67 
Paris

As Amanda arrived in the station in Paris, she was tired and growing more and more apprehensive. She could tell the war was close. The city was not exactly somber, but it certainly was far from gay and lively. She had never been here before, but this was not what she expected. Soldiers were everywhere.

As much as at some other time she might have wanted to visit the city, now all she wanted to do was get the next train to the Channel. In her present state of mind, Paris was too huge and intimidating.

She looked around on the schedule boards but saw no indication of trains bound for Calais. She walked toward a ticket window.

“Excuse me,” she said to the agent. “I want to go to Calais.”

“Calais, miss—you can’t get there without crossing the German line. There’s bad fighting going on between here and there.”

“But . . . but then how can I get to England?”

“The safest way is from Cherbourg, miss.”

“Then give me a ticket to Cherbourg.”

“Only one train to the coast a day, miss, and it’s already gone. The next will be tomorrow.”

Amanda turned away with a sigh. She walked to an empty bench and sat down with her two bags. She was so tired of traveling. Now she was going to have to spend another night in a strange city.

She glanced up at the big station clock. The hands read three-ten. She would rest just a few more minutes before going out and trying to find a hotel.

She closed her eyes and before she knew it had begun to doze off. She caught herself after a few minutes before she had fallen completely asleep and forced her eyes open. She couldn’t go to sleep now. It would be getting dark soon. She had to get out and find a hotel for the night before—

Suddenly Amanda’s eyes shot wide open. In a split second she was wide awake, with sleep the farthest thing from her mind.

Across the station only some fifty feet in front of her was walking none other than Ramsay’s mistress—Adriane Grünsfeld, or Sadie Greenfield, or even Annie McPool, for all Amanda knew who she really was!

Amanda’s heart began pounding both with fury and revulsion. Momentarily she turned away to hide her face. The next instant she was ready to jump up and run straight up and clobber her over the head with one of her suitcases. So many emotions surged through her that all she could do was sit and stare at the retreating form as Adriane, alias Sadie, alias Annie, left the station.

Suddenly coming to herself, on an impulse Amanda jumped to her feet, picked up her bags, and followed. As she emerged into the outside air, she was just in time to hear the beautiful woman giving instructions to a cab man. “L’hôtel Atelier des Prés,” she said, then got inside. The cab sped away.

Without pausing to think what would come of it, Amanda signaled the next cab in sight and repeated the same destination.

A hundred thoughts flooded her during the ten-minute drive, approximately the ninety-eighth of which was the question what was she doing this for? Unfortunately, before she had managed to come up with an answer, the cab had stopped in front of the hotel. Amanda got out, paid the driver, and cautiously walked toward the door, keeping a wary eye roving about. She didn’t want to run into Grünsfeld face-to-face! She just might clobber her for real and wind up in jail.

Slowly Amanda entered the lobby. There she was, approaching the main counter!

“Oh, Miss Sadie, you have a message,” said the desk clerk. He handed her a piece of paper.

She read it quickly.

“Can you place a telephone call for me, Charlot?” she asked.

Amanda crept closer, keeping to one side of the lobby and shielding herself from view behind a couple of large potted plants.

All at once her ears perked up. The next moment they became bright red as if to match her anger. Whatever intimidation she may have had about the consequences of following Ramsay’s mistress, it was now entirely vanquished at fury over his betrayal.

“Oh, Ramsay darling . . . you’re coming here!” she heard Grünsfeld say, “—that’s wonderful! But why?”

Amanda tried to catch a peep of the actress through the palm. Obviously Ramsay, wherever he might be, was speaking as she held the receiver to her ear and nodded intently.

“But what makes you think she’s here?” she said.

Amanda gasped. They were talking about her!

“Will you go to England, then?” asked Grünsfeld.

Again she was silent a moment.

“But how will you—”

A pause.

“Of course. I had forgotten . . . until tomorrow night, then, darling.”

She hung up the receiver and handed the telephone back to the clerk. “Thank you, Charlot. I will take the key to my room now.”

“Yes, Miss Sadie. Will the gentleman be requiring a room when he arrives?”

“You were listening, Charlot!” teased the actress with flirtatious tone.

“Only in hopes of serving you more thoroughly, Miss Sadie.”

“You are a charmer, Charlot. But no, I believe Mr. Halifax will find my room quite suitable.”

“Of course, miss.”

Amanda’s eyes narrowed in wrath. If she had tried to speak now, it would have been through clenched teeth. How could he . . . how could they both! Didn’t she care that he was married? Had she no more scruples than Ramsay?

Already the actress had turned and was ascending the stairway. Amanda waited until she was out of sight, then drew in a deep breath, tried without much success to calm herself, and walked toward the counter.

“Bonjour, monsieur,” she said in perfect French. “Je voudrais une chambre, s’il vous plaît.”

“Will it be just for yourself, miss?”

Amanda nodded.

“For one night?”

“I, uh . . . actually I am not sure exactly how long I will be staying,” she replied.