Page 21 of The Secret Librarian
‘Who was that woman?’ he asked, striding towards her and running a hand through his hair.
Camille shrugged. ‘A woman looking for a book to read, that’s all.’
‘An American?’ he asked.
She swallowed, knowing there was no point in lying to him. If he wanted to find out who Avery was, he’d follow her himself, so she may as well tell the truth.
‘An American librarian, actually,’ Camille said, reaching for the jacket she had folded behind the counter for him. She’d even dabbed a little drop of her perfume inside the collar. ‘This is for you.’
He took it from her, and before he could ask, she took out a small bundle of newspapers for him. ‘This is a copy ofThe Timesfrom last week and today’s Portuguese newspaper.’ She smiled. ‘I also have a very recent copy of an AmericanTimemagazine that I was able to procure. I thought it might be of interest.’
His smile told her that he’d already forgotten all about the American girl, and she realised that it had most definitely been worth giving him the single copy ofTimethat she’d had delivered. If anything, it would help him to trust her.
‘Well, aren’t you full of surprises today.’ He took the papers and tucked them under his arm.
‘Will I be seeing you tonight?’ she asked.
Kiefer shrugged. ‘Perhaps. But I have work to do today and it might spill over into tonight.’
‘Well, perhaps tomorrow night then,’ she said, relieved that she’d have time to work on her forgeries rather than having to see him, and just then the bell rang again and one of her regular customers entered – a mother with her young child on her hip.
The woman looked nervous, as many did when they saw a man like Kiefer. With his blond hair and height, it was obvious he wasn’t local, not to mention his thick accent giving away that he was German. If it had been a Jewish customer, she didn’t doubt that they would have run straight back out the door and disappeared on to the street, perhaps never to enter her bookshop again.
‘I should have what you asked me for later this week,’ he said. ‘You just keep these papers coming to me, yes? And I’ll see you another night.’
Camille nodded and waved goodbye to him, exhaling the breath she hadn’t even known she was holding and taking a momentbefore going to help the mother and son with their book selection. But even as she talked to them and found books the young boy might like, it was Avery she kept thinking about.
She might just be the librarian she was claiming to be, and if that was the case then Camille wanted to find out everything there was to know about her pretty new American customer. And she especially wanted to find out what this microfilming was that she had spoken of, because she had the strangest feeling that if the woman’s sympathies were strong enough, she might be one of the few people in the city who could be useful when it came to Camille’s late-night forgeries. Most especially if she had a camera at her disposal and experience at developing film.
It was after dark when Camille reached the square. She’d worked late, and the forged visas she’d penned were now drying, but when she’d left her shop, a little boy had been waiting in the shadows. It was the boy she was still following now, but she was careful to walk a long way behind him just in case she was being watched, not wanting to put him in danger.
It wasn’t a crime to liaise with the large numbers of Jewish families now populating the square, but she was reluctant to give the Portuguese police any further reason to be suspicious of her.
The little boy dashed into one of the many makeshift tents – the square had become almost like a city of refugees – and Camille waited for a moment, looking behind her before following him again.
‘She’s here,’ the boy whispered in French, and a woman’s head emerged barely a second later.
‘Thank you for coming,’ the woman said. ‘You are the lady from the bookshop? The French lady?’
Camille nodded.
‘We were told we could trust you.’
‘I can’t be here for long. Do you need visas?’
‘Yes, and I also need identification papers for my daughter,’ the woman said. ‘She’s only a toddler, but we won’t be able to leave without papers. I’m afraid of what the authorities will do if they catch us.’
‘Do any of you have visas to be here?’ Camille asked.
The woman shook her head, tears filling her eyes, visible in the glow of the street light. ‘No.’
‘Without the right documentation for all of you, they could send you all back,’ Camille told her. ‘The PVDE raid the camps here often, looking for those who are here illegally. You’re not safe without entrance visas.’
‘I have no money to offer you, I can’t—’
Camille reached for the woman’s hands and held them tightly, the conversation reminding her of the last time she and Hugo had said the same words she was about to whisper now. ‘I don’t want payment from you. Your safety is payment enough, and you’ll need everything you have for your passage out of Portugal.’
The woman’s hands were cold in Camille’s and she kept hold of them, wanting to warm them as much as she could before she let go.
