Page 32 of The Secret Librarian
Early that evening, Avery set off to look for the square. It was very central, and it didn’t take her long to find where they all were – a city of families living in makeshift shelters covering the entire area. Avery walked slowly to take it all in, noticing the differences between the locals and the refugees, the women with baskets held high on their heads carrying produce and the mothers with children clinging to their skirts.
Lisbon was sad in one way and vibrant in another, and it made Avery realise that no one back home in America could possibly imagine what it was like here. Without the refugees, Lisbon was a city of music, smiles and happiness, a place that was somehow completely untouched by war, an oasis for the people who lived there and were able to continue their day-to-day lives. But on the other hand, it was also a place that vividly showed the truth of war and the people displaced by it, which made something inside of her burn: a desire to do something,anything, to help them. Only, she had no idea what or how to go about it.
Avery stood for a long time just watching, until the heat from the sun began to fade and a coolness brushed her shoulders, as if to tell her she’d been there long enough.
She sighed, and decided to make her way back to her apartment. She had hours of microfilming ahead of her, and she wanted to write home while the day was still vivid in her mind, to tell her sister about Camille, and also write to Jack to remind him that she was thinking of him. It had been ages since she’d received a letter in return, but then she imagined it would take some timefor him to receive news of her change of address, or for her family to forward anything to her, so she was trying her best to be patient.
As she walked, she couldn’t help but notice a tall, handsome man with light-brown hair coming towards her. She was so distracted by him that she didn’t feel the tug on her handbag until it was too late.
‘No!’ she shouted, as fingers clenched tight around her wrist, so tightly that she felt as if they were going to pierce her skin.
She spun around and came face to face with a haggard-looking woman, the desperation in her eyes terrifying Avery more than the hold she had on her.
‘Please!’ she cried, fighting with the woman as her fingers moved up Avery’s arm, digging in.
‘Let go of her!’ came a deep voice, followed by large hands forcing the woman away.
Avery’s body trembled as she clutched her bag tightly to her chest, the woman backing away but not leaving as she gasped to catch her breath.
‘Please, just have this,’ Avery said, reaching into her bag and taking out some gum and a square of wrapped chocolate and throwing it towards the woman. It was only then that she realised her rescuer had his hand on her shoulder.
‘Are you alright?’ he asked, studying her with the warmest brown eyes she’d ever seen, as the woman scurried away.
‘I, ah, I’ll be fine,’ she stammered. ‘Thank you. I think she would have had my purse if you hadn’t intervened.’
His hand fell away and he stepped back. ‘Desperation brings out the worst in people,’ he said. ‘But I’m pleased you’re alright. You were coming from the square?’
‘Yes. I was just wanting to see the, ah, the situation there with my own eyes.’
The man nodded. ‘I understand. I’ve just returned from delivering some supplies there myself.’
Avery watched him as he held up his hand in a wave and then turned to walk away, looking over his shoulder to give her a quick smile that she couldn’t help but return.
What is it about this city and handsome men?First James and now this fine-looking stranger, and both British, too.
Avery rubbed at her wrist, glancing down and seeing that an ugly blue mark was appearing and her hands were still shaking. She turned on her heel and hurried home, lest she be the target of another hungry person desperate enough to rob her.
But as scared as she was, her curiosity had been piqued, and she knew that she would be back at the square before long to observe the comings and goings again.Only I won’t be stupid enough to bring a purse next time.
Chapter Ten
Camille
Camille glanced over her shoulder, always careful about approaching Rossio Square. Tonight she was dressed in a woollen coat and had a scarf tied over her head, trying as hard as possible not to draw attention to herself, and so far it seemed to have worked. She leaned against a tree and watched the people ahead of her, tears pricking her eyes. They were all sograteful, and that always managed to break something inside of her. They were just people, and yet somehow they’d ended up being so hated that they’d been driven from their homes and persecuted – despised, even. But to her, they were no different to any other human being.
I wish you were here, Hugo. I wish you could see what I see.
Camille looked behind her again, before starting to move. She was a familiar face to many, so when she lowered her scarf and showed her face, no one was alarmed to see her coming towards them. The street lights meant that the refugees were never in the dark, which she imagined added to their feeling of safety, but it made her feel as if she could be seen by anyone, and after the recent visit from the PVDE, she was more on edge than usual. But it wasn’t her that she was worried about; it was the families she’d helped.
The old man she was looking for saw her first, catching her eye when he stood and gave her a nod. Behind him was a woman, perhaps a little older than Camille herself, and Camille watched as she bent to speak to her children before joining the man.
She knew immediately that the woman was his daughter.
‘I have your papers,’ she said in French, once the man was within earshot. ‘Please embrace me, as if we are friends, and I will slide them into your jacket.’
He nodded, and once she was close enough to him, the transfer was made.
‘Thank you for helping us,’ said the woman, and Camille saw the glint of tears in her eyes, recognising the desperation there that was evident in the expressions of so many women just like her. ‘I actually have something for you, something from France.’
