The Paris Architect: A Novel

“Follow me,” whispered Geiber.

They hurried through the master bedroom to a flight of four carpeted steps that led to a study, and knelt down as if they were going to offer a prayer before it. Geiber placed his hands on the edge of the bottom step and slowly lifted up the entire stair, which was hinged at the upper floor level. It took all his strength to raise it high enough so that Miriam could slip under it with the bag. She crawled in and placed her frail body at the very back of the cavity, parallel to the steps.

“Are you in?” gasped Geiber, straining to hold up the stairs.

“For God’s sake, hurry, Sol.”

Geiber slid under the stairway, letting it fall back into place with a heavy thud. Sliding next to Miriam, he fastened two bolts that locked the stairs in place. He was breathing so heavily he thought he would pass out. His back was against Miriam’s chest, and he could feel her heart pounding. He moved the bag up by his chest, laid it on its side, and unlatched it. Miriam placed her arm over her husband’s body and tightly grasped his hand. She hid her face against the back of his head. For just a fraction of a second, it made him forget about the approaching danger.

Such a warm, comforting feeling, thought Geiber, like they were back in their big bed at home snuggling under the goose down duvet. It was mostly airless and pitch black in the cramped space under the stairs, but the mattress they were lying on was quite comfortable, and because the stairs were almost two meters wide, the Geibers could fully stretch out their legs. The underside of the steps was just centimeters from Geiber’s face, so close he could smell the wood. They could do nothing now but wait, seconds passing like hours.

“Our fate’s in God’s hands,” whispered Geiber. “They’ll be inside any second, and we can’t utter a sound. But there’s something I’ve never told you. And I’ve got to tell you now.”

“Now, Sol?”

“The first time I saw you was at L’Opéra Garnier. You were wearing a light blue gown; I couldn’t take my eyes off you. After the opera, I had my carriage follow yours to your house. I bribed your footman to tell me your name, and I sent you a bouquet of roses anonymously the next day.”

“You sent those roses. My father had a fit.”

“Yes, it was me.”

“I love you, you old fool.”

There was an enormous crash at the front door, the sound of splintering wood, then shouting. Simultaneously, the couple’s bodies jerked violently with fear. Men were running through the house yelling and cursing, their boots pounding on the wood planks of the lodge. They could hear furniture being overturned, tables crashing to the floor, bookcases yanked from walls, and cabinets violently emptied of their contents. Then what sounded like a stampede of horses came rushing up the main staircase. Men sprinted down the corridor and into the bedrooms. Miriam was so scared that she couldn’t think anymore. Shutting her eyes tight, she began to silently sob.

Soldiers entered the master bedroom, yanking open the closet doors, rifling through the dresser drawers and the armoire, and flipping over the huge bed. After a few minutes, they ran out of the bedroom.

“There’s no one here, Colonel,” someone shouted.