Page 49 of The Last Library of Paris

‘And I am a fifty-year-old American librarian.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Forgive me if I ask, what on earth you want from me.’

‘I need to know I can trust you.’

I stared at him.

‘But you work for British intelligence?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then I’m going to assume you’ve already checked me out.’

He looked slightly sheepish.

‘Yes, all right, I’ve done a bit of digging.’

‘So you’ll know I’m trustworthy.’

I leaned back in my chair, wondering when Guy and Alain would return and what they would think if they came back now.

Marcus was quiet for so long that I almost got up to give him a prod and check he hadn’t fallen asleep.

‘It’s not official,’ he said. ‘I won’t be offended if you say no.’

‘Go on.’

‘My mother is Jewish. She is not a woman of faith. I think her experiences during the last war convinced her there is no God. But she is Jewish.’

I looked at him. ‘And you?’

He nodded slowly. ‘Jewish enough for it to be a problem should anyone find out. Not so Jewish that anyone’s likely to.’

My stomach lurched. ‘Right.’

‘Things are bad.’

‘I know.’

‘I’ve been speaking to Jews.’

‘In Paris?’

‘Paris, yes, but all over. Holland. Belgium. Germany, too. I started long before the war began.’

‘Started what?’

‘Writing their stories.’

‘What sort of stories?’

‘About what’s happening to them.’ He paused. ‘No, that sounds like it’s accidental. About what the Nazis are doing to them.’

I breathed in and out slowly. ‘Is it very bad?’

‘Very, very bad.’