The Paris Architect: A Novel

“All Germans know the fine job you’re doing, Reich Minister,” said Herzog in a voice that seemed quite sincere to Lucien.

“The politics, the Gauleiters, the party—you would think they would all work together to bring total victory to Germany. But they fight me and each other tooth and nail. Even the Fuehrer can’t help me,” said Speer in a tired voice. “The silliest things can hinder production. Like Germany’s view of women. In all other countries, women work in factories making armaments, but not in Germany. Most women aren’t allowed to work in factories; it’s an affront to womanhood,” he said in disgust. “We have a new automatic assault weapon ready to go, but we can’t produce nearly enough of them, so the army still has to use a bolt-action rifle like it used in the first war.”

“Thank you for meeting with me, Reich Minister. I will double my efforts, I can assure you,” said Herzog, shaking Speer’s hand.

“I know you will. Good luck, my boy.”

Lucien extended his hand.

“Monsieur Bernard, I envy you. You’re a designer—I’m reduced to being a bureaucrat nowadays.”

“It’s been a pleasure, Reich Minister.”

“You’re very fortunate to live in such a wonderful city, monsieur. You know, the Fuehrer once said, ‘I’m ready to flatten Leningrad and Moscow without losing any peace of mind, but it would have pained me greatly if I’d had to destroy Paris.’”

Speer walked them to the door of the suite. “The Fuehrer was never interested in any of the cities he defeated except for Paris. I was with him and his sculptor, Arno Breker, when he visited for a few hours in June 1940. We went to the Eiffel Tower and Napoleon’s Tomb,” said Speer with a smile. “He thought Vienna was the more beautiful city, but I don’t agree.”

After opening the door for them, he placed his hand on Lucien’s shoulder.

“You know, I once did a plan that would redesign Berlin with a five-kilometer-long avenue as a new axis, similar to your Champs-élysées.”





38





Adele was just seconds from reaching an orgasm when she heard a loud knocking at the door of her flat.

“Who the hell is that?” yelled Schlegal. With Adele astride him, he was also quite excited.

“Keep going, keep going, just ignore it. Don’t stop, damn it,” Adele pleaded. But the knocking became louder and faster. Adele felt Schlegal deflate beneath her.

“Goddamn it, I told you I only had half an hour before I had to get back,” said Schlegal, who grabbed Adele’s arm and tossed her off the bed as if she were a rag doll.

If she hadn’t caught hold of the blanket, she would have landed on the floor. Adele scowled at Schlegal. She wasn’t used to this type of treatment from a lover.

“Answer the goddamn door,” Schlegal said before he put a pillow over his face.

Adele put on her black silk dressing gown and walked to the door. “Yes, yes, I’m coming,” she called out. “Or rather, I was about to come,” she mumbled under her breath.

She flung open the door to face Bette, who walked through the doorway with a big smile on her face, knowing full well she’d interrupted some serious goings-on.

“And what in God’s name do you want?” Adele said.

“I always follow your instructions to the letter, boss, and they were to come here promptly at 12:30 to pick up the sketches and take them to André. ‘Don’t dare be late. André needs those sketches now.’ Sound familiar?”

“Don’t be such a smartass, okay? I had a little last-minute business to take care of, and I lost track of the time.”

Bette walked into the salon and sat on the black art moderne sofa and propped her feet on the art moderne stainless-steel coffee table.

“Get your feet off my table. By the way, did anyone ever tell you what huge feet you have? Like canoes.”

“I’ll be out of here in a second. Still time for him to get it up again. So don’t despair, my love,” said Bette.