The Paris Architect: A Novel

“Citro?n is my favorite car. I knew you’d like it. Your designer’s eye appreciates its fine lines. I can see that right away.”


Lucien tacitly agreed with that observation. He circled the car, then got behind the wheel. The leather upholstery was soft and comfortable enough to fall asleep on, and the dashboard resembled an airplane cockpit. The engine started instantly and purred like a kitten when it idled. Adele would go crazy when she saw this. He would call her up and tell her to look out her window. He’d pull up and wave for her to come down. She’d cover him with kisses when she jumped in the passenger seat. There was an inn in Poissy in the countryside that they could go to for a long weekend.

Lucien was itching to take the Citro?n for a spin. He almost sped off but remembered that Manet was still there on the sidewalk.

“Can I drop you anywhere, monsieur? Or maybe lunch on the avenue de l’Opéra? We can be there in five minutes,” said Lucien with a big smile on his face.

“Lunch would be most enjoyable. But could you spare a moment and advise me on a matter? It’s just upstairs here in this building.”

“Why of course,” replied Lucien, switching off the ignition.

They went through the entrance of the apartment building and into the lift. As the metal cage rose, the euphoria of the Citro?n suddenly evaporated, and Lucien knew what was about to happen. A cloud of doom engulfed him. He smiled wanly at Manet and stared at the blue and white mosaic floor of the cab. All the horrible images of torture and death that had been tormenting him raced through his mind again. Then the image of him and Adele flying along in the Citro?n through the French countryside overpowered the bad thoughts, and he began smiling again. The lift stopped at the fifth floor, and Manet led him to the double doors of apartment number 8. Once inside, Manet placed his hand on Lucien’s shoulder in his now trademark grandfatherly manner.

“I’m having a devil of a time finding a hiding place. I just don’t have your cleverness for such matters. I hate to bother you again, but where would you put it?”

Lucien remained silent for almost a minute. He walked to the tall narrow leaded-glass window and looked down at the hot August sun glistening on the roof of the Citro?n parked in front of the building.

“Let me take a look around. I’m sure I can come up with something, but this will definitely be the last one, monsieur.”

“Of course, whatever you say.”

It was a very well-furnished six-room apartment with high ceilings and boisserie detailing. Beautiful rugs, plush embroidered sofas and armchairs sat on the honey-colored parquet flooring. Two large crystal chandeliers lit the main rooms. But its most dominating feature was in the salon, an enormous stone fireplace, whose opening was over two meters high and almost three meters wide. It had an unusually thick back wall built into the outside wall that overlooked the central courtyard. After strolling through all the rooms, Lucien came back to the fireplace and stooped down in front of it, gazing at it for a few minutes.

“Is this a working fireplace?”

“Yes, but it’s never used,” said Manet.

“And this is just to be a temporary hiding place?”

“Just a refuge if the Gestapo comes around. They’ll be moved when it’s safe.”

“For how many?”

“Two.”

Lucien smiled.

“They’ll hide behind the back wall of the firebox. It’ll be a false wall that can be pulled out, and when they’re inside, they’ll be able to pull it into place. The andirons will be bolted to the front of the false wall so it will look like a real fireplace. It can even have logs set on it,” said Lucien, quite pleased with his idea. “The fireplace opening is so huge that they’ll be able to get in quite easily and stand upright in the space we’ll hollow out. Your guests aren’t as tall as you, are they?”

Manet frowned. “No, but isn’t that a solid brick wall behind there?”