Marcel nodded. “Gabriel, I assume you’re still invited absolutely everywhere. Is it safe to say the company at those events has shifted a bit in the last year?”
Gabriel watched him closely but nodded. “In some distressing ways. I’ve stopped accepting many of those invitations.”
“Could you start again?” Zelie asked. “Without it seeming suspicious? Officers in social settings often let information drop like treasure.”
His dark eyes shifted to her. He considered. Nodded again.“They still come, and Idoattend enough to keep from offending patrons. I can accept more again.”
“I’m only a seamstress, no one special yet,” Anne said, leaning toward Zelie. “But my boss wasinvitedto Berlin.” The way she stressed the word said that “invitation” hadn’t been optional. “She’s asked me to consider going with her. I was going to refuse, but I could accept.”
Gabriel chided, “Anne,” even as Zelie reached out to cover her hand and give it a squeeze, smiling. “Would you? Information from the heart of Germany would be invaluable. I will supply you both with questionnaires letting you know what sorts of things to keep your eyes and ears out for.”
“And you’d give them to me whenever I’m back in Paris, or send them with traveling friends to somewhere I’ll be,” Marcel said. “I have an interview in Vichy next week, to head up a youth orchestra that would travel all over France.”
Gabriel frowned again. “You’re not returning to our orchestra? You would rather work with a bunch of adolescents?”
“I would rather do more than entertain.” Marcel’s voice, though still quiet, took on a cutting edge. “I would rather not look out at the audience and see more Nazi uniforms than anything in the crowd.”
Gabriel tensed. “Is it wrong to make a living? To keep doing the only thing I know how to do, because the audience has changed?”
“No. I’m not judging you, Gabriel. Only myself. After nearly a year in a POW camp, I can’t... I can’t go back to my life, when they stole so much of it from me. I can’t pretend all is well.”
Zelie watched them both closely. The hard lines in Marcel’s face, the softening in Gabriel’s.
Marcel must have noted it too, given his exhale. He glanced her way. “Zelie has provided me with a way to use my talents to make a difference. I want to offer both of you the same chance.Do what you love, what you know, what you’re good at. And use it to help France.”
“It isn’t without risk,” Zelie put in quietly. “You’d be in possession of questionnaires that could land you in trouble. It isn’t themostdangerous position, but I don’t want you to be unaware.”
“I’m in,” Anne said with a nod.
Her brother’s lips quirked. “I’ll do whatever I can.”
A waitress approached, so Zelie quickly changed the subject to popular songs. They placed their orders, ate, and chatted more about easy things. At eight thirty, the place began to clear out so everyone could get home before curfew. The four of them followed the flow outside but paused on the street.
“Thank you,” Zelie said, holding each of their gazes.
Anne grinned. Her brother inclined his head. “I have a weakness for sopranos,” he said, voice flirtatious again. “Especially sopranos with... surprising range.” He winked, then pulled Marcel in for a one-armed embrace. “Stay safe,mon frère.”
“I’ve come to believe there’s no such thing assafe. But stay... true.” Marcel patted his friend’s back, kissed Anne’s cheeks, and then offered his arm to Zelie. “We’ll be in touch,mes amis.”
As had become their routine over their week together, Zelie and Marcel walked to the nearest metro station in companionable silence. On the train, they spoke of the pranks Marcel and Gabriel had pulled when they were studying together. And because she deemed it a safe thing to tease him about if anyone were listening in, she said, “Anne seems... nice.” She waggled her brows. “And fond of you.”
He breathed a laugh and shook his head, the ease of it saying as much as his words. “She’s soyoung. Only twenty-two. I’ve known her since she was in pigtails and I a strapping college boy, so no thank you. She’s like a little sister to me.”
That more explained the fondness in Anne’s eyes too, really.She seemed, to Zelie, simply happy to have her old friend home safely... and eager for a bit of adventure.
A kindred spirit, in that. “I’m glad I had the chance to meet her. Both of them.”
The nine o’clock curfew was looming as they exited the station nearest Grigoryan’s house, so they hurried their way down Avenue Foch. Beaufort opened the door as they approached. “Cutting it close tonight,” he muttered under his breath as he shut the door again behind them.
The clock from the drawing room chimed the hour, right on cue.
“But we made it.” Zelie unpinned her hat. “Is Monsieur Grigoryan in?”
Beaufort shook his head. “He sent word that he’d be out until morning. But you have guests,madame.”
She froze. “Ihave guests?”
“Oui. A Monsieur Boutron and Mademoiselle Barbier.”
