her tight to me, tears in my eyes. Her parents shoved their way through. I saw my anxiety painted on their pale, drawn faces. I held Monsieur Bouchard's gaze, and he nodded. “Come,” I said. “It's time.” I held on to Annie's hand and shielded the Bouchards with my arm. We fought our way through to the front of the crowd, until I found a rifle pointed at my chest.

“No further,” the guard barked, “passengers only.”

“He is a passenger,” Annie said. She turned to me. “I may never see you again. It's just hit me, that you are really leaving.”

“No,” I said. “I'm not leaving. You are.”

I saw the confusion on her face, and it felt like the noise, the crowd, fell away. It was just me and her. “Annie, it's all arranged. The ARC has helped me get your papers in order, and I'm giving you my ticket.” I put the strap of my bag over her head, tucked it under her arm safely. “I knew you'd refuse if I told you before. It's all in here. Tickets, papers—”

“No,” she whispered, tears brimming in her eyes. “I can't let you sacrifice your crossing … yourself, for me.”

I took her in my arms, held her tight, my lips against her cheek. “Annie, after everything I have done, please, let me do one good thing.”

I felt her shake her head, she pushed me away. “No, I won't let you. I won't go. I can't leave you…,” she said, turning to her parents.

“Marianne,” Monsieur Bouchard said, taking her face in his hands, tears pouring down his wrinkled cheeks. “You are getting on that boat.”

“No, Papa,” she said, a sob catching in her throat. She looked at her mother. Madame Bouchard reached into the carpetbag she was carrying and forced a bundle of money and clothes into her hands.

“My child, my child…” Her face crumpled as she held her daughter one last time, rocking her in her arms, her eyes screwed closed as she whispered to her. “Go,” she said finally, breaking away.

“Mama, no!” Annie screamed, reaching out to her, but her mother pushed her toward the boat, weeping.

“Go now. God bless you, my darling girl. Go!”

The ship's horn blew, and I dragged Annie, crying for her parents, to the bottom of the gangplank. I handed over the ticket and papers for inspection. The official stamped them and unclipped the chain to let her climb aboard.

“Listen to me…” I soothed her like a child, like I have all my own children and grandchildren down the years. “I love you,” I said, embracing her. I breathed in her clear scent of sunlight and lavender one last time. “I love you. Wait for me. When I get to America, we'll be married, I promise.…”

“Gabriel,” she cried out as the guards pushed me back with their guns. “I love you!” The official took her arm, hurried her up the gangplank. “I'll wait for you. However long it takes, I'll wait.”

I reached toward her, fought to stay at the front of the crowd for one last glimpse of her. “I'll see you,” I cried, “I'll see you in New York!”

 

FIFTY-FIVE

M
ARSEILLE

1941

V
ARIAN

The great ropes loosed from their mooring posts, snaked free into the water. The
Capitaine Paul Lemerle
heaved, like a black cliff breaking free above the crowd. Varian waved, craned his neck to see the Bretons up on deck.

“Bon voyage,” he cried, echoing the shouts around him.
It worked,
he thought, his heart soaring with elation.
It worked. Thank God, they are away.
Next to them, he saw Marianne. The poor girl looked terrified. He followed the direction of her gaze and saw Gabriel Lambert, fighting his way to the front of the crowd, tears pouring down his face. He thought of the letter he had received that morning, delivered by the concierge of Alistair Quimby's hotel. It made no sense to him.
Clearly that guy Quimby had some kind of grudge against him.
Varian had simply screwed up the note and tossed it in the bin. Gabriel Lambert's file was closed.
It's too late now, and there are hundreds of other people needing our help. Whatever the truth is, Lambert gave up his passage, and that's a selfless act. Good luck to them. I hope they find one another again.
Varian smiled sadly at the love written clear on Gabriel's face as he waved, as he blew kisses to Marianne with both hands.

They had only just managed to get her papers in time. Varian remembered Gabriel pacing up and down in the office the day before.

“Please, you must help her.”

“Listen, old chap—”

“You must!” Gabriel slammed his hands down on the desk.

“Look. I can see how much you care about this girl, but she's not…”

“Not what? Not a great artist? Not important enough?” Gabriel was shaking. He held out a golden cloth, an embroidery that spilled onto the table. “She made this.”

“Lambert, it's hardly on a par with your work.”

“She is young, and bright, and good. What price is a life, Varian? What makes one life more important than another?” He rubbed the heel of his hand between his eyes. “How can you say that my life is worth more because of a few paintings?”

Varian sat back in his chair and sighed. “You are willing to sign over your passage to America to her?”

