I gave him a full wattage smile and saw his posture relax a bit, and I knew we’d only have seconds before he made his way over to us. I was positive I could get myself out of the situation, but I wasn’t so confident for my new friend.
“Monsieur,” I said, leaning down and grabbing his arm. My French was more than adequate after two months in Marseille. “You must get up and walk away.” And then I gasped softly as his gaze met mine.
I recognized him, though we’d never been formally introduced. It was impossible not to know Henry Graham. He’d moved between England and France since the war started, collecting intelligence, and he had so many aliases the Germans weren’t sure what his real name was. I wasn’t even sure that Henry Graham was his real name. What I did know was that his work was too important for him to be looked at too closely.
He was handsome in a unique way. His features were sharp and angled, and I wasn’t sure of his true nationality, though the British claimed him, but his crystalline blue eyes and dark blond hair could have placed his origins in many European countries.
He must have noticed the recognition in my eyes, because he took my hand and squeezed, and then said, “It will be okay.”
I scanned his body quickly for any obvious signs of injury and winced as I saw the tear in his trousers and the blood seeping from a long scrape down his shin. He was dressed like many of the businessmen in the district—in a jacket and tie—his shoes polished and a thin scarf hanging jauntily from around his neck.
“Are you all right?” I asked, my voice elevated for our audience. “Can I take you somewhere? To the doctor?”
“Oui,” he said. “I would appreciate your assistance.” I moved to put my hand under his arm and get him to his feet, but the officer I’d smiled at had made his way to us. I could see my reflection in the polished shine of his boots.
He spoke in clipped German, and I only caught part of what he was saying. I didn’t recognize the dialect, and I wasn’t as proficient in my German as I was French, but I caught the gist and the tone.
He reached down and grabbed Graham by the arm and pulled him to his feet, causing him to stumble and keep his weight off his leg.
“I’d hate for you to trouble yourself,” I said, before the officer could damage Graham any further. “This was my fault, and I’m happy to take him to the doctor.”
“Do you know this man?” the officer asked.
“Oh, no,” I said, fluttering my lashes and blushing prettily. “We’ve never met. I’m just such a klutz and I couldn’t help but admire the blue of the sky and the sun shining over the water. I wasn’t paying attention to the road at all, and I ran right into this poor man. I’ve not seen you here before. Major Wagner and Helene are expecting me.”
I’d learned from an early age that if you acted helpless around men it made them feel like the king of the world, so they’d usually try to swoop in and take over. I smiled coyly and let the smallest bit of interest linger in my eyes.
“I’m fine,” Graham cut in. “No need for a doctor. It’s just a cut. Please.”
Graham’s smile was grim but insistent. I could tell he was ready to be on his way though I was curious as to why he would chance cutting through to his destination so close to headquarters when there was a price on his head.
“We have a doctor inside,” the officer said, giving Graham a hard stare. “Come.”
My insides were frozen, but there was no choice but to play it out, so I got back behind the wheel and moved the car closer to the sidewalk, and then I got my cases out of the trunk.
“That’s very kind of you,” I told the officer, giving him an oblivious smile. “And now I get to keep my appointment. I just hate getting behind schedule.”
The officer was ushering a limping Graham toward the door of Gestapo headquarters, and I resisted the urge to blow out a sigh of impatience. We were in a fix that I didn’t know how to get out of, and I was hoping that Graham had a plan I hadn’t thought of.
Major Wagner had commandeered the residence of the Schwartz family after they’d transported all of the Jews out of the city. Their home was considered upper middle-class, as Mr. Schwartz had been a jeweler, but it was the location that held the appeal for the Germans. It was on the corner of the Quai de Rive Neuve and it had perfect visibility of the port and the main avenue in Marseille.
I noticed passersby on the street were hurrying along, keeping their heads down, but I could feel them watching us. Another officer came out the front door and gave Graham a narrowed stare, taking in the gash in his leg and his disheveled attire.
“Lovely to see you, Heinz,” I told him in German, and he gave me a tight-lipped smile. For Heinz, that was as good as him declaring his undying devotion.
He came and took my cases, sparing a glance for my bosom before ushering me into the building. There was something about the shell of the home that sent prickles of unease across my skin. It was a ghost of a house, the remnants of its former owners a memory that hadn’t quite faded.
Most of the furniture had been removed, and there were faded patches on the wall where paintings had once hung. The rugs had been rolled up and the
