Page 51 of The Secret Librarian
‘Hugo was home on leave when France was occupied, it’s how we both ended up in the Resistance,’ she told Avery. ‘We visited my father as much as we could, me more than Hugo because he stayed with the other men who’d joined our cell in the countryside, but one day when I arrived home, I found my father in his favourite armchair by the window. I still hope to this day that he just passed away in his sleep and didn’t feel any pain, because he looked so peaceful when I found him. As if he’d finally found his way back to my brother.’
Avery was silent, and when Camille glanced at her she saw that she was moving sand through her fingers too. It was incredibly therapeutic, and something Camille often did if she had a day off, when she’d come to the beach alone and stare out at the ocean, imagining what it would be like if she’d stayed in France.
‘You’ve suffered so much loss,’ Avery finally said. ‘It doesn’t seem fair.’
‘Nothing about this war seems fair, and I’ve lost no more than so many others,’ Camille said. ‘But sometimes I feel as if the only thing propelling me forward is wanting to hold someone accountable.’ She closed her eyes again. ‘Hugo was all I had left, and I just ... it’s not just about his death, it’s about everything that happened the night he died. I feel like I can’t stop until I find out who took him from me, and I also have this burning desire to keep doing the work he was so passionate about. It was because of him that I became involved in Resistance work in the first place, so in a way it’s like keeping his memory alive.’
Avery moved closer to her, their shoulders touching, and Camille felt the closest to breaking down as she’d ever felt. She’dnever told anyone else in Lisbon the truth about what had happened to her family, and it was almost harder now that she had.
‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have burdened you with all that.’
‘You’re wrong,’ Avery said, bumping her shoulder this time with Camille’s. ‘My mother has this little saying that a problem shared is a problem halved. My sister and I used to always whisper to each other at night, following that advice, knowing how much better we’d feel if we told the other our worries.’
‘You miss her?’
‘I miss what we had as children,’ Avery said. ‘We’re so different now, but there was a time we were so similar, we were like twins.’
They were silent for a while, the only sound the water lapping softly nearby.
‘Avery, have you seen James?’ Camille asked. ‘I know you have feelings for him, but I don’t trust him. I’d prefer you not to see him alone, just in case.’ She paused. ‘Haveyou seen him again?’
Avery was silent, and Camille hoped she hadn’t upset her. But when their eyes met, Avery held her gaze.
‘I haven’t, not since we had dinner. I fear that he’s left and I won’t ever see him again, but if James was playing a duplicitous game, then he’s very good at it,’ Avery said. ‘But I promise, I’ll be careful. And if it was him who was involved in what happened to you ...’
The words didn’t need to be said. Camille reached for her hand and gave it a quick squeeze.
‘On a lighter note, don’t look now, but it appears we have company,’ Camille murmured, recognising the tall, broad-shouldered man coming towards them.
‘Hello ladies,’ he said, his shoes in one hand as he walked barefoot across the sand.
Avery sat up, shielding her eyes from the sun, and Camille realised just how inexperienced her American friend was. Theymay only be a few years apart in age, but sometimes Avery seemed much younger.
‘Ahh, hello,’ Avery said, as Camille smiled and said ‘hello’ back to him.
‘I thought I recognised you from the square,’ he said, his gaze trained on Avery. ‘How’s the wrist?’
‘Fine, thank you.’
Camille tried not to laugh at how obviously flustered Avery was over her handsome friend. There went her naive little librarian all over again.
‘I’m Camille,’ she said, watching as Avery quickly pushed her skirt down so she wasn’t showing so much leg. ‘And this is my friend Avery, although I believe you’ve met before.’
‘William,’ he said, although he never took his eyes off Avery. ‘Pleased to meet you, and under nicer circumstances this time.’
Camille exchanged a look with Avery, who looked like she wanted the ground to open up and swallow her.
‘You ladies are enjoying the sun?’ William asked, rolling up his trousers. ‘Do you mind if I sit for a moment?’
Avery made a noise that was impossible to decipher, but Camille covered for her. ‘Of course. It’s not every day we have a handsome man wanting to keep us company.’
He made a face as if he was trying to remember something, before clicking his fingers. ‘You’re the French bookshop lady, am I right?’
She smiled. ‘I am French, although I’ve been in Portugal long enough to think I’m one of the locals, and yes, I’m from the bookshop a few blocks from Rossio Square.’
‘I thought you looked familiar.’ He nodded and turned to Avery. ‘And what brings you to Portugal, Avery? I’m guessing you’re not abroad on holiday in the middle of a war.’
‘Ah no, I’m here on behalf of the Library of Congress, actually,’ she said. ‘I specialise in cataloguing books and other publications, so I’m making sure we have a record of the war, for historical purposes of course.’
