Hunched low in the backseat of the cab, Peter surveyed the boulevard outside Aubrey’s house as best he could with his faulty eyesight. An elderly couple. A mother with a baby carriage. No sign of George.
Peter peeled off a bunch of francs for the driver—far too many, judging by the man’s happy exclamations.
“Au revoir.” Peter tipped his hat and bounded out of the cab and up to the front door. Locked. He rang the bell.
When Xavier opened the door, Peter ducked inside. “Is Miss Brand back? Mademoiselle Brand?”
“Peter?” Her voice came from the dayroom to the right.
He loped in. There she was, rising from the sofa with relief and joy all over her beautiful face. In half a heartbeat, he went to her and took her in his arms. “Thank God. Thank God you’re safe.”
“I was worried about you,” she said, crushed to his chest. “You don’t speak French. You don’t know your way around.”
“I pronounced the address the way you did the night we arrived and added s’il vous plaît.”
Evelyn planted her hands on his waist and pushed back, her expression piercing. “What’s going on?”
“Bad news, I’m afraid.” He sank onto the sofa, and Evelyn joined him. Simone sat in an armchair. “Oh, hello, Simone.”
“Hello, Peter.” She gave him a sly look, then excused herself into her husband’s study.
“What’s going on?” Evelyn asked.
Peter stretched his arm along the back of the sofa behind her. “When the clerk talked to his supervisor, I heard him say your name. The supervisor clearly recognized it and wasn’t pleased. I wandered closer, but I could only hear fragments. I thought I heard ‘Norwood,’ but I wasn’t sure.”
Evelyn’s eyes flashed. “Charles Norwood placed an alert on my name, didn’t he?”
“It looks that way.” He rubbed his fingers together, longing to embrace her. “The clerk went into the office and made a phone call. Evelyn, it was a local call. He didn’t speak to an operator.”
“To Norwood?” She twisted her hands together.
Peter nodded. “The office was near, and I heard almost everything the clerk said. He asked to speak to George Norwood.”
She gasped. “He’s in Paris? How did he follow us?”
“It isn’t illogical. He and Otto are in contact. Otto could have told him I was seen in Stuttgart, probably headed west. And you and I both have friends in Paris.”
“This house.” Evelyn glanced around, eyes wide. “He’ll know we came here.”
“I don’t think so. After the clerk told him you were in the passport office, he said yes, you were alone.”
Evelyn’s brows drew together. “Norwood wanted to know if you were with me.”
“That’s why I insisted we leave separately. If he thinks you’re alone, he won’t look here.”
“But he has to know we left Munich together. Otto saw us.”
“Yes, but maybe George will think we went our separate ways. We’re fine here for now, but not for long.”
Evelyn crossed her arms in a strange mixture of defiance and vulnerability. “Did you hear anything else?”
Peter mashed his lips together. He hated to alarm her, but she was strong and she needed to know the seriousness of the situation. “The clerk repeated back instructions from Norwood, probably because they sounded strange. He agreed to delay you for an hour, and then let you go home. Apparently George was adamant that it be a full hour.”
Evelyn’s lip curled. “If he wanted me to be detained, I’m sure he could have made up a reason. He’s good at lying. Why only an hour? Why send me home?”
The words congealed in his throat, but he shoved them out. “An hour would give George time to get to the embassy.”
Her eyes hardened, agates in a face of marble. “Or to send thugs to intercept me and knock me off.”
Peter lowered his head and nodded. Then he met her gaze again. “We have to get you home immediately.”
“How? With an alert on my name, I can’t get a new passport, even if I show up with my birth certificate. No. You need to leave France now. The list—you need to get out of here.”
He stood and marched the length of the room. “I’m not leaving until you’re safe. That’s final.”
“I can’t get home legally. You can and you must.”
Peter whipped around. “Then we’ll get you home illegally.”
“How?” Evelyn spread her hands wide. “Do you want me to stow away on a freighter? Swim across the Atlantic?”
Peter groaned. “We’ll get you forged papers.”
“You? Peter Lang?” She arched one eyebrow. “You know how to obtain forged papers? The most law-abiding person I know?”
He ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t care anymore. The law has failed us. We have to—I don’t know—I just want to smash down the walls.”
Evelyn pursed her lips, and the corners of her eyes turned down. “No, Peter. No more.”
“No more what?”
“It was one thing when we were breaking unjust laws of an unjust nation. Now we’re talking about breaking just laws of a just nation.”
“Just?” Peter flung his hand westward. “What’s just about these laws? These quotas? Hundreds of thousands of Jews are suffering, and some bureaucrat—”
“No, Peter.” Evelyn shook her head. “We can’t decide for ourselves which laws we want to obey and which we don’t. That’s . . . chaos.”
