The Paris Architect: A Novel

“That’s most kind, Dieter, but before we go, I’d like to show you a few more sketches for the plant. It’ll only take a minute. Alain will get them; they’re on my desk.”


Lucien was well aware that Alain hated to be treated as a gofer, and sure enough, the boy scowled at him before going over to the desk. He made no effort to find the correct sketches but grabbed a handful of pieces of white tracing paper and stomped back.

One by one, Lucien reviewed the sketches with Herzog, working through the pile until only a single pencil sketch remained. Before Lucien could stop him, Herzog picked up the sketch and examined it.

“Mm, I don’t recognize this, Lucien. What is it, something for the mechanical room?”

An ice-cold sensation ran down the middle of Lucien’s back, and his eyes widened ever so slightly in fear. He gently took the paper out of Herzog’s hand. Alain, who had been looking at Lucien, noticed his reaction.

“It looks like a metal frame around some brick. You didn’t tell me about that detail. Is this something I have to add to the drawings?” asked Alain.

“It’s for another job, not anything we’re doing for Major Herzog,” Lucien said. “It must have gotten mixed up with the other sketches on my desk.”

“What other job?” said Alain.

“It’s…nothing,” Lucien said. “We’re finished here; let’s go to lunch.”

Lucien brought the pile of sketches back to his desk, but he slowly folded one of them and put it in the center drawer of his desk and locked it.





25





As Alain was wriggling the blade of his penknife in Lucien’s locked desk drawer in the middle of the night, his mind replayed the odd events of the day. He could see that Lucien was quite shaken, barely touching his food during lunch and hardly speaking at all. It was as if Lucien had seen a ghost when that sketch appeared in the pile of papers. Alain definitely knew something was amiss when Lucien told him that he wasn’t going back to the office, and he could have the rest of the day off. Alain protested that he had to make the major’s revisions, but Lucien yelled at him, telling him he had to enjoy life and not work all the time.

Alain was still furious over the incident in the storage room. How dare that no-talent shit put his hands on him and threaten him? For a fraction of a second, Alain had wanted to punch Lucien in the gut, but he’d thought better of it. It would’ve queered things with the Germans, and he’d be out on the street without a job, and his Uncle Hermann might not be able to help him. His dislike of his boss had been growing every day with each slight piling one on top of another. Alain might as well have been a nigger servant. Lucien knew everything about architecture; you couldn’t tell him a damn thing. Every one of Alain’s design suggestions was welcomed by Herzog; couldn’t his boss see that? Yesterday had been the final straw. But he’d bide his time in getting even.