The Paris Architect: A Novel

“You know you don’t have to worry on that account. Just give us a drawing, and we’ll get it done.”


With Manet’s help, Lucien took his measurements of the pilaster and the cornice above it. When he was finished, the men walked toward the front door, and they turned to look at the new hiding place one last time.

“This place is beautiful. Do you own it?” asked Lucien as they got into his Citro?n.

“No, a colleague of mine in Paris, who will remain nameless, of course.”

Lucien started the car, but then switched off the ignition and turned to face Manet. “I want you to get word to Father Jacques that I’ll keep the boy. I can protect him. He’s safer with me than trying to smuggle him into Spain or Switzerland. Will you tell him for me?”

“Father Jacques is probably dead by now.”

Lucien wasn’t surprised. It was just a matter of time till the priest would get caught. “When was he picked up?”

“A few days ago. Along with six Jewish kids. Someone betrayed him, and the Gestapo came. They were hiding in the attic, but one of the children started crying, and they found them.”

“Did he tell them anything?”

Manet laughed. “Not Father Jacques. He probably told them to go to hell.”

“Are you positive?”

“Please don’t be afraid, Lucien. We have contacts inside Gestapo headquarters. He told them nothing, I assure you.”

“We meaning the Resistance?”

“It’s best that you don’t ask questions.”

“I liked Father Jacques. He had balls for a priest.”

“He certainly did,” said Manet with a great laugh. “He’d be surprised at what you wanted me to tell him about Pierre. He didn’t think you possessed a set of balls.”

This comment cut through Lucien’s heart like a razor. He looked down at the floorboards of the car.

Manet immediately understood what he’d done and looked ashamed.

“During war, people who were thought to have no backbone at all turned out to be quite brave. Father Jacques might have been surprised that you decided to hide Pierre on your own. But I’m not.”

Placated by Manet’s remark, Lucien started the car.

“I enjoy having Pierre stay with me. He’s a damn fine boy. Smart, hardworking, and well mannered. I wish I’d been that way at his age. And you know, he’s got real talent; he could be an architect when he grows up. Every day I teach him something about the profession.”

Manet gazed through the windshield into the distance, puffing away on his pipe.

“Interesting how things work out in life. Pierre loses his entire family, then winds up with you, who opens up a whole new life for him. It’s amazing how our lives are dictated by accident.”

“He’s less shy and reserved, and he’s become good company. I like to take him to the cinema. You know, watching him smile and laugh at the screen gives me a lot more satisfaction than watching the film.”

“I’m glad things have worked out between you two. How has Madame Bernard taken all this? She must be quite pleased to have a child to look after.”

At the intersection at the Champs-élysées, Lucien stopped the car to wait for a small military parade to pass. Every day at 1:00 p.m., rain or shine, the Germans staged a parade, complete with military band goose-stepping down the city’s main avenue, to remind Parisians who was in power. It was an effective psychological weapon just like the curfew, thought Lucien.

To save petrol while they waited, he switched off the ignition and turned to face Manet.

“Celeste and I parted ways just before the boy was brought to the office. I always thought the expression that ‘things always work out for the best’ was a crock. But maybe it is for the best. Look what came into my life.”

“A son you never would’ve had.”

“My wife and I had no children, and it cast a dark cloud over our marriage. But yes, I admit that he’s the son I never had. I enjoy taking care of him.”