Chasing Sylvia Beach (27 page)

“It’s me who owes you the apology. I should not have left you alone upstairs. If I had informed the guards of your presence, nothing like that would have happened. Karl can be very protective of me. My apologies.”

“I didn’t mean to cause a problem between you. I just thought I could quickly get my gloves and not be a bother at all.” She smiled what she hoped was a wistful smile. He smiled back. “It’s time for the buffet, then those speeches,” he said. “Perhaps we can slip away before then.”

They entered a room near the ballroom. Inside, liveried waiters served the guests from behind a laden buffet table. After choosing a few things from the buffet, they sat at a table with six other people. She tried to be as invisible as possible while eating, all the while thinking about the book in the shrubbery. The people at her table spoke German. She adopted a look of polite interest, pretending to demurely follow along. At one point, she caught Karl lurking near the door, staring at her with a threatening look. She was trying to conjure up an exit excuse when a man in uniform approached Heinrich and whispered in his ear. After a brief discussion, Heinrich turned to Lily.

“Again, my apologies. I have an urgent matter I must attend to. Would you like to stay and wait for me?”

Lily shook her head. “No, that’s okay. I’m a bit tired, so I’ll just go home now, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. I will call my driver.”

“Oh, please, no, that’s not necessary. I’ll take a taxi.” Lily stood and touched Heinrich’s arm.

“I won’t hear of it. My driver will take you.”

Lily nodded. Heinrich motioned to a servant and spoke to him in German, gesturing to Lily. With a smile, he turned to her.

“It’s all taken care of. My driver will pull the car up. Thank you for a lovely evening. I hope to see you soon, Lily.” He bent to kiss her hand.

She blushed, grateful now for all the people around them. They left the ballroom and Heinrich joined a pair of men in the foyer. They slipped into a side room and closed the door. Lily waited for a moment, then headed for the exit. Outside, night had fallen. Walking slowly, she pretended to admire the garden, making her way around the building. She spied the tree she’d seen from Heinrich’s office and ducked toward the bushes. There, upside down, lay the briefcase with the book inside. She grabbed it, hugging it to her, then hurried around the corner of the
hôtel particulier
. Strolling calmly, briefcase against her chest, she arrived at the exit. Passing the guards manning the portico and a black car waiting for her, she broke into a cold sweat. She left the embassy grounds and hurried down the empty street.

After a few blocks, she released her breath just as she felt a hand on her arm. The briefcase fell to the ground with a thump. She cried out with surprise. It was Karl. He glanced at the briefcase, then back to Lily, a snarl on his face.

“Well, well! What do I see here?” He picked up the briefcase and shook it in Lily’s face. He tugged her arm, pulling her back toward the embassy.

“Let me go!”

“No. You’re coming back to the embassy, you little spy! You have some explanations to make, which I’m sure Heinrich will be happy to hear. Come!”

“Laissez-moi!” she cried, struggling against his grip.

“Enough!”

He forced her forward. Footsteps clattered behind them and Karl dropped his grip on her. Lily stumbled back, shocked to see Paul delivering a series of blows to Karl’s face. Her attacker slumped to the ground. Karl’s face dripped blood and he desperately tried to protect himself, crying out in German. The soldiers guarding the embassy rushed to the entrance and turned toward them. Lily tried to stop Paul.

“Paul! We have to go, now!”

Paul saw the men running toward them and grabbed Lily’s hand to dash off.

“Wait!” She snatched up the briefcase, kicking at Karl’s hand when he tried to grab it.

“Viens, Lily!” Paul pulled her away and they ran down the street. They crossed to a motorcycle parked on the sidewalk. The soldiers shouted in German but Paul jumped on the bike, urging Lily to get on the back. She kicked off her shoes and pulling her dress up with one hand straddled the seat. “Hurry!” she shouted, glancing back at the soldiers. Paul repeatedly kicked the starter, gunning the throttle. But the bike refused to start.

“Paul, Paul, Paul,” Lily chanted under her breath, her heart thumping against the briefcase. The soldiers were almost upon them when he managed to start the engine, and the motorcycle lurched away with a bang, leaving the soldiers behind. One drew his weapon and aimed at their backs, but his comrade shouted, causing him to lower his Luger. Paul sharply took the corner and they sped away.

BEFORE LONG, LILY recognized the neighborhood, and minutes later Paul pulled to a stop in front of Shakespeare and Company. Lily climbed off, clutching the briefcase. Paul frowned when he saw it and gripped the handlebars of the motorcycle. To Lily, he was even more handsome astride the bike, wearing his stern look. She leaned toward him, kissing him gently, but when he didn’t respond, Lily drew back. “Paul, thank you so much for saving me. I would have been toast back there if you hadn’t come. How did you find me?”