“Yes, without hesitation.”

“Listen. We've always had a rule here that we will only help people to escape that are known by people we trust. Can I trust you?”

“Yes.”

“The ARC cannot officially help her to obtain papers.”

“I'll do anything,” Gabriel said. “I will pay whatever it takes to get her papers in order, for forgeries—I'll do them myself if necessary.…” His voice trailed off as Varian looked at him sharply. “I don't … I don't know quite how you have managed to do what you have done here, but I am begging you, please help Annie.”

Varian sighed. “All right. You're in luck. It would have been different a few months ago, but now that they are letting boats sail for Martinique, all she will need is a French exit visa.”

“Thank you, thank you…” Gabriel clasped his hand. “I'll never forget this, Varian, never.”

“There will be time for sentiment later. I'll get one of the men to bring Annie's visa to you tonight. Let's make damn sure she is on that boat, too.”

“You'll never know how much this means.” Gabriel hesitated. “Why do you do it? Why do you do all of this, put yourself at risk for us all?”

“Why?” Varian said, as though it had never occurred to him to ask the question. “You know, I keep a phrase of Emerson's with me always.” He gazed out of the window, reciting from memory: “‘There are men to whom a crisis, which intimidates and paralyzes the majority, comes as graceful and beloved as a bride.'” He turned and smiled at Gabriel. “I do this simply because it is the right thing to do. Charlie always said it's the duty of the strong to protect the weak. All I can tell you is I've met the most remarkable men and women of my life in the last few months. I've met people whose work I've loved my whole life. You know,” he said, laughing, “all I knew about people outsmarting the Gestapo was what I'd seen in movies, but when the committee in New York said ‘You're it' and sent me out here, I had to learn fast.” He stood and guided Gabriel out of the office. “The thing is, I believe in freedom. I feel a deep love for these people and gratitude for the happiness their work has given me. I had to come and help them when they needed it.” He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You remember Miriam? She always said it made her think of that verse in Ruth: ‘Your people are my people.' That's what it comes down to.”

“You are remarkable. If I ever have a son, I'll name him for you.”

“I always hated my name,” Varian said, laughing softly. “I wanted to be called Tommy.” They shook hands. “Good luck, Gabriel. What will you do now?”

“I thought I'd head into the countryside. I hope I can be useful to the Resistance.”

“Talk to my men. They can help you.”

“What about you?”

“Me? I'm going to get Danny out of jail, and then I'll hold out here as long as I can. Besides, it is easy to become attached to a place, especially when it is a country as beautiful as France.” He opened the door for me. “You know, we are all at war as surely as our brave boys on the front lines. One must bring them all back home, or at least one must try. That is all I can do, bring as many of you home as I can.”

*   *   *

Varian stumbled as the crowd surged, fought to stay on his feet. A guard nearby brandished his pistol, cocked it up into the air.

“Arretez!”
he warned.

If only we could round them all up, every single name on that list, and spirit them away on a boat like this,
Varian thought. He waved as Jacqueline lifted Aube to see the boat leave the Vieux-Port. The sea lurched and swelled, slapping against the quay as the engines roared. A woman on the deck dropped red rose petals, spiraling, drifting down to the sea.

“Varian!” Mary Jayne yelled, pushing her way through the crowd. He reached out to her and put his arm around her, shielding her from the crowd. They gazed silently at each other for a moment, like equally matched creatures deciding whether to fight or make peace. “Well done,” she said, and dug him in the ribs. “You did it.”

“We did it,” he corrected, “but only just.” He shielded his eyes and looked up to the deck. “Are you okay? Where's Killer?”

“He's gone.” She looked up at Varian. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not saying ‘I told you so,' like everyone else has.” She shielded her eyes. “Where are they?” He pointed up to the deck. “I'm so glad,” she said, her voice catching. “Good-bye!” she called. “Good-bye!”

Varian cupped his ear, craning to hear what André was shouting as the ship pulled away, guided out of the harbor by the pilot boats. He shook his head, mimed that he couldn't hear. “I'll see you soon!” he cried, waving as the boat pulled away. “I'll see you in New York!”

“So,” Mary Jayne said, glancing up at him. “What now? Friends?”

“Friends.” Varian offered her his arm, and they walked in silence along the quay. “I think it's time we got you safely home, too, don't you?”

“Home? I don't even know where that is anymore.” She looked toward the cathedral, the sun glinting on the Virgin high above the city. “Nothing will ever be as extraordinary as this year in Marseille, will it? We shared our finest hours, my friend, our finest hours.”