Page 24 of The Last Library of Paris

‘Maybe.’

I put the Evelyn Waugh back down.

‘Frances?’ I looked up to see Sylvie at the door of the room, her lip curled in disdain. ‘The German is here.’

I got to my feet, feeling my knees twinge. ‘What’s he like?’

‘Exactly like I imagined.’

‘Is that good or bad?’

She shrugged. ‘Maybe both.’

‘Wish me luck,’ I said.

‘Bonne chance,’ Guy called.

I went down the staircase, Sylvie and Guy following. I noted with pleasure that there were people browsing the shelves of the library.

The German was standing beside the desk. He wasn’t in uniform, but he was smartly dressed, stiff-backed, and – I realised – familiar.

‘Dr Fischer?’ I said as I approached. He turned to me, gazing at me with piercing blue eyes, and I nodded in recognition.

‘We’ve met,’ I said, holding my hand out to him in welcome. ‘I’m Frances Reed.’

‘Miss Reed,’ he said, his voice warm. ‘I thought your name was familiar when I saw it on the papers, and now I know why. We met in Berlin.’

‘1932,’ I said. ‘Or ’31?’

‘It feels like a lifetime ago.’

‘It does.’ I studied him. ‘You’re not at the Berlin Library anymore, then?’

He shook his head. ‘As you know, I have been given the job of overseeing all the libraries in the occupied territories.’

‘I thought the Nazis were more interested in destroying books than distributing them.’ My tone was sharp.

Fischer gave me a look full of disappointment. ‘I am not a member of the Nazi Party,’ he said. ‘I am a civilian.’

I thought that was splitting hairs somewhat. There seemed to be very little difference between someone who worked for the Nazis and someone who declared themself to be a Nazi. But I didn’t say so.

Dr Fischer obviously took my silence for agreement because he smiled at me.

‘Professional librarians like you and me do not destroy books.’

There was a slow moment of silence as we both regarded one another. And then I said: ‘Would you like me to show you around?’

‘I would.’

Together, we walked towards the shelves. ‘You want to send books to soldiers?’ he said, as we went.

‘That is the idea,’ I said. ‘You and I both know how important books are. I think it would boost morale.’ I paused. ‘I see the soldiers on the street and they’re so young. Their brains should be full of stories and legends, not guns and bombs.’

Fischer stopped beside a shelf marked D–E. ‘Would you ask for the books to be returned?’

‘No, they’d be gifts,’ I said. ‘I’d send them to hospitals, to churches and army bases, across France and beyond.’

‘You can afford it?’