He shrugged. “I was right—you are seeing someone else.”

“No, it’s not what you think! I’ll explain everything.” Lily kissed him again, reassuring him that she was interested in him, not Heinrich. After a second, Paul relaxed into her kiss. Lily moaned, relieved to be with him and away from the Nazis.

“Let’s go to your room,” she said softly, looking at him with a question in her eyes.

“Allons-y,” he said, his expression now tender. She squeezed his arm and climbed back on the bike. He revved the motor, and as the bike took off, Lily looked back at the shop. Was that Sylvia watching from the window? In a flash they were at the end of the street and turning onto the boulevard, leaving rue de l’Odéon behind.

It was late, and the streets glowed with the golden light from the streetlamps. Cars had replaced bicycles and well-dressed couples filled the café terraces. The moon shone brightly, making the top floors of the limestone buildings glow. Before long, Paul brought them back to the hotel, parking the motorcycle on the side street. He turned the motor off and Lily climbed off awkwardly. The sudden stillness and quiet emphasized the buzzing in her body. She wasn’t sure if it was the motorcycle or nervousness. She hugged the briefcase to her, realizing she’d left her hat at the embassy along with her shoes. Her bare feet were cold against the cobblestones.

“Are you sure it’s okay? Your mom might find me and you’ll be in trouble.”

Paul got off the bike and pulled it back to prop it up on its kickstand.

“I told you, I talked to her. Anyway, I am not afraid of my mother. Come here.” With that, he drew her close and kissed her. This time, their bodies pressed together and Lily forgot her cold feet, focusing instead on Paul’s warm lips and tongue. A few minutes later, when a group of young men passed by on rue Saint André des Arts, laughing and shouting, Lily and Paul broke apart. He gazed down at her, his hands on her waist. She liked his warm hands on her. Her face flushed and she was grateful for the dark night.

“You’re shivering,” Paul said. “Are you cold?”

“No . . . yes . . .” She was trembling. She bent her head against Paul’s shoulder, not wanting to break the comforting contact she’d felt on the ride over. He put his arm around her and led her into the courtyard and up the dark stairwell.

In his room, moonlight poured through the skylight. Lily relished the coziness, realizing that she missed being here. He closed the door and gently took the briefcase from Lily, placing it on his desk. She gave it a lingering glance. He hugged her close and she was happy to lose the barrier between them. He placed his hands on her bare shoulders, then ran them down her arms. His touch warmed her. Bending down, he murmured her name and brought his lips to hers. She pulled his shirt out of his pants and snaked her arms up his back. His skin felt hot and Lily instantly grew warmer. He leaned to kiss her neck, slowly unzipping her dress. It fell to the ground in a heap. He caressed her back, then followed his hands with his lips. Slowly, he tugged off her long gloves, one finger at a time. By the time they were off, Lily was no longer cold.

Paul fell back on the bed, pulling Lily on top of him. She leaned over, relishing his touch on her skin. Soon his pants and shirt were on the floor and for the first time since she’d arrived, Lily forgot everything: she forgot Louise, she forgot Heinrich, she forgot Sylvia. The only thing she focused on was one touch after another until everything, even the room, including the briefcase, fell away.

Lily didn’t know how much time passed before they lay together, tired, their breathing in synch. Lily felt a surge of grati-
tude that Paul had helped her this whole time, but especially that he’d saved her from Karl. But it was more than gratitude, and she knew it. He held her close as the sweat on their skin dried in the cold air. Paul pulled a sheet over them and Lily snuggled against his side.

“Paul, you don’t have to work tonight?”

He tucked her closer. “No, maman gives me a night off to catch up on my sleep.” He traced her nose with his finger.

“How did you find me?” She peeked up at him.

He sighed. “When I saw you leaving with that Nazi, I was so angry. You were wearing that dress and I thought you were in love with him.”

Lily giggled. Heinrich was handsome, but she certainly wasn’t in love with him. Paul continued.

“I was bringing your money to you, and flowers to apologize for running off the other day. When I asked Sylvia where you had gone, she told me about the soirée at the German embassy. So I ran back to get my uncle’s motorcycle and rushed there. I waited outside for hours, watching for you, wanting an explanation.”

Lily squirmed at the thought of Paul and Sylvia discussing her whereabouts. She didn’t want Sylvia to know why she’d gone to the embassy and wasn’t sure she could tell Paul, either.

