She’ll be shipped to Germany, if she hasn’t been already. They have camps there. They call them work camps. Others call them prison camps. Either way, it is beyond belief and she will not survive. The stories of those camps would sicken you.
It’s a mess at the salon, and Martine must clean up what she can. Bettina, Schiap’s number two, is furious and ready to fire everyone. And Schiap is gone. She fled—there is no other word—to New York and is not returning. Yet somehow she has arranged for her precious House of Schiaparelli to stay open and poor Martine is trying to survive within it. I feel Schiap’s duplicity in this—and cowardice.
I feel France’s collusion as well. She has let Germany swallow her once again. You should have heard the bravado before the Germans invaded. Bravado I believed and joined in—that France would embody the call of La Marseillaise and run her streets with the blood of her enemies before she’d ever bow to invaders.
The streets are silent now. Silent because the Germans order them to be so.
Will they cross the Channel?
Will the Germans silence us as well?
I’m sorry, dear sister. I’m so tired tonight I can’t see clearly. Work has drained me and depleted my hope.
Tonight I passed a police officer arresting a man on Chesham Place. He was robbing a bombed home and carrying two sets of identification papers. I surmise he was trying to pass off the second set so that false information would be recorded and he could return home with no record, safe in his anonymity.
Is that the best we can do? Turn on each other as long as no one sees our true selves?
It reminded me that I’m no better. Remember that brassier I wrote you about long ago? The one I adapted from the Lobster Dress design and rolled papers into the supports? Something feels treacherous about that innocent project now. I actually designed that bra to hide something. Identification papers? Perhaps.
I’m beginning to doubt there’s any innocence left in the world. There certainly isn’t in me. I have another trip coming up—this time to Morar. You won’t be able to reach me, but I’ll telephone as soon as I return to London.
Be safe, dear sister.
Love,
Caro
While I read, Mat scrolled through his phone. He tilted it to me as I looked up. “Put that letter with this and we know she was heading to Morar for training.”
MOST SECRET FIELD OPERATION SUMMARY
06/08 June 1941
I met with Martine at our usual spot. I provided her with 50,000 francs to secure a safe house for October and needed supplies. She has grown increasingly nervous of exposure as three arrests have been made within her group. She fears there is a mole.
There is and, I believe, he is still active. I suspect Christophe, but Martine refused to consider his duplicity. He began to work for Schiaparelli in April 1940 and quickly became a trusted bodyguard for her person and the salon. He kept watch over everyone rather than integrate into the workforce, remaining distant from the salon’s daily rhythm. Many grew to suspect German affinities within him during the early weeks of his employment, even while I still worked there. While Martine has noted he is now more aggressive and more secretive, she believes that he can be trusted—he guards the House of Schiaparelli. I reminded her that is not the same as guarding her.
As I left out the back courtyard door, I met him outside her studio—close enough I suspect he heard bits of our conversation. He grabbed my arm and insisted I tell him what I was doing there. I said Schiap called me back to help transport designs to America. He half believed my lie. His eyes then narrowed and he pulled a knife from a holster on his calf. He demanded I come to the French police and try my story again, as Schiap told him everything and she had not mentioned this request. I tried to assert my command, but it failed.
At his strike, I lifted my arms in defense. He cut a four-inch gash into my left forearm. I then raised my knee to his groin and dropped him to the ground. I yelled at him for attacking me and I rattled off several plans, all fake, of which he knew nothing, to prove he was not in Schiap’s confidence. I hope my lies and bluster will keep him from calling the police and putting Martine in their crosshairs. He may now feel he was in the wrong and could get into trouble with Schiap.
I left quickly, doubling back and forth over a mile of streets and alleys to make sure I was not followed to the safe house. Dr. Montreau stitched my arm.
Martine is no longer safe. She knows nothing of his attack on me. He has grown bolder, and I believe Christophe will sell any information he gleans to the Germans and will turn Martine over to them without compunction. Another agent needs to reach out and make certain Martine is warned and her network is secure. Christophe is a threat, and my continued involvement will endanger Martine and her contacts.
MOST SECRET CIPHER TELEGRAM
To: War Office
From: Nelson, Frank
28/7 cipher 14/12
Desp. 2242 8 June 1941
Recd. 0015 9 June 1941
Your para 1, ROSE’s June trip signaled her unpreparedness and the heightening dangers. Please arrange for her to report to Morar for training as soon as she lands from Douarnenez. I strongly suggest enough time be given for field drills in sabotage if you expect her to augment CLEMENTINE.
Your para 5, I agree she is compromised. Infiltration prior to CLEMENTINE should be kept to a minimum and on an emergency basis only. I strongly recommend, after that time, she be pulled from the field.
“That’s the Christophe from Arnim’s file I told you about, the one sent to Auschwitz in November ’41. I expect that his deportation was related to all of this, but we may never know.”
“I wish we could know about Martine.” I rested my head on my arms. “Caro loved her. I’d like to believe she survived, at least, and was happy.”
“She was,” Mat whispered.
I lifted my head and was met by an adorably sheepish grin.
“You mentioned her yesterday at the Archives, and after last night, I wanted to do something nice for you . . . I followed Martine.”
“How?” I sat up.
He circled the table carrying his computer with him. “It wasn’t so hard really. I started with what Schiaparelli’s had online and from there I went to all the databases I could think of—regional, national, and international for World War Two. A few didn’t get fully online until 2018 so we’re lucky that way, but look . . .”
His screen displayed a compilation of screen shots, marking his way across the Internet and Martine Hervé’s travels across the globe and through time.
“Ordino . . . Barcelona . . . She went over the Pyrenees?”
“She and about thirty-three thousand others throughout the war. But she was early. See, she’s registered in Barcelona in spring of ’42. Then I found a marriage license in 1946, birth certificates in 1953 and ’55 and . . .” He pointed to a last box.
“She has a grandson living in California.”