“What?”
“The Germans, Ruby. They caught him escorting the British pilot you kept here. The safe house Marcel took him to had been compromised.”
Neither of them said anything for a moment, and the only sound was the ticking of the clock on the wall. “All right,” Ruby said finally. “So we’ll get him out. Surely there’s a way.”
“Ruby—”
“And in the meantime, I’ll help. I protected this pilot, didn’t I? I can do it for others until he gets back. Ask him. He’ll tell you.”
“Ruby, I’m afraid you’re misunderstanding me. Marcel isn’t in prison.”
“Oh no. Was he put on one of those transports to the east?” Ruby had just begun to hear about political prisoners being shipped out of France to camps in Germany. It would be harder to retrieve him from there, but she had faith in the network. After all, if they managed to return pilots to Britain, surely they could rescue one of their own.
“No.” Aubert twisted his cap. “They—Ruby, the Germans shot him. He’s dead.”
Silence fell. “Dead?” Ruby whispered. “What about the pilot?”
“What?”
“What happened to the pilot? Is he dead too?”
“Er, no. He’s been sent to Germany. To a POW camp.”
“But they killed Marcel?”
“There are different rules for POWs and those they view as traitors. When Marcel wouldn’t give anything up, they decided to make an example of him. He was a good man, Ruby.”
Ruby looked at the floor for a while, processing what Aubert was telling her. If only she’d figured out something to do with the airman herself. Could she have spared Marcel? Had it been her own inaction that cost him his life?
“Ruby?” Aubert’s voice cut into her thoughts.
She looked up, breathless but suddenly as clearheaded as she’d ever been. “I must help. I must take over Marcel’s work on the line.”
“No, Ruby. That’s impossible. I can’t put you in that sort of danger.”
“Marcel said he’d let me help. Before he left.”
“No. Absolutely not. I couldn’t put you in danger. I can’t do that to Marcel.”
“Marcel is dead,” Ruby said, more sharply than she intended.
Guilt flickered across Aubert’s face. “I’m still his friend. And he would want me to protect you.”
“It’s not Marcel’s choice. Or yours.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Ruby. You’re an American. You already stand out here. You’d only be a liability to us.”
“But—”
“No.” His tone was firm now. “You should try to get out. I hear there are still some ships leaving for America from the Free Zone. Contact your embassy in the south and get some help there. You can find me in the back of the bakery on the rue de la Comète if you need anything in the meantime, but there’s nothing for you here anymore.”
Aubert was gone before she could say anything more. Ruby stared after him before shutting the door to her apartment. She stood motionless for a few minutes, and then she crumpled to the floor and let the tears come.
Marcel was dead. Shot by the Germans. He’d been a better man than she’d given him credit for. If he’d lived, would he have let her help, as he promised? Would they have fallen back in love once he was no longer hiding from her?
She’d never have the chance to know.
TWO DAYS LATER, JUST PAST dawn, there was a sharp knock at the door.
“Marcel?” Ruby cried, springing awake, and then she was hit by a fresh wave of guilt and pain. She’d barely gotten out of bed since Aubert’s visit; she’d been caught off guard by the depth of her grief. After all, there’d been a gulf between Marcel and her for more than a year; they hadn’t made love since before she’d lost the baby; and she’d had the growing sense that they would divorce at the war’s end. But realizing that he had risked his life to save Allied pilots, and knowing that he had died because of it, made her look at everything differently. Certainly he hadn’t been the husband she had hoped for, but would things have been different if the war hadn’t come?
Maybe much of it was her fault, in fact. She should have been more prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt, to see him as the person she’d fallen in love with. Had it been her own restlessness that had made her turn away so easily?
The knock came again, and Ruby threw on a dressing gown and hurried to answer. What if it was Aubert, here to tell her he had reconsidered, that he needed her on the line? Instead, when she pulled the door open, she found herself face-to-face with two French police officers—and two Germans in full dress uniform, one fair-haired, the other darker.
She blinked at them in stunned panic before she realized that she hadn’t done anything wrong. Well, except for hiding Dexter, but she doubted they knew about that. Even if they’d tortured him, surely he wouldn’t have given her up; it would have been much easier to leave her out of the story altogether and explain that it had been Marcel sheltering him.
“Hello, gentlemen,” she said, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice.
“You are Madame Benoit?” the shorter of the two French gendarmes asked. The buttons that ran the length of his uniform were spotless and shiny, his small hat on perfectly straight. His eyes gleamed as bright as his buttons; he was clearly pleased to be part of whatever this was.
“I am.” She pulled her dressing gown a bit tighter.
“We will need to see your papers.” Behind the little gendarme, the German officers were silent, their eyes boring into hers. The other French policeman looked uneasy, his eyes roving over the interior of her apartment.
“Yes, of course.” She left the door ajar as she went to retrieve her papers from her handbag. The French officer inspected them first and then handed them to the Germans, who read them over. The dark-haired one snorted and handed them back.
“American?” he asked in thickly accented French. “What are you doing here?”
She explained that she’d married a Frenchman before the war, that she’d decided to stay. The German pursed his lips and muttered something to the other officer, who nodded.
“This is very suspicious, you see,” he said, fixing Ruby with a steely gaze. His eyes were beady and empty, like a snake’s. His French was impeccable. “Why didn’t you return to the United States?”
“I wished to remain at my husband’s side.”
“To help him with his traitorous work on the escape line?” the little French officer sneered.
“Oh, no, but surely those accusations against him were not true.” She forced her eyes wide and wrung her hands. “Surely the French police made a mistake.”
“We do not make mistakes, madame,” the little officer said tightly. Behind him, the fair-haired German rolled his eyes, and the other French officer coughed.
“Oh, I’m sure you don’t,” Ruby said quickly. “I only mean that perhaps someone falsely informed on him.” She batted her eyes. “It’s impossible for me to believe that my husband could have been doing something so sinister right under my nose.”
“We will need to search your apartment,” the fair-haired German said, and Ruby nodded. She suspected that was why they had come, and she prayed that Marcel hadn’t hidden anything here. If only she had used the last two days to search the place herself from top to bottom!
“Of course, gentlemen, won’t you come in?” She fought to keep her tone even. “I’m certain you’ll find nothing suspicious. In fact, if you had searched our home before my husband was executed, he might have been saved!”