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He pushes himself out of his chair and walks to the bed. He sits next to me and brushes a strand of hair off my forehead. “There’s a Milice officer watching the hotel from across the street. He’s been there a while.”
The thought of him there, possibly waiting for me, sends my heart thumping heavily in my chest, the vibrations felt in my ribs. The Gestapo is setting up a trap for Baudelaire, and I cannot help the feeling that I, too, am approaching a trap that at any moment will be sprung. The danger has always been there, only now it feels that much more real.
“I wonder who he’s looking for.” I keep my tone casual, the skill honed from months of living in occupied France. It does nothing to calm my heartbeat. “Have you been up long?”
“Only about half an hour.”
“And he’s been there the entire time?”
Johann nods, lips rolled into a line. “He was watching the main entrance when I first opened the curtains, and he hasn’t moved since.”
If he’s waiting for someone of interest to the police, then he’s not here alone. There will be officers watching the other entrances too.
I make a move to climb out of bed, the sheet wrapped around my chest, wishing Johann and I didn’t have to go anywhere. Wishing we could just stay in bed and make love like we did last night until the officer tires and goes away. Until I forget all about the officers and the war and the hate.
Johann pulls me onto his lap and kisses me. I embrace him, holding him close, not wanting to let go. The touch of his lips makes me forget what I’m supposed to do. The sheet puddles around my waist, and I get lost in the kiss.
It doesn’t last long enough, but from the way his body reacts pressed against me, if he hadn’t pulled away when he did, we would likely be having a very late breakfast.
Smiling shyly, I hurry to my bathroom.
I step out of it several minutes later, dressed. Someone knocks at my room door. Johann walks to the door and opens it.
“I have Madame’s coffee, Monsieur,” a young female voice says.
“Oh, yes, I did order that,” I respond so Johann does not suspect anything is out of sorts.
He opens the door wider, and a maid enters. Her dark hair is pulled up in a low chignon and the rest of her description matches the one Allaire sent me last week.
Her gaze settles on me. I give her a barely perceptible nod and walk to where I left my purse. I remove from the secret compartment a franc note and the coded message I wrote last night for Allaire.
She places the tray on the side table, and I discreetly hand her the message. “Merci.”
“Merci, Madame.” She gives me a slight curtsy, and her gaze darts to the tray. I return her unspoken message with a tiny nod, and she leaves.
“Would you like some coffee?” I ask Johann.
“I don’t suppose it’s real coffee, is it?”
The corners of my mouth pull into an amused smile. “It smells like chicory water.”
“That’s what I thought. I’ll pass, merci beaucoup.”
I pour myself a cup, even though I’m not all that interested in drinking the water. Without being obvious about it, my fingers nimbly search for the message somewhere on the tray.
They brush across the tiny, folded piece of paper, and I palm it in my fist. I take a sip of my coffee, waiting for the opportune moment when I can read the note.
Johann removes the folded newspaper that was delivered with the beverage. “I’m going to read this in my room. You can join me when you’re ready.” He carries the newspaper through the open connecting doors.
I go to the bathroom and quickly work on transcribing the message Allaire sent me.
Go for a walk with Captain Schmidt to the pond in the Tuileries Gardens. You are not to meet with anyone, including me. You’re out for a pleasant stroll with your officer sweetheart. Will watch if you are followed.
I rip the message into small pieces, put them in the ashtray, and light them with a match. I wait until they’re nothing more than powdered ash and flush them down the loo. I join Johann in his room.
“Is there anything interesting in there?” I nod at the open newspaper in his hand.
“Apparently the Germans are winning the war.” He raises an eyebrow. “And they’re claiming to have won battles the other side also claims to have won, according to Friday’s broadcast.” He folds the paper and tosses it onto the bed. “It’s hard to know what and whom to believe these days.” He pulls me onto his lap.
