Page 37 of The Secret Librarian
‘You were scared because you thought they might kill you, too?’
A tear slid down Camille’s cheek and landed on the chopping board, narrowly missing the cheese. She quickly blinked to stop more from falling, not used to letting her emotions get the better of her.
‘I was angry because I thought they’d found me before I’d found out who was responsible for betraying us in France, and before I could help more people who need me and the services I provide,’ she whispered. ‘I made a promise the day they killed my Hugo that I wouldn’t stop until I knew, and that I would keep doing the work that was so important to both of us. But I’m no closer now to finding out who he is than I was then.’ She exhaled. ‘I was never scared of the work we did in France, not until the very last day, but now I’m so afraid of what might happen.’
‘You’re telling me that you’re in Lisbon searching for the person who—’
‘Killed my husband,’ Camille finished for her.
Avery removed her hand from Camille’s shoulder and took the plate of food, carrying it over to the small table. She went back for her glass of wine, which she’d left beside the armchair.
‘I’m trusting you tonight, in telling you all this,’ Camille said. ‘You’re the only person in Lisbon who knows the truth.’
Avery bit down on her bottom lip for a moment, before taking another sip of her drink. Camille felt as if she were holding her breath, because she certainly didn’t have a plan for what to do if Avery didn’t want to be confided in.
‘You can trust me, Camille. You’re the only friend I have here, and just hearing what happened to you, what happened to your husband, as well as seeing the refugees here, it makes me realise how little I truly understood about the war.’
Camille slipped her feet out of her shoes and tucked her legs up beneath her on the chair opposite Avery, nursing her own glass of wine.
‘I suppose I’m no different than all those young men who are so desperate to go off to war and fight for their country, not really knowing what they’re about to face, what it’ll be like there. I was so desperate to do something,anything, to help, fantasising about being sent overseas, but it wasn’t until I saw all those refugees in the square waiting with their families that I trulysawthe war for what it was.’ Avery exhaled. ‘When I saw you, I knew you were doing something to help, that there was a reason you were there, but I never could have guessed how involved you were.’
‘What did you see when you visited the square, Avery?’ Camille asked.
Avery’s eyes met hers, and Camille saw a change in them, an understanding in her gaze. ‘I saw what the war was doing to people, even on this small scale, and it made it real to me. It made me want to do more.’
‘You know,’ Camille said, reaching for a piece of cheese and a small slice of bread, ‘we had a saying in France, that it doesn’t matter how small the role, everyone counts. Because without every part filled, without someone for every job, we will fail. The Resistance movement was testament to that saying.’
‘You’re trying to tell me that acquiring newspapers and books should be enough for me?’ Avery laughed. ‘Is that your version of an apology for asking if my work was worthwhile?’
Camille laughed back. ‘I’m telling you that the fact you’re doingsomethingis still important, no matter how insignificant it might feel sometimes. It takes many to achieve great things, and yes, I shouldn’t have been so hard on you. It’s just that I’ve seen so much, and sometimes I can’t help but want everyone to do more than they’re already doing.’
They both sipped their wine and nibbled cheese, and Camille realised just how much she’d missed the simple pleasure of sharing a meal with someone whose company she enjoyed.
‘Can I ask why you think the person responsible for killing your husband is here, in Lisbon?’
‘Because there are very few other places where enemies can meet in person to trade secrets and double-cross one another,’ Camille told her. ‘All of the best spies and double agents in the world are right here in Lisbon. If I’m ever going to find the information I need, it will be here.’
They sat in silence for a moment, until Camille spoke again.
‘Have you seen your British friend again?’
‘James?’ Avery asked, looking surprised by the question. ‘Not since the day we had lunch. Why?’
‘It’s nothing. I’m suspicious of everyone and I just ...’ Camille rose and reached for the bottle of wine she’d left open in the kitchen. ‘I think I’ve said quite enough for today. Let’s just drink,enjoy each other’s company, and hope the PVDE don’t come and knock the door down.’
Poor Avery gulped down her wine so fast that Camille started to laugh, almost losing her own mouthful. She hadn’t laughed or felt happy in such a long time, and she realised just how much she’d missed the feeling.
‘Would it make you feel better if we barricaded the door with furniture?’ Camille asked.
‘Yes,’ Avery said, wide-eyed. ‘What shall we use?’
And within minutes they were grunting and giggling, trying their hardest to push a wooden cabinet in front of the door, and recognising that there was no way they were going to get it across the room. Which left them sitting in a heap on the floor, wiggling their toes in their stockings as they sat side by side.
‘I think I’m already drunk,’ Avery said. ‘I feel all light-headed.’
‘Shall I pour you another glass then?’
Camille stood and pulled Avery to her feet, trying not to laugh as Avery stumbled into her.
