The Paris Architect: A Novel

“Take him back. Good night, Monsieur Bernard. And enjoy your chicken dinner.”


The same two men who picked him up drove him home, pushing him roughly out of the car when they reached the corner of Lucien’s block. Lucien fell flat on his face on the pavement, dropping the chicken.

“Let’s take his chicken,” suggested the man in the trench coat.

“Fuck him. I hope you choke on a bone, you traitor,” yelled the driver as the car sped off.





50





Alain had seen lots of American films in which the detective or the spy had to follow someone, and he had the technique down pat. It was most important to stay far enough away so as not to get spotted, but close enough to keep the man in plain sight.

As he walked along the rue du Cirque, Alain always had Lucien in view. If his boss stopped to look in a store window, Alain would stop and duck into a doorway, then continue the tail, which was what following a person was called in the cinema. Lucien was obviously in no hurry to get where he was going. He stopped to buy a book and had a quick drink at the Café de la Place. Maybe Lucien was taking his time to make sure no one was following him. Alain had seen this technique in the cinema also. The man would know he was being tailed, bide his time, and then try to shake the tail.

Lucien turned down the avenue Gabriel, then left on the rue Boissy d’Anglas and walked at a leisurely pace for another fifteen minutes. The streets were just crowded enough so that Alain could go unnoticed. If Lucien had gone down an alley devoid of people, Alain thought, tailing him would’ve been much more difficult. Alain had gone through Lucien’s desk and files almost every night looking for sketches of hiding places for Jews, but had come up empty. After the blunder with the fireplace detail, Lucien had become very cautious. Alain had wanted to go to his uncle and tell him about the fake drain in the cottage that the Gestapo had burned down, but he realized he had no proof that Lucien had designed the hiding place. He had to catch Lucien in the act, so he had to find a building where another Jew was hiding. If there was no paper trail, then it meant following him. But so far the tails had led nowhere.

A red-hot hatred of Lucien burned within him. He could’ve brushed off what happened in the storage room and all the other slights, but he just couldn’t. Daydreams passed through his mind that had Lucien being carted off by the Gestapo, never to be seen again, and Alain inheriting the firm by default. The Germans needed the drawings for the factories and would—through his uncle’s influence—ask him to take over. As for the matter of hiding Jews, Alain had never had any particular hatred of Jews. He had grown up with Jews in his neighborhood in Saint-Germain, and they’d always been friendly to him. When he’d denounced Monsieur Valery, who had also been very nice to him, he was just doing it to gain favor with his uncle.