The Paris Architect: A Novel

“Well…Let me see. Yes, this is rue de Rivoli and—”

“Goddamn it, man, don’t you know where one of your own properties is? He must have soooo many he can’t keep track of them, poor boy.”

The girls found Lieber’s comment uproariously funny.

Manet shot a glance at Lucien, who now was also quite alert and completely panic-stricken.

“Well, speak up, sir,” asked Lieber. “Which one is it?”

“It’s…number 29,” Manet whispered.

“You said 29, Monsieur Manet?” asked Herzog.

“Yes, follow me,” said Manet. Lucien felt like running away down the street, but he kept his wits about him and held on to Lieber, dragging the dead weight across the street.

“The night is still young,” Lieber shouted into the cold night air. “Ladies, don’t drop any of that precious nectar, we’ll need every ounce tonight.”

The girls pressed the bottles to their bodies and laughed.

When they reached number 29, Manet told them he’d have to wake the concierge and to wait inside the foyer for him. After banging on the door for almost thirty seconds, a drowsy and angry old woman answered the door. She was about to let loose a torrent of obscenities when she saw it was the owner. Manet shoved his way in and closed the door behind him. Minutes passed, and Lieber became upset.

“What the hell is taking him so damn long? All he had to do was get the key.”

Lucien knew exactly why it was taking so long. Manet was calling the Jews upstairs to warn them. There was no way he could get up to the apartment before the rest of them. Manet finally appeared from behind the door with key in hand. “I’m sorry for keeping you so long. Madame Fournier had misplaced the key.”

“You should fire the stupid bitch,” Lieber said. “That’s what I would have done.”

Herzog rolled his eyes and guided the colonel toward the lift. Luckily, it was at the fourth floor so they had to wait for it to come down. Lucien was praying that Lieber would pass out, but the fool unfortunately seemed to be getting his second wind.

The group piled in the lift, and it struggled with the excessive load to make it to the fifth floor. Manet unlocked the door, and Lucien held his breath. But the apartment was dark and empty. Maybe no one had used it yet. While taking off his coat, he glanced at the back of the fireplace and couldn’t tell if it had been moved. It looked perfectly normal. Lucien smiled to himself. This design definitely topped the stair hideaway at the hunting lodge.

“Ladies, let the drinking commence,” said Lieber. “Manet, there must be glasses in so fine a flat. Get us some, will you?”

The apartment didn’t look lived in at all. No trace of anyone. But when Manet returned from the kitchen with a tray of glass tumblers, Lucien saw an unmistakable look of fear in his eyes. The Jews were here.

The party made themselves at home on the expensive furniture, with Lieber stretching out on the sofa. Céline sat at the end with Lieber’s feet on her knees and she stroked his boots, commenting on the fine quality of the leather. Herzog sat in an upholstered chair at the other end of the room and looked at Lieber with undisguised disgust. When Jeanne came over to sit on the arm of his chair, he waved her away, and she joined Lucien in his armchair. “Manet, there must be some music here,” said Lieber.

“I’ll try the radio, Colonel,” said Manet, who walked over to a fine stand-alone set against a wall and switched it on. Pleasant dance music flooded the large apartment. The French radio station that spewed mostly German propaganda had shut down for the night, but one could always get music from Switzerland and England, even though it was against the rules to listen to overseas channels.