“Why were you there with him? I thought . . . well, after our day at the bird market, well, I thought perhaps . . .” He stared up at the skylight. His frown was lit by the moonlight. Lily kissed him several times on his cheek, then on his lips. After a few minutes, they drew apart.

“Paul, I’m not interested in him. I went because I had to.”

Paul’s expression darkened. “But why did you have to? What would you want with those people? Don’t you know what they have done? Burning books! Passing laws against Jews and anyone who doesn’t agree with them!”

He struggled to disentangle from her. Lily lay back on the rumpled sheets. He was right. They were doing terrible things, and he would be even more horrified when he heard what they did later. If he heard. Lily suspected Paul would go into the French army and might not come out. She swallowed hard, her throat clenching up against tears. But what could she tell him? She needed to get the book? Why and for whom? She wanted so badly to tell him everything, but she couldn’t. She touched his back.

“I know,” she said. “It’s horrible. But trust me, it’s not what you think. I’m not part of that.”

“Then what?” Paul turned to look at her. “What are you part of? I don’t understand you, Lily.”

“I don’t understand, either, Paul. I can only tell you that I am not in charge right now. I have obligations to others that I have to fulfill. Then I can go home. I needed to go to the embassy to make sure that happens.”

“What do you have to do with the German embassy? Why did that Nazi attack you?”

Lily opened her mouth to speak, hoping a story would appear like the one about her sick aunt. But looking at Paul, who really wanted to know the truth, she had no words. She had no clever stories that only robbed her relationships of intimacy. Instead of an explanation, a sob escaped Lily. Suddenly she was crying, and Paul was shushing her. He lay down and pressed his body against hers. Her face against his neck, she mumbled, “I wish I could explain. Maybe later.”

LILY HURRIED THROUGH the quartier, rushing past vendors taking down crates in front of their shops and street sweepers in baggy coveralls pushing debris along the curb with brooms. It was already afternoon. Barefoot and wearing a wrinkled evening gown and gloves, Lily felt a warmth in her belly from her night with Paul, which made her not care how she looked to others. Holding her dress up off her ankles, she skipped over puddles on the sidewalks, eager to get back to the shop and change clothes. She hoped Louise had somehow witnessed the events of last night and knew that Lily had the book in safekeeping. The book was safe in its briefcase under Paul’s bed where she’d tucked it before leaving. It was safer there until she could make contact with Louise. She had no way to call Louise and could only count on her unannounced appearances.

Inside the shop, nothing stirred. Neither Sylvia nor the pets were there, even though it was past opening time and Sylvia liked to be punctual. Lily’s hat and shoes from last night stood neatly on Sylvia’s desk. Had Heinrich come back and taken Sylvia away? Lily’s heart beat faster.

In her room, Lily slipped out of the dress, folding it into its box as she resumed her old outfit. She’d rinsed out the blouse and now it was dry and slightly fresher. While she was dressing, Teddy click-clacked down the stairs, greeting her with a bevy of licks. Rubbing his head, Lily crooned to him quietly.

She wandered around tidying things that didn’t need tidying, wondering where Sylvia was and when Louise would contact her. She now felt like an easy target in Shakespeare and Company. Heinrich—or worse yet, Karl—would likely be coming to ask after the book any time now. Every passerby brought her to attention, fear coursing through her.

Footsteps crossed the room above her, causing the old ceiling to creak loudly. A palpable relief overcame her. Sylvia was upstairs after all and probably coming down now. Lily hovered near the desk, waiting for her. But after the steps crossed one way, then the other, the room above fell silent. Lily’s relief faded, replaced by concern. Sylvia at least always came down to open the shop.

Lily pushed the heavy curtain aside to listen for other signs of life. She hadn’t been up to Sylvia’s rooms and didn’t feel right going up now. But she had read about them at the Princeton library.

After two days of being cooped up in the research room, Lily paged through Sylvia’s papers quickly. She was unable to squelch her disappointment that she hadn’t discovered any secrets. She packed her things and rose to leave.

The woman at the front desk, who for the most part had been minding her own business, cast a disapproving look. Lily paused.

“We’re not closing yet,” the woman said.

“Yes, well, I’m leaving.”

“You’ve got another forty-five minutes. You didn’t come all this way to leave early. Now keep going.”

Lily couldn’t believe the librarian was telling her what to do.

“You never know what you’ll find,” the librarian said. Lily snorted. She hadn’t found what she was looking for. Sure, she had been awestruck when she first touched Sylvia’s things. But after a dozen or so boxes, she began to feel like a cheap voyeur. She wasn’t a serious researcher like this librarian obviously was. Yet she listened to the older woman, pulling the last box off the cart next to her desk.