He pressed his palms over his eyes, his fingers digging into his scalp, as desires and principles warred with each other.
“Sit down, Peter. Sit down,” she said, her voice soft and low. “It’s all right. You’ve done everything you could. Now go home. Talk to your brother in Congress and to the ANS in New York and to my parents. Straighten things out for me. It’ll be easier on that side of the Atlantic. You can get me home.”
Peter collapsed onto the sofa. “That could take months. No. I can’t do that. I won’t leave you in danger.”
Evelyn rested her hand on his. “I’ll be fine. I’ll go into hiding with a friend Norwood doesn’t know. My parents can wire money, and the Aubreys will help, I’m sure.”
All resistance drained out of him. All hope. He clutched her hand in both of his. How could he leave the woman he loved? Leave her alone and in danger?
What a horrible decision. He had to leave her to save her.
“Please, Peter,” she said. “It’s the only way.”
Simone strolled back into the room with a smug expression. “I can think of three other ways.”
“Three?” Peter scrunched up his nose. “I can’t think of one.”
Simone settled into the armchair. “I made some calls. Paul’s on his way, and so is Reverend Thompson.”
“The reverend?” Evelyn asked. “Does he know what to do?”
“He can help with one of the solutions.”
“Solutions? What have we missed?” Peter glanced at Evelyn, but she shared his confusion.
Simone crossed long legs. “Paul and I have been discussing this. Evelyn could travel with my passport. I have an active visa for America—we visited Paul’s family this summer. We’re about the same height and coloring, and Claudette could cut your hair like mine. Just mail the passport back when you reach New York.”
It didn’t sit right with Peter. “If Evelyn is caught, you’d both be in big trouble.”
“I’ll take that risk if Evelyn will.” Simone gestured to Peter. “We’re also concerned that Monsieur Norwood might have placed an alert on your name too.”
His jaw set hard. “He’d be stupid to do that. I have a valid passport. The only law I’ve broken is entering France without a visa. He doesn’t dare start that fight, because I’ll win, and he knows it.”
Simone dipped her chin in acknowledgment. “In case he has, Paul and I could buy tickets under our names. You two would board the ocean liner with us as if to wish us bon voyage, then Paul and I would disembark. You would sail under our names, then sort everything out in New York.”
“No,” Peter said. “That’ll cause problems for both of you, guaranteed.”
“I don’t like it.” Evelyn clenched Peter’s hand even tighter. “I don’t like either of them. I don’t want to cause any more problems for the Aubreys than we already have.”
“The third option is obvious.” Simone draped her forearms along the armrests. “Marriage.”
“Marriage?” Evelyn’s voice squeaked, and her hand went wooden in his grip.
Peter slid his hand off of hers, refusing to trap her. “That isn’t an option.”
“It’s an excellent option.” Simone placed one hand on her chest. “I am a French citizen, but as Paul’s wife, I can obtain a visa outside of quotas. If you two were married, Evelyn could obtain a visa with her current passport, the German one. All—as you Americans say—above board.”
It made a lot of sense, but Peter shook his head, shaking his emotions away from logic. “There’s still an alert on her name.”
“At the passport office.” A light dawned on Evelyn’s face. “Not in the visa office. George would never suspect I’d try for a visa on the German passport, not with a waiting list several years long. I think . . . that might work.”
Peter shifted his jaw back and forth. More than anything, he wanted to take Evelyn as his wife. But not this way. Not without her love.
“Would it be so bad? Marrying me?” Evelyn’s voice wavered. “We—we work well together. We like each other.”
“True.” The word rasped over his dry tongue.
Evelyn gazed into her lap. “It’s our best option.”
Everything she said made sense. But how could he wed a woman who feared being caged by a man? Maybe if he didn’t lock the cage. He wet his lips. “All right. But as soon as your paperwork is straightened out back home, we’ll get an annulment. I don’t want to trap you in marriage.”
She flinched but nodded.
Simone huffed. “I’m glad my Paul is more romantic than the rest of you Americans.”
She was right. Evelyn deserved better. He slid off the sofa and onto one knee before her. Her fingers were tangled together, but he pried one hand free and held it in his.
“Evelyn?” He waited until she raised her head, her gaze hesitant and wary. Peter let a smile creep up. “Would you do me the honor of being my wife, even if only for a few weeks?”
Her hand relaxed, and she lowered her face so he couldn’t see her expression. “Yes, I’ll marry you. I’m the one who’s honored.”
Peter clung to her hand, small and warm and soon to be his. Marriage would make their eventual separation even more painful. But it would be worth it to save her life.