Page 11 of The Last Library of Paris

‘Bea and I have been doing a thing,’ she said quietly, getting up and locking the shop door.

‘A thing …’

‘With refugees.’

Bea had been helping process refugees since before the war, so this wasn’t news to me.

‘Jewish refugees,’ said Lara. She sat down behind the counter again. ‘There is a chap called Santiago Alves. He’s Portuguese, but he’s been living in Bordeaux. And he’s been giving Jewish people false papers to get them through Portugal faster.’

I leaned towards her. ‘Portuguese passports?’

‘Sometimes, but mostly Portuguese visas.’

‘Brave.’

‘Definitely.’ Lara nodded. ‘A while ago the government realised what he was doing. They announced that any Portuguese visas issued in Bordeaux weren’t valid. And they ordered him back to Lisbon. He’s here now.’

I frowned, thinking hard. ‘So, he’s processing visa requests from Lisbon?’ I said. ‘And sending them to Jews in France so they can travel here safely?’

‘France, Belgium, Holland … all over,’ Lara said with a nod. ‘With a Portuguese visa, a person can travel through Spain. But the problem is, Alves wasn’t supposed to be issuing these visas when he was in Bordeaux, and he’s certainly not supposed to be doing it now. He did thousands of visas when the Nazis were invading France and he wants to keep going but his hands are tied.’

Lara explained that she and Bea were helping by filling in forms because Alves simply couldn’t write fast enough, and Bea was also helping send the visas to France thanks to some of her contacts.

Bea had friends everywhere and it didn’t surprise me that she could somehow get visas smuggled into France. At the other end – in Bordeaux – were some French civil servants whom Alves had recruited to distribute the visas. It sounded horribly risky, but also impressive.

‘But it’s all going to stop when Alves is sanctioned,’ Lara had said, with bleak resignation. ‘All those people we could have helped.’

‘How will he be sanctioned?’ I asked, my mind racing.

‘He thinks he’s going to be forcibly retired. He could even go to jail.’

‘Surely not?’

Lara shrugged. ‘He broke a lot of rules.’

‘But there are so many refugees who still need help,’ I said.

‘There are.’

‘This is dangerous.’

‘Yes.’ Lara looked serious for a moment. ‘The PVDE are always sniffing round. If the Nazis hear of it, well …’

I took a breath.

‘What can I do to help?’

Chapter 3

Frances

Paris

There were soldiers by the Metro station again. Just young guys standing, laughing in a group. If it weren’t for their uniforms, you’d think they were just high school students, joking about girls or a football game.

As I cycled past them, though, I felt my shoulders tighten, braced for them to stop me and ask questions. But they didn’t even notice me. I sailed on by, bumping over the cobbles – my greying hair, my basket of books and my cardigan all making me invisible. I rather liked it.

It was still early, but the sun was already up, which raised my spirits somewhat as I crossed Rue de Lisbonne or as the sign now read, Lisabonner Stra☐e. As it did every day, the street name made me think of Bea, whom I’d met during the last war and who now ran a bookshop in Lisbon. I wondered how she was or if she was even still there. And I felt a familiar shiver of envy that Portugal was neutral. It was said Lisbon was the only city in Europe where the lights had stayed on, as the rest of the continent was plunged into darkness by the Nazis’ relentless advance.