Nancy’s maid was waiting for her when she opened the grand front door with her latch key. She was standing in the middle of the hall, her small cardboard suitcase next to her and already wearing her good coat.
“Madame Fiocca, I…”
Nancy peeled off her gloves. She couldn’t look at the girl.
“Of course you must leave, Claudette. You’ll go to your mother in Saint-Julien?” Nancy took another key from her bag and opened the drawer of a small bureau in the hall. Henri always kept a smooth leather wallet there, fat with banknotes. Nancy peeled off a couple of thousand francs and handed them to the girl.
Claudette stared at the money, shaking her head. “I cannot, Madame. Not when I am deserting you.”
“Yes, you bloody well can,” Nancy snapped. “Just take it.”
Claudette shyly pulled the money from between Nancy’s fingers and murmured her thanks, tucking the notes into the inside pocket of her coat.
“Go through the back gardens, Claudette. And keep your head down.”
“Good luck, Madame. I have very much enjoyed working for you.”
Nancy managed to look at her at last. No, whoever had betrayed Henri it was not this girl. She felt she should give her some advice, say something brilliant and clever Claudette would remember all her life, something which would make her into a better person, something she would tell her children and grandchildren. Something inspiring. She had nothing. She just needed a drink. Well, no one had said anything inspiring to her before she ran away from home. Blame them.
“I am glad. Now on your way, dear.”
Claudette picked up her suitcase. “Your friend Philippe is in the kitchen, Madame Fiocca.”
“Thank you.”
Claudette walked away to the back of the house, leaving Nancy standing in the hall, still wearing her camel-hair coat, her patent-leather handbag hung over the crook of her arm. Fresh flowers on the table, the wooden banister polished to a high gleam, oil paintings of Marseille and ships at sea hanging in orderly lines from the picture rail. She’d never even noticed them. Paintings were Henri’s thing. She marched into the drawing room and went to the dresser, picked up the decanter and poured a large brandy into one of the heavy crystal glasses. She tossed it back, then grabbed an extra glass and the decanter and headed for the kitchen.
Philippe got to his feet as she came in. She set the glasses and decanter on the scrubbed wood of the table, poured the drinks, sat down, shrugged off her coat and crossed her legs. Drank off the drink. Philippe was still standing.
“Sit down, for fuck’s sake,” she said, reaching for the decanter again. He flinched. “What? Never seen a woman drink before?”
He sat back down, carefully, but the scrape of his chair against the slate tiles sounded like a scream.
“I’m so sorry, Nancy.”
She started shaking. Was it anger or guilt? She had no idea what she was feeling, but whatever it was was making her muscles quiver and her teeth rattle on the glass. “It’s my fault. He always told me to be careful, but I kept pushing, asking for more and more money.” Guilt, then.
Philippe cradled the glass in his hands and shook his head. “Henri made his own choices. Don’t take that away from him, Nancy.”
“But…”
“Now it’s time to make yours,” he said. She knew what he was about to say, and didn’t want to hear it. Shut up. Shut. Up. Her hand was trembling so hard, she could hardly get the glass to her lips. He didn’t shut up. “We have to get you out. Now.”
“I can’t just leave him here, with them!” She slammed her glass onto the table, making the cutlery in the drawers tinkle. “I’ll set myself on fire on their steps. I’ll shove a grenade up their arses. I’ll walk in and shoot the clerk. Henri can’t make me leave!”
Philippe set his own glass back on the table, a click like a bullet loading in the chamber.
“I know you’re not afraid to die, Nancy. But you have to go. If not for you, then for him. They’ll force him to watch you suffer, and you will suffer. They’ll take you alive and they’ll torture you both until the whole network is blown. I know he’ll keep quiet as long as he can, but I also know he’d tell them anything to save you. So for all our sakes, get out.”
She closed her eyes as if she could hide from the truth of it. “He has lawyers. Expensive lawyers. Maybe they’ll get him out…”
Philippe dropped his gaze, answered quietly. “And when they do, we’ll get him out of France. Send him to join you. But you have to go now.”
She blinked back her tears. “Do you swear?”
“I swear I’ll do everything I can, Nancy. Is that good enough?” he replied.
At last she nodded. It was the most he could promise, she knew that. “This was my first real home.”
He finished his drink. “Be ready as soon as it gets dark, Nancy. They’ve put a watch on the front and back of the house already, but we’ll provide a distraction. Head out the front. Take the last bus for Toulouse. You know the address of the safe house there?”
She only nodded, afraid that if she said anything else she wouldn’t be able to hold back her tears.