“There were others?” she asked.
I nodded. “I know of another girl, about your age. He forced her to do bad things.”
“He tried to force me,” she said. “He said nobody need know and he’d pay me even more. Such a thing had never happened to me. I was terrified. I fought him, madame. I grabbed my clothes and fled. I went down the back stairs, the way I always had to come and go. Then I dressed myself rapidly and ran home. I was afraid he would come after me, but thank God he did not.”
I could understand her indignation but her na?veté was rather surprising. She did, after all, live in sin with a painter. “Did you tell Maxim when you came home?” I asked.
She nodded. “He saw how upset I was. So I told him what Mr. Bryce had tried to do. He was furious. I’ve never seen him so angry. He stormed out and was gone for hours.”
“Where is he now?”
“He has gone, madame. Gone to England.”
“To England? But I saw him on Saturday evening, at a party.”
She shook her head. “That is not possible, madame. He has been gone for several days now. He has friends over there who wrote to him and said he should join them. They will help him find somewhere to live, and then he will send for me. He said that Paris is not the right place for us. That the people here have no morals and it was not the right place for a young girl like me.”
“And yet you live with him? You’re his mistress?”
“His mistress? Who told you that?” she demanded, those dark eyes blazing suddenly. “I am his sister, madame. His little sister. The only family he has. He takes care of me.”
“Maxim Noah is your brother?” I asked.
She nodded. “My brother Jakob. A wonderful brother too. He brought me safely out of Russia when they burned our village. He promised to look after me the way our father would have done. We will have a good new life in England.”
“I hope you will, Josette,” I said. I looked at those big, wistful eyes and my heart bled for her.
*
As I left Le Bateau-Lavoir I tried to control my racing thoughts. If Maxim Noah was Josette’s brother, newly arrived from Russia, then he was definitely not Sid’s long-lost relative who had been in Paris for generations. So why had he tried to pretend he was her cousin? And why had he lied to his sister about going to England when he was still in Paris? One thing was sure—Maxim Noah was not to be trusted. It began to dawn on me that he, not Sid, was the young Jewish man seen running away from Reynold Bryce’s house. I had to go to the S?reté immediately and tell them what I suspected. Inspector Henri would be angry with me, but he wouldn’t ignore what I had to say.
I started down the steep little lane, stepping carefully on the uneven cobbles. There were more people around now: children playing—singing as they turned the jump rope in high little nasal voices—women with shopping baskets hurrying to buy something they had forgotten for dinner. And then ahead of me I caught a glimpse of someone I thought I recognized. The Russian-style peasant’s cap, the shock of dark curls. It had to be Maxim Noah himself!
Thirty-five
Maxim Noah moved swiftly down the hill. I quickened my pace. If he wasn’t staying any longer with Josette at Le Bateau-Lavoir I should try to follow him and see where he was hiding out. It was precarious walking in my dainty pointed shoes over the cobbles as the road dropped steeply. He turned to the left, taking a narrow alley between buildings. I followed and came out to see him crossing the road and entering what seemed to be a cemetery. Perhaps he had found a good spot to hide out among the dead, I thought.
I crossed the street after him and went through the gate into the cemetery. It was not like our graveyards in Ireland, with their low granite tombs and Celtic crosses, but full of impressive monuments, angels, cherubs, statues, and mausoleums—veritable houses of the dead for whole families, all piled close together. I looked around but could no longer see him. I took a step or two forward then stopped. Even in daylight I didn’t fancy poking around in a cemetery on my own, especially on the trail of a dangerous man. I turned to leave and suddenly there he was, blocking my path.
“Madame Sullivan,” he said. “What a pleasure to find you here. You enjoy visiting the dead, do you?”
“As much as you do, obviously, Monsieur Noah,” I said. “You find inspiration for your painting here, do you?”
“Sometimes. But today I have other reasons for being here.”
“Yes?”
He nodded. “Such as luring you to a place where nobody can see us. I have been keeping an eye on my sister, you see. Such a rickety old building, it’s easy to listen to what is being said. I realized that you have discovered the truth.”