Page 29 of The Secret Librarian
Camille forced herself to stand, opening her eyes, pulling herself away from the past as best she could, trying to stop the memories from haunting her. It was as if she could feel Hugo standing behind her, his steady hand on her shoulder as he coaxed her back to him, telling her everything was going to be alright, promising her that life was somehow worth living without him. Only it wasn’t going to be alright, because he wasn’t here. Camille’s life was empty without him; every single day a painful reminder of what she’d lost.
She took a few deep breaths and bent back down to collect the notebook she kept beneath the floorboards, before carefully replacing the boards. Camille sat down and opened it, reading through her notes, trying to see if there was anything she’d missed. She did this every week, hoping that something would stand outto her or that something new would come into her mind while she read back through the words she’d penned.
British intelligence. Could be a double agent or someone who’s gone rogue.
Special Operations Executive operative, which means he is most likely a spy sent for the Allies but bribed for some reason to work for Nazis. But why? What would make a man turn his back on his country. Money? Revenge? Retribution?
Resistance cell. Did someone on the inside betray us?
Did someone follow us? Did we get lazy with keeping watch?
The Jewish family. The last one. Was there something different about them? Were they of special interest to the Nazis for some reason? Was there a reason they/we were targeted?
Are there more new arrivals to question?
Camille had gone over their last days and weeks together with a fine-tooth comb, writing a diary of everything they’d done, the people they’d seen, the families they’d helped. She’d created a cross-stitched memory of their movements, but still nothing had stood out to her as being unusual – no clues as to how or why they’d been betrayed. Over the past year, she’d begun to include every tiny thing that she could recall; nothing was too insignificant – where they’d had lunch, who’d been with them, who they’d spoken to, whatthey’d been wearing. But nothing had helped. The only thing it had done was keep her up late at night, her mind whirring as she punished herself for her inability to figure it all out, forcing herself to recall the same few days over and over again.
There must have been something. There must be some clue, some hint, somethingthat I’m missing.But the only thing she was certain of was that if it had been a double agent, then sooner or later he was going to show up in Lisbon – it was the only place spies from opposing sides could meet without drawing attention. If I’m right in my suspicions, Kiefer will know him and be liaising with him. If this SOE agent worked with the Nazis in France, then if he’s still alive, he’ll be working with them now, even if he’s still pretending to be loyal to Britain. And if that was the case, then she intended on using Kiefer to find out everything she could.
But none of it was going to bring her Hugo back. Even if the war ended, she had no life to return to, no family or loved ones waiting for her. They were all gone. This war had taken everyone from her, and no matter what happened, she was still going to be alone. Which meant that all she could do was save as many lives as she could, while she could, before exacting her revenge.
She closed the notebook and put it back, making sure no one could tell that the floorboards had been moved, placing a chair half over them and trying her hardest not to cry. Some days were more challenging than others, and for some reason, meeting someone like Avery, making plans with Avery as if her life were normal, had only made the memories hit harder.
Camille brushed the tears from her eyes and took out her compact mirror, dusting her face with powder and applying a sweep of her favourite red lipstick in an attempt to right herself. She put everything back in her bag and stopped by the counter, making a little ‘Back in an Hour’ sign and taping it to the glass. Lunch sitting in the sunshine was exactly what she needed, and it wasn’t as if sheever usually did anything for herself. Besides, she was still curious about the woman she was meeting. Avery had seemed so innocent and naive when they’d first met, but she’d helped Camille without hesitation earlier, and regardless of how reckless that might have been, Camille felt that she at least owed her lunch.
Not to mention Camille kept wondering whether Avery might just be the perfect recruit for her little forgery business. She’d been searching for someone she could trust for months, someone who could produce the photos she needed for brand-new identification papers, and perhaps a pretty American wouldn’t be suspected of helping Jews by the PVDE. As much as she didn’t want to put anyone else in danger, there could be a way to keep Avery safeandhelp others in the process, if she was careful.
Or I could be entirely wrong and she could be the reason everything comes falling down around me.
Chapter Nine
Avery
Avery couldn’t believe how busy the Pastelaria Suíça café was, but she realised the moment she found it, head down following Camille’s directions before looking up and seeing it before her, why Camille had been amused at her not knowing where it was.
The café was in the middle of D. Pedro IV Square, with huge glass doors that opened wide to a large terrace that was densely filled with tables and chairs. Sunshine bathed all of the patrons, most of whom were drinking coffee, and when Avery saw a couple vacating one of the tables, she was quick to pounce, hoping there wasn’t a line. But no one reprimanded her, and so she sat down, aware that she was early but not having wanted to keep Camille waiting in case she hadn’t been able to find the place. Given that Camille had to close her shop to meet for lunch, Avery was pleased they weren’t going to have to waste time waiting for a seat.
Many of the people around her spoke the type of rapid Portuguese that she heard every time she walked the streets, and when she’d visited the market earlier, but there were also many speaking in other languages. She heard more than a few people speaking French, and when she looked around she noticed therewere a handful of women quietly sitting alone who didn’t appear to be local. She immediately wondered what their stories were, imagining that maybe they felt safer in a crowded café.
Avery had observed it was easy to spot a foreign woman, more by the length of her skirt or the absence of a hat or lipstick. She tried to listen to some of the conversations as she waited.
‘Well, if it isn’t my favourite librarian.’
Avery knew exactly who it was before she turned, and this time she was determined not to blush.
‘I’m starting to think you’re following me,’ she said, folding her arms across her chest. ‘The first time was a coincidence, the second time was surprising, and the third time, well, I’d say you were looking for me.’
He laughed, and she found it impossible not to grin back at him, enjoying the game they played.
‘May I join you?’
She didn’t point out that he’d already sat down. ‘You can keep that seat warm until the person I’m meeting arrives.’
‘Not your wayward friend from the other night?’
‘Ahh, no. Tom has left Lisbon, I’m afraid.’
James raised his brows, clearly waiting for her to tell him who she was waiting for.
