Page 80 of The Secret Librarian
Camille nodded and turned around, walking slowly through the lobby, knowing there was nothing more she could have done. But just as she looked up to smile to the doorman, the glass door swung open and a familiar face met hers.
‘James!’
‘Camille? What are you doing here?’
‘She wrote to us, James. Avery didn’t forget us.’
His smile was as wide as hers.
‘There’s a letter waiting for me?’
She grinned. ‘There is.’
‘Lucky I forgot my coat then. I’d hate to miss a letter from my little American librarian.’
Camille stifled a laugh and placed her hand on his arm as she passed. ‘It was good to see you again, James. I have a feeling we might cross paths again one day.’
He gave her a wink. ‘I’m counting on it.’
Epilogue
New York, 1947
Camille stood on the pavement and stared up at the sign. She had tears in her eyes and she didn’t even try to wipe them away, content to let them fall from her lashes as the men installing the lettering climbed down their ladders.
Hugo’s.
They’d gone back and forth on the name so many times, trying to come up with something that sounded right for a bookstore, but when Avery had looked at her one day and simply said: ‘Why don’t we just call it Hugo’s?’, Camille had known in her heart that it was the perfect name.
‘How are you holding up?’
Avery came out of the shop wearing an apron and clapping her hands together. She stood beside Camille, her hand sliding against hers as Avery stared up at the sign too.
‘Hugo would have loved this,’ Camille said, swallowing the emotion in her throat as she imagined his palm pressed to hers, his shoulder skimming against her own as they stood and looked up. But when she glanced sideways and saw Avery there, her smile so kind, her gaze so thoughtful, she knew how lucky she was to havefound her as a friend. That she wasn’t alone anymore. ‘We used to lie in bed and dream about opening a restaurant one day, about finding the perfect building and seeing his name go up outside.’
‘It might not be the restaurant you dreamed of, but it is ours,’ Avery said, squeezing her hand. ‘I can’t believe we actually did it.’
Camille couldn’t believe it either – any of it. That she was in New York, that she’d survived the war, that she was standing outside her very own bookshop.
‘Come on, we still have some work to do before we open,’ Avery said.
They’d been at the shop for the better part of the last week, and Avery had insisted they be there at daybreak to make sure everything was perfect for their opening day. They had trays of cupcakes haphazardly stacked throughout their office, and balloons still to blow up that they were going to give away to any children who visited, and still there were books to unpack.
But Camille didn’t mind. There had been a time she’d wondered what her life might look like when the war ended; or more importantly, what she’d have to live for. Hugo and her family had been her life, and when they’d been taken from her, she’d fixated on finding out who was responsible for his death. But she hadn’t wanted to live past that moment, hadn’t imagined what might happen if she survived the war and the Allies won. Until Avery had written to her, more than once, and insisted that she come to New York.
Camille had laughed it off in the beginning, but Avery’s letters had kept coming and her bossy American friend had refused to take no for an answer. Which was how she’d ended up sailing for America once her visa had been granted and moving into the second floor of Avery’s rented Manhattan duplex, looking out over a city that was so different to any she’d ever seen before. It wasn’t Paris, but it was a different kind of beautiful, and she’d known fromher very first morning looking out at the leafy green trees and bustle of people coming and going, that it was home.
‘Come on, let’s set up the table at the front and then we’re almost done,’ Avery said. ‘Everything we’ve been waiting on is in one of these four boxes.’
Camille followed her friend through the store to the back. Somehow, they’d managed to clean up the shop and have it sparkling for the opening day, with only the last few boxes taking up space in the middle of their office. It had helped that Avery’s cousin Jack had taken a day off during the week to help them as well – without him, Camille doubted they’d have been able to open on time.
‘You know, I think some of these deliveries take longer than the ones I waited on during the war,’ Camille said as she bent down to collect a handful of books. ‘I received newspapers from Germany faster!’
Camille looked down at the book in her hands, the one on top of the pile, and something swept through her: an emotion she hadn’t experienced before. It was relief. Relief that it was all over, and that she was able to hold a novel likeGentleman’s Agreementand know there would be no repercussions for displaying it in her store, not to mention that more Americans were buying it right now than any other book. Only last night she’d held a copy ofThe Diary of a Young Girlby Anne Frank to her chest and sobbed, crying herself to sleep as she’d realised that people all around the world were finally going to learn what it had been like for millions of Jews; that they could finally understand, through the words of someone who’d been through it, why so many people like her and Hugo had been prepared to sacrifice their lives for the cause.
‘Are you alright?’ Avery asked, her hand warm on Camille’s shoulder.
‘I will be,’ she said, smiling through her tears. ‘Today just, well ...’
