Page 96 of The Last Library of Paris

‘That’s not love.’

Sylvie shrugged. ‘We do what we can.’

I looked at her, not sure what to say, then I was saved by the rumble of an engine outside.

‘Another delivery?’ I said.

‘Were you expecting something?’

‘Maybe,’ I said. Could this be from London? The books Marcus had arranged for us to send out.

Together, Sylvie and I went out of the side door and into the courtyard where a van was pulling up.

‘For Frances Reed,’ the driver said out of the window.

‘That’s me.’

He opened the door and got out, then he went to the back of the van and opened it up. Sylvie and I stared inside. The whole van was full of boxes, each labelled Peacock Books.

‘What is this?’ Sylvie said. ‘There are so many.’

‘Are these for the soldiers?’ Alain and Guy had come outside too, obviously having heard the van, and Guy was looking just as shocked as we were. ‘Where have they come from?’

‘Let’s unload them all, and then I’ll tell you.’

We formed ourselves into a line and began passing the boxes along, into the library, as we always did. We were quite slick at it now.

Guy went to find a trolley and Alain – at the end of the line – loaded the boxes on. When the trolley was full, we all paused and Alain helped Guy unload them again in the part of the library we’d been using for the Soldiers’ Book Service.

Usually, we only had to do this once – or perhaps twice if it was a particularly large donation – but today we did it three times. There were so many boxes, we had to pile them on top of each other. I signed the van driver’s paperwork, and off he went. We all stood for a second, staring at the books in disbelief.

‘Where have all these come from?’ asked Guy. ‘Did you know they were coming?’

‘Ah,’ I said. I sat down on one of the boxes. ‘Let me tell you about this.’

Everyone else sat down too. I’d gone over in my head how to tell everyone what was happening, while not telling them too much, but I suddenly felt nervous about it.

‘Peacock are doing special editions of some of their books for the forces,’ I began. ‘Because we have contacts already, they’ve asked us to help get them out to soldiers in the field. We’re just a staging post really. The books will come here, and we’ll send them on.’

Guy looked thoughtful. ‘It’s a good idea,’ he said.

‘I agree.’ I smiled at him. ‘They’ve chosen stories they think soldiers will like.’

‘What have they chosen?’ asked Sylvie.

‘Let’s have a look,’ I said, standing up. I hadn’t been intending to open the boxes – Marcus had said we simply needed to add them to our own collections – but they were here and suddenly I wanted to be sure that the boxes did actually contain books.

So with one of my keys, I sliced the tape that was holding one box closed, and breathed a sigh of relief as it sprang open to reveal the distinctive Peacock books inside.

I took one out – it was Death of a Ghost by Margery Allingham. ‘Oh,’ I said in delight. ‘I love this story.’

I turned it over in my hand. It was slightly different from the usual Peacock books. It was a bright blue colour – peacock blue in fact. I knew they were usually orange, or green. And it was smaller than other books. The perfect size to fit in a pocket. Underneath the title on the cover were the words ‘Services Edition’.

‘You’d like this one,’ said Guy, who’d opened another box. ‘Modern American Short Stories.’

I hadn’t intended to open more boxes, but it seemed churlish to say so now.

‘Are they all different?’ asked Sylvie, holding out her hand for Guy’s keys so she could open a box.