Page 67 of The Librarian Spy

However, the island’s freedom had not only rallied the Resistance to redouble their efforts, so too had it incensed the Gestapo and their French counterparts, the Milice.

Antoine arrived early the next morning and was already bowed over his work with focused diligence.

“I have the newest codes from Radio Londres,” Elaine said by way of greeting.

He gave a grunt of acknowledgment.

Elaine went to the kitchen and returned with a cup of roasted barley and chicory. “Will you look over the messages when you have a moment?”

“The likelihood of hearing back from anyone on your article is practically impossible.” His nail beds were blue where his fingers pinched at the slender drawing stick. “Most especially London.” He tilted his aquiline nose upward with a sniff.

“All the same...” She set the hot mug on the table beside him. Steam curled in the frigid warehouse air in a white-gray tendril.

He slid her a look that told her he knew exactly what she was doing. But he still took the drink in his hands.

She smiled and placed her carefully written notes before him.

He scanned over it as he took a careful sip from the hot mug, then sat back to regard her with fresh consideration.

Her chest went tight. “What is it?”

He gave a small, incredulous laugh. “It appears your message has been received.”

Elaine sucked in a breath of surprise. London had her message. She had anticipated someone within France would be the likely candidate to offer aid. Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine help would come from London.

“Just because they have received your request doesn’t mean they’ll do anything,” Antoine cautioned.

“I know,” she replied, unable to stop her grin.

He resumed his work with a disbelieving grunt, but she saw the hint of a smile on his lips before he bent his head once more. No matter how many warnings he might offer, Elaine would not be discouraged.

That afternoon she and Jean worked side by side together, setting the typography for the upcoming edition of Combat.

“Bonjour.” Nicole’s singsong voice tinkled over the clatter of the automatic press.

“Bonjour, Nicole,” Jean called back with a shy wave. “You look beautiful as always.”

She swept her hand through the air dismissively, but with apparent pleasure at his compliment.

Jean’s face flushed.

“You should talk to her,” Elaine said encouragingly in a whisper.

His head shook in vigorous refusal. With a sigh, she pushed up from the series of stacked typography slugs and approached Nicole, who was in deep conversation with Marcel. Elaine almost turned away until a familiar name caught her ears.

Josette.

“She is breaking,” Marcel said. “Tearing apart at the seams. We cannot afford—”

“She’s fine,” Nicole insisted. “I’ll care for her.”

“Is she worth risking your life for?” Marcel pressed. “Risking your father’s and your brother’s?”

“That isn’t fair.”

“War is not fair.”

Nicole caught sight of Elaine and called out with a wave, her expression set in forced joy, her cheeks blazing with color.