This box contained correspondence and items from the sixties. Lily found a letter, written in French, several pages long. The script was compact and sharply angled across the page. It took Lily several minutes to decipher the story. The letter was written by a friend of Sylvia’s, the friend who had found her dead in her apartment. He detailed the scenario. He’d gone by to visit, and getting no response to his repeated knocks, had asked the concierge to open the door for him. Upstairs, in Sylvia’s rooms, he found Sylvia, kneeling against the door to the bathroom. She wore her robe, and the bed remained neatly made. They weren’t sure if she had died before going to bed or after arising. In any case, she died of natural causes and apparently with little suffering.

Lily sat absorbing the hush of the library. The librarian appeared to be reading. The image of Sylvia dying alone in her rooms moved into Lily’s mind and rooted there. It was a disturbing image, one she tried to push away. She preferred instead the notion of Sylvia in the bookshop, among her friends and the books, alive and vibrant, enjoying her bookish life.

When the library closed, Lily left reluctantly, now regretting that she had only spent a couple of days with Sylvia’s things. She said good-bye to the librarian, who gave her a strange smile and a nod. Lily made her way through campus and down Princeton’s main street. She barely noticed the preppy shops with their jaunty mannequins, following the map the librarian had given her. She had arranged to meet her dad at a sushi restaurant and had one thing to do beforehand.

The cemetery was behind the main street, a few blocks down a tree-lined road. She entered and wove among the graves until she found the large ginkgo tree the librarian had told her about. There, sheltered by the tree, was Sylvia’s grave. Lily lingered for several minutes, disturbed not by the grave but by the fact that Sylvia was buried in Princeton and not Paris. It felt like an insult to Sylvia. She had belonged in Paris during her life and belonged there in death, too.

She snapped a ginkgo leaf off the tree and knelt at the grave.

“Good-bye, Sylvia,” she whispered. “Thanks for letting me go through your things.”

The dimly lit staircase loomed above her. Lily took a deep breath and headed up. She kept to the wall, her hand sliding along the wooden railing, as her heart beat faster than her steps. What would she say to Sylvia? She hesitated at the top of the stairs, then decided to go back down but paused when she heard her name. There were three doors, all of them closed. She stepped onto the landing, nearly colliding with a coatrack. The raincoat on the rack swung toward her as she brushed up against it. At the middle door, she whispered Sylvia’s name. After a moment’s silence, Sylvia called her in.

The dark room enveloped her immediately. A small cot jutted out from the wall between Lily and the windows. A tiny lamp on the nightstand illuminated a stack of books. She made out the shape of Sylvia on the bed, lying on top of a tiger skin fur. Lily approached tentatively. Beneath a compress, Sylvia’s face was a grimace.

“Are you okay?” Lily asked.

Sylvia didn’t move. “What do you think?”

“I’m sorry about coming up, but I wanted to see if you were all right. I was concerned that the shop wasn’t open.”

Sylvia removed the cloth and rolled onto her side. Lucky yawned widely but didn’t shift from her spot at Sylvia’s feet. Sylvia spoke with difficulty.

“The migraine has passed, leaving a normal debilitating headache in its wake. I wasn’t able to muster it to come downstairs yet. We should be open—can you do it?”

“Teddy’s down there. It’s okay for a minute. I’m worried about you.” Lily offered her some coffee, tea, or a snack, but Sylvia didn’t want anything. Lily hovered near the foot of the bed, wishing she could open the heavy floor-to-ceiling curtains and bring in fresh air and light.

“I’m not the one to be worried about. It’s you who are in trouble with our German friend.”

Lily stiffened. “What do you mean?”

Sylvia eyed her shrewdly. “Late last night, I had a visitor. Pounding on the front door like he was trying to break it down. It was your Heinrich.”

“He’s not my Heinrich.”

Sylvia rearranged the bedclothes around her. “He was under the impression that you had the book I sold him. That you’d taken it from his office. He was quite upset.”

Lily was speechless. If she told Sylvia about the book, she’d have to tell the whole truth. And she didn’t know the whole truth.

“You have quite the guilty look. Did you indeed take his book?”

Lily shook her head, trying to stall, when she saw a trickle of blood coming from Sylvia’s nose. She rushed to the bed.

“Sylvia, you’re bleeding.”

