The Paris Architect: A Novel

“All right, Monsieur, I’m coming out.”


Outside the column, Lucien circled it, running his hand along the fluting of the beautiful wood shaft, his face beaming with pride. The feeling of incredible exhilaration was back, and he was off on another high.

“You’re certainly a man of your word, Monsieur Manet. The workmanship is extraordinary.”

“I’m glad you approve. My men are excellent, but they needed your imagination. They just followed your instructions.”

“It’s incredible that they could do such fine work in so short a time.”

“Because I may have more than one guest staying here at a time, I decided to have the other column done as well,” said Manet.

At once, Lucien walked over to the second column to examine its exterior. The work was equal to the first.

“Doubly extraordinary,” said Lucien with a smile.

“A clever solution, Monsieur,” said Manet, patting him on the shoulder.

“That’s if your guest doesn’t panic and start crying in there,” replied Lucien who knew that the success of the most ingenious design depended on the nerve of the occupant. “I can’t soundproof this thing.”

“I’m afraid that is something you and I have no control over.”

“I’m ready for Tuesday’s presentation,” said Lucien, shifting the conversation to a more pleasurable topic.

“Major Herzog is looking forward to seeing your work. He called yesterday to see how things were going.”

“You…and the major will be very pleased,” Lucien said. “It’s a very functional design that—”

“Tuesday at 9:00 a.m., then?” said Manet as he walked to the door, gesturing for Lucien to precede him, for they couldn’t leave together.

Lucien wasn’t insulted that Manet had cut him off. The old man had probably worked with architects before, so he probably knew what bullshitters they were when it came to explaining their work.

Walking down the stairs, Lucien’s pride in his columns slowly faded away. When he got to the front door, he stayed there for about two minutes, terrified to go in the street. A black Citro?n, the automobile favored by the Gestapo, could be parked at the curb waiting for him. He took a deep breath and opened the door slowly. Looking to the left and right, he stepped out onto the sidewalk and began walking briskly down the rue Galilée. He wanted to break into a run, but he remembered the dead Jew in his blue suit and slowed down to a walk.





8





“You were right, it’s ingenious.”

Mendel Janusky popped open the door to the column and stepped inside. He shut the panel, then came out. “The total darkness in there is serenely peaceful.”

Janusky walked over to Auguste Manet. “Can your architect be trusted?”

“Without question, my friend. You’ll be safe in his hands,” said Manet.

“I hope so. I’m so tired of running, Auguste. There are some days I feel like walking into Gestapo headquarters and giving myself up. I’d tell them where all the money is and let them kill me.”