Page 78 of The Last Library of Paris

My legs had begun to shake, so I sat down on one of the metal chairs next to the window. I knew I should move, in case Parrish happened to see me, but it was dark now and I thought if he did glance towards the window, all he’d see would be his own reflection.

I should have been more confident in my instincts, because it was obvious now that Parrish had realised what we were doing with these visa applications and he was using it for leverage. I’d brushed aside my own concerns, convinced myself I was wrong. But now it was clear.

How much was he being paid to pass on information to the PVDE? Rumours were a valuable currency in Lisbon and judging by Parrish’s expensive clothes, he was being well looked after.

I looked at Miguel who himself passed on rumours to Digby, and who was leaning on the bar, watching the customers. What did he think of Parrish? Did he think anything at all?

As I looked, Miguel straightened up and for the first time I noticed Valentine was in the bar, too. He was sitting in the corner, a glass by his elbow, reading a book. One of the Peacock books, I noticed with some amusement. He looked engrossed but something about the way he was sitting made me think he wasn’t reading at all. I squinted at him through the window. Was he watching Parrish, too?

Parrish was flicking through the visa applications, writing something down in his little notebook. It looked to me as though he was copying down names from the forms. I wondered if he was going to follow them up – maybe check out the sponsors’ credentials. The thought made me go cold.

Perhaps I could go into the bar, stop to say hello to Parrish and somehow get the application forms. I was quick and stealthy. I could distract him – or get Lara to help – and slide them away, right from under his nose. Though given our history I wasn’t sure a friendly chat was on the cards. Could I flirt my way to getting the applications back? Absolutely not. I was not a flirt. Parrish would realise what I was up to straightaway.

‘Ridiculous,’ I muttered to myself. Talk about drawing attention to myself. I took a deep breath. I was not the panicking sort. If I could just think this through clearly, I would find a solution.

A group of men sauntered up to the door of the bar, and I stiffened as I saw Jose Costa – the PVDE officer – among them. He wasn’t in uniform, but I recognised him at once. They went inside, and sat down, while one of them went to the bar to order drinks. Jose didn’t sit down. He went to walk towards the back of the bar, where the toilets were, which would mean him passing Parrish.

I edged closer to the window, keen to see everything. Jose kept his face forwards, but he must have done something – a tiny hand gesture or a flicker of his eyes – to alert Parrish because I saw Parrish give a small nod. So small I only saw it because I was watching for it. Jose walked past and Parrish sat, his hand on the pile of documents. Then he stood up – documents and notebook in his hand.

‘Bugger,’ I breathed again. Surely, Parrish wasn’t going to hand these papers over to the secret police? If he did that, those refugees would never get their visas processed. What an absolute shit of a man he was. All those lives, all those struggling, desperate lives were in his hands.

As Parrish turned to follow Jose, though, I saw Valentine get up from his seat in the corner and block Parrish’s way. I couldn’t see his expression – he was still in shadow – but he loomed over Parrish as he clapped him on the back jovially.

My head spun in confusion. Was Valentine in on this, too? What on earth was going on?

Eager to know what was happening, I edged too close to the window and banged my head on the frame.

‘Ouch,’ I said, pulling back and rubbing my forehead. ‘Stupid.’ I turned back to look inside the bar again, but to my dismay, Valentine and Parrish were gone.

‘What on earth?’ I muttered, scanning the bar. It was busy but there was no sign of either man. I presumed they’d gone out the back way – where Jose Costa would have been waiting. Furious with Parrish, with myself, with Jose, Valentine, the world, I shoved my metal chair backwards, scraping it across the tiled pavement, and stood up. I would go round the back of the bar and track them down. I was not going to let any of them get away with this.

I tossed my hair back, lifted my chin and went to march round to the back entrance of the bar, only to come face to face with Valentine, who was leaning against the wall looking very pleased with himself.

‘Looking for these, Atkins?’ he said, brandishing the pile of applications in one hand and Parrish’s little notebook in the other.

I stared at him, so baffled by what was happening that I couldn’t even bring myself to correct my surname.

‘I think …’ Valentine said. He wasn’t smiling now and instead looked just as annoyed as I probably did. ‘I think you’d better tell me what on earth is going on.’

Chapter 22

It wasn’t often I was genuinely lost for words, but right at that moment, I had no idea what to say. I stared at Valentine and he stared back at me. And then he said: ‘Shall we just go for a drink?’

‘A drink?’

‘Yes, Jenkins, a drink.’

‘Watkins,’ I muttered.

He shrugged. ‘I think we’re best to avoid this bar for now,’ he said. ‘Know somewhere else?’

Still a little confused, I pointed across the road.

‘What about over there?’ I said. ‘It’s normally busy enough that we won’t be noticed.’

‘Good,’ said Valentine. ‘Let’s go.’

The bar across the way was quieter than the British Bar, but still buzzing enough that no one paid us any attention. There were a couple of groups engaged in lively chatter, two older men playing chess at one end, and a couple entwined in a corner.