“Damn it. Get that handkerchief.” She gestured toward the dresser. Lily found an old hanky, embroidered pink around the edges and slightly stained. She brought it to Sylvia and helped her sit up. As Sylvia pressed it to her nose, Lily half-sat, half-leaned against the bed and held her up. Sylvia tried to say something, but her voice was muffled by the handkerchief. Lily crooned, shhh, shhh, the way her mother had done when she was young and sick at home. They stayed like that for a few minutes, until Sylvia drew the hanky away from her face.

“Sorry about that.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” Lily shifted toward the end of the bed. Sylvia closed her eyes.

“Happens every once in a while. When the headache wants more of me.”

“It’s more than the migraine, isn’t it? You’re not well.”

Sylvia sighed. She reached for the glass of water on the table and took a slow sip.

“You’re not going to tell me about the book, are you?”

Lily shook her head.

Sylvia sighed again. “Well, he seemed to believe me when I told him you would do nothing of the sort. But his friend was convinced you had something to do with it, and he wasn’t so easily deterred.”

“If you want, I can leave. I don’t want to put you in trouble.”

Sylvia waved her hand and grimaced.

Lily moved closer. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

“The doctors can’t find anything wrong. They say it’s too much for me to run the shop, to live in a foreign country. Even my own damn doctor is telling me that.”

“You might not want to admit this, but . . . maybe they’re right.” Lily was relieved that the conversation had shifted away from the Nazis.

“They’re not. They’re wrong.” Sylvia almost growled. “I love this shop. I love this street, this city, and this country. If I weren’t here I’d be dead at home in some stifling rectory. This is my choice. The headaches are my payment.”

Back home, Valerie’s sinuses had gotten so bad that she had to have surgery so she could breathe. The books, the dust, the dry air, the fruitlessness of running a business that wasn’t successful exacted a cost on Sylvia that Lily hated to see.

“That’s a pretty high cost, your health.”

“It’s not so bad. I just have these spells, but they don’t last long. When I get a breath of fresh country air, I can do it. It’s not being able to get away that exacerbates it.”

“I wish I could help.”

“Can you bring me more water?”

Sylvia gestured toward the stand with a water pitcher. Lily took the glass, which was actually a jam jar, and refilled it.

“Everyone says they want to help. I just want people to come to the shop, to buy and borrow books. I want it to be like it was, when people still lived in Paris and read. Before the Depression. Before politics scared everyone away. It wasn’t easy then, but at least it felt like I was doing something.”

Lily sat in the chair by the bed and listened. Sylvia balled the hanky in her hand, then unrolled it, smoothed it out on the blanket, and balled it up again.

“Frankly, it is too much. I can’t stand it, but on days like this, when I feel like this, I have to admit that it is too much. There. I’ve said it. Are you going to be like everyone else and try to talk some sense into me?”

Lily smiled gently. “No. I promise.”

“Since I moved back here, it hasn’t been easy. I didn’t realize how much living with Adrienne made it all worth it. But when I left, I told her I’d never go back. I know she’d take me back, but I just can’t do it.”

Lily stayed quiet, hoping Sylvia would continue. She remained silent for a few minutes. Finally, Lily spoke up.

“It must be hard to be around her and have your relationship so different, so formal.”

Sylvia closed her eyes, and Lily thought she saw a tear at the corner of her eye. Sylvia was quiet for so long that she thought she might have gone too far, or that Sylvia had fallen asleep. A wave of guilt overcame Lily. Here was Sylvia, sick, desperately trying to keep her shop open, and Lily had lied to her the whole time. Finally, Sylvia spoke without opening her eyes.

“It is hard. I hadn’t admitted it, but it is what drives these migraines so far into my skull I think I’d rather be dead than go on. The shop, the lack of customers, without Adrienne at my side, it is that much harder.” Her mouth clenched up. She shifted in the bed. “I can’t believe I’m telling you all of this. I haven’t spoken like this to anyone.” She opened her eyes. “No one.”

Lily got it. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Sylvia gave a wan smile. “I don’t know how much of a secret it is. Everyone knows I moved in here last year. Everyone knew about Adrienne’s affair with Gisele.” She paused. “What they don’t know is how badly it affected me. How much effort it takes to stifle the disappointment.”

“I’m sorry, Sylvia. I can’t imagine how painful that must be.”

“Oh, well, I take it as I can and do what I can. My talking like this . . .” She peered at Lily.

“Don’t worry. You sound like a woman who has been hurt and despite it has done very well. It’s admirable.”

“That’s all well and good. But you really should be down in the shop. Can you please close shop for the day?”

“Are you sure there’s nothing else I can do?”