Notan offer he’d make to Lothar, first name basis or not. “I’d be happy to, when time permits. Do you play an instrument?”
Lothar chuckled and fitted his hat onto his head. “I am ashamed to admit it in your presence, but I too play the piano. Not half so well, and I’m not being modest. It’s the truth. But itsoothes the soul, doesn’t it? I try to find an instrument wherever I’m stationed. It keeps me... human.”
If only the rest of his military valued such a thing. Marcel nodded and slid his music into his briefcase. “That, I understand perfectly. My months in service, with no piano, were more torturous than life in the POW camp, if I’m being honest. Your cousin”—that connection still baffled him—“was always quite happy to provide the musicians among us with instruments. Perhaps that was your influence.”
Lothar laughed and angled toward the door. “I’ll take the credit. But I won’t detain you, Marcel, I’m sure you’re eager to begin your holiday, and I have a train to catch. See you in a few weeks, when it’s time to make your selections for the Christmas season.”
“I look forward to it.” Just words... mostly. Though hewaslooking forward to creating the holiday lineup. What were the chances...? “How do you feel about Handel?” The composer was an Englishman, after all. But he’d had a bit of German blood, hadn’t he?
Half out the door already, Lothar paused and flashed a smile. “Messiahis one of my favorites. I was hoping you’d suggest it.”
They shared one more smile, and then Lothar left, the door from the practice room to the outside opening and shutting heavily a moment later. Marcel dragged in a breath, let it slowly out. And debated what he meant to do with his holiday. He couldn’t go far—he’d have to meet Zelie on Wednesday evening so she could hand him whatever code phrases he needed to include in his introduction on Thursday.
The first time he’d put his mouth to the microphone, nerves had wracked him, especially knowing well that Lothar Von Eberstein would be listening in. He wasn’t sure which nerves were because of the message he recited and which were because it had been his fledgling orchestra’s first broadcast.
No one had ever questioned his introductions, though, thanks to the seemingly innocuous and appropriate phrases Zelie fed him. Things likeI am overjoyedto signal that a drop had been successful orI was moved to near tearsto say it had been delayed due to weather. Some of them she didn’t offer explanation for, and he had to assume they were too sensitive to give him any details.
Fine by him. He had enough to keep up with, with these seventy young men, all the travel, setting up and making meetings with Alliance agents in each of the towns they toured, organizing the intelligence they and his own recruits in the arts sector sent him, meeting with Lothar...
He sagged for a moment, overwhelm striking when he considered the reports in his flat that he still had to decrypt, read, encrypt again, and pass off to Zelie, if useful enough to warrant it.
He’d balked, at first, when she told himhehad to decide what to pass along and what to deem useless. Who was he to know such things? What if some detail he thought rubbish turned out to be crucial?
But he’d quickly understood her point. If he, who received only a portion of the intelligence that Alliance brokered, was overwhelmed by the volume, how could she, who handledallof it, hope to get through it?
At least it would be entertaining to read Gabriel’s reports. He always included witty, sarcastic observations of the Nazi officers he saw, in addition to whatever plans or developments they spoke of.
He shook himself and left his office, locking it, and repeated the action on the building’s exterior doors. Then halted when he turned and spotted the black Citroën at the curb and the brunette leaning against it. Zelie’s face was tilted up toward the autumn sunshine, but he read distress in its lines.
His pulse pounded. She never sought him out on a Monday, not since Navarre’s arrest. She didn’t have time for impromptu visits. They met every Wednesday, and once in a while a notewould come inviting him and Vivi out to the villa. But for her to show up here now?
Something was wrong. He forced his pace to remain slow and steady as he adjusted his aim for her car instead of turning immediately down the street with its multicolored buildings and terra-cotta roofs that would lead to his flat, a mere five-minute walk away. “Zelie?”
She lowered her head, opened her eyes, but the smile she gave him was taut and fraught. “Bonjour, Marcel.” Her eyes darted down the street, away. “Lovely company you had today, I see. Was this a scheduled visit?”
He puffed out a breath. “No, he was just in the neighborhood, he said, and wanted to observe a practice.”
She still stared off. “He looked familiar. I think I passed him at the train station on my way to Paris.”
From anyone else, he’d have doubted the memory. Who, after all, could remember every face they’d seen in a busy depot? But he knew the answer—Zelie. Her memory was unrivaled, he’d learned that already.
Before he could say as much, she looked his way again. “I’m sorry you have to deal with him, on top of everything else. Does it unnerve you? Having him stop by randomly?”
“A bit. But I try to remind myself that he’s just a man, a musician. Given this duty because of his love for music.” The conversation, though, hadn’t made the lines in her face relax any. “Is everything all right?”
Her smile was anything but convincing. “I thought perhaps you’d be open to using your holiday for a trip to Cannes. Our brothers will both be there.”
His brows drew together before he could think to keep them smooth. So far as he knew, she hadn’t seen her children since July, when she’d taken a quick trip one weekend. The thought of seeing them again couldn’t be what had her so uneasy. Not unlesssomething was wrong. “Are Blaise and Elise all right?” He’d yet to meet them, but she told so many stories that he felt as though he did.
She pressed her lips together. “Well enough. Blaise is home for a few days too—a little autumn holiday. It seemed a perfect time to visit, with the whole family there. I don’t recall the last time that’s happened.”
Again, cause for excitement, not the dark tone. He nodded. “I’d love to accompany you. When do we leave?”
Her smile wobbled around the edges. “As soon as you can pack a bag?” Her blue eyes sparkled with unshed tears.
He held out his hand. “I think perhaps I’d better drive to my flat.”
The fact that she passed him the keys without argument said as much as the tears and the wobble. He opened the passenger door for her, closed her in, and then jogged around to the driver’s side. The moment he’d closed his own doors and turned the ignition, he said, “Tell me.”
