The Paris Architect: A Novel

Lucien’s ego was flying into the stratosphere. He had finally proven that he could design. All he had needed was the chance. At this moment, he felt that there was nothing he couldn’t do architecturally. He couldn’t wait for more commissions.

Lucien and Herzog walked slowly around the building, admiring every detail. Trucks were driving in to unload the machinery for production work, which was to begin next week. Though Manet had driven his crews to finish the building ahead of time, they’d still adhered to Lucien’s drawings and hadn’t cut any corners. Everything had been done according to Lucien’s specifications. That would never have happened in peacetime. Clients always deleted some detail that they thought useless and unnecessary but that Lucien absolutely loved.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Herzog said. “A new munitions factory is being planned south of here in Fresnes. When I was in Berlin on leave last week, Reich Minister Speer talked about it. It’s only in the early stages, but it will happen, I assure you. And because of your success here, you’re a shoo-in for the commission.”

“How big will it be?” asked Lucien, almost salivating.

“Over fifty hectares. A huge complex, like a city.”

Lucien’s mind was racing. He forgot about the building in front of him. In just ten seconds, he was envisioning the site plan. The buildings would all join together to create one grand composition. Lucien was so lost in his fantasy that he didn’t notice Colonel Lieber approaching. Herzog cleared his throat and saluted, bringing Lucien back to earth.

“A very adequate building, Herzog,” said Lieber. “Some unnecessary flourishes, but very adequate. Congratulations, Major. Berlin is very pleased with my…our work here.”

“Thank you, Colonel. But it is Monsieur Bernard’s building. His fine design gives us a most efficient facility,” said Herzog, nodding toward the architect.

Lieber barely acknowledged Lucien. “Yes, an interesting building, monsieur.”

When a client said a building was interesting, it meant he didn’t like it but didn’t have the nerve to say so outright. He smiled at the colonel and bowed his head slightly. His hatred of the man had increased exponentially since the night at rue du Renard. But as Manet had repeatedly told him, there was nothing to be done about it. Lieber wasn’t going away.

“Now Reich Minister Speer, there’s a great architect,” exclaimed Lieber. “The Fuehrer’s personal architect. He’s designed some incredible buildings. The great dome in Berlin will hold two hundred thousand people. His new Reichstag is an incredibly beautiful structure.”

Herzog, who was standing behind Lieber, rolled his eyes, and Lucien looked down at his shoes, trying to suppress a smile. Speer’s design for Berlin was an over-scaled, pompous display of egomania. Hitler, who had twice failed to get into the Royal Academy of Art in Vienna when he was a young man, had always harbored the wish to be an architect and took a personal interest in designing the new Berlin. Lucien didn’t fault Speer for designing to please the Fuehrer. Maybe Speer secretly hated the neoclassical style that Hitler loved. All architects kissed ass to get commissions; it was part and parcel of the job. Lucien had seen examples of Hitler’s art and frankly thought he had an innate talent. He would’ve hired him to do a rendering of one of his buildings. Just think how the world would’ve turned out if Hitler had gotten into art school, thought Lucien.





31





“What do you mean, you’re not interested in seeing my building?”

Celeste kept her back turned to Lucien, vigorously washing a dinner plate in the sink. Lucien walked up to her and spoke directly into her right ear. There was a time when he would’ve planted a kiss on that slender neck, but that time had long since passed.

“I said…what do you—?”