Page 27 of The Last Library of Paris

‘I thought Jews from the occupied territories weren’t allowed to hold money in foreign accounts?’ I said, my brow furrowed.

Edith gave me a look that said ‘see!’ and I sighed because I did see.

‘Well, that makes things harder,’ I said.

‘Or they must be self-supporting – have a job offer. Those jobs are usually domestic servants, or there are some nursing positions.’

‘I’ve met doctors at Rossio,’ I said, referring to the city square where the refugees gathered. ‘Teachers, lawyers, musicians, all sorts.’

‘That doesn’t matter to the authorities,’ said Edith. ‘The other alternative is for them to have a sponsor, who will guarantee the £50.’

‘That’s a lot of money,’ I said, deflated now. I’d been so excited about my idea, and now it all seemed hopeless.

Edith tapped her finger on the desk again. ‘Before the war I made the acquaintance of a couple of sisters. Opera buffs, they were. They travelled all over Europe watching shows.’

‘Right.’ I wasn’t interested in opera.

‘And while they were whizzing about the continent, they smuggled home jewellery and trinkets belonging to Jews. Then they used those valuables as security for their sponsors.’

My jaw dropped. ‘Two women did that?’

‘Ordinary women. They were good fun, actually. One of them writes romance stories. Imagine that.’

My head was spinning.

‘What are you saying?’

‘I’m saying there is always a way.’ Edith smiled at me. ‘We just have to be creative.’

‘How likely is it that the job offers will be double checked?’ I said, thinking hard. ‘Would anyone turn up to check that a refugee was doing the job they had said they would do?’

‘Before the war, things were quite tightly controlled,’ said Edith. ‘Now, I think it’s more haphazard. A telephone call at best.’

‘And the sponsors? Are their financial affairs checked?’

Edith shrugged. ‘Not in fine detail. Not anymore.’

‘Hmm.’ I tapped my own fingers on the desk, mimicking Edith. My thoughts were coming fast, one after the other and I was trying to get them in order. Perhaps we could help the refugees and my parents.

‘What are you thinking?’ she asked.

‘What if we get a whole load of names from Britain? People who can offer jobs or sponsorship – in theory, though perhaps not in actual fact – and use them to process as many visas as we can.’

‘Where would we find people willing to do that?’ Edith said. ‘It’s illegal.’

I shrugged. ‘I find the law to be more flexible in wartime.’

With a smile, Edith nodded.

‘My brother died,’ I said.

‘I know.’

‘My parents are lost.’

‘Understandable.’

Edith eyed me with trepidation, as though she wasn’t sure where this was going.