The fierceness on her face was one Elaine had only glimpsed before, one of stark hate, of determination to make the Germans pay for what they had done to France, to Nicole’s family.
It was gone as soon as it had come, melting effortlessly into a brilliant smile Elaine now understood was little more than a mask. “Au revoir, ma chérie. Be safe.”
Elaine embraced her. “And you as well.”
Nicole flicked away the wishes for safety with a wave of her hand and click-clacked from the room, leaving Elaine to ponder over what she had said.
There was no room for love in this war.
And she was not wrong.
NINETEEN
Ava
News of Otto’s death followed Ava through the rest of the day, the envelope like a weight in her bag. She didn’t take it directly to the embassy, but instead brought it home. There, she sank onto the chair and withdrew the thick letter with trembling hands.
There is no one to whom I can entrust this as I can with you, my dear Ava, for you are the only one who has taken the effort to see me.
Its contents detailed a life of drive, of success and of incredible loss. His story was powerful in its poignancy as he recounted the horror in his sister’s letter, the desolation of being in that cell in Spain when he’d been arrested with no food and a pervasive rattle of fear in the air.
Perhaps most impactful to her was his description of being in Lisbon where every day was another wall closing in on him, how the PVDE hovered over him like vultures, waiting for his papers to expire, which would have happened by the end of the week. The final rejection of his American visa, one he knew wasn’t possible with his immediate German heritage, was the slip of his fingertips from the ledge of sanity.
He had nowhere else to go, nowhere to turn. No one to trust.
By the time she finished the letter, tears dotted the bottom of the page, and she was gripped with the profound understanding of her own powerlessness. Maybe she couldn’t have done something to help, but he could have told her. She could have tried.
Tenderly, she wiped her eyes and folded the pages once more. She hadn’t had the opportunity to save Otto, but now she had the chance to aid the mother and child who were traveling from France. No matter what it took, no matter whose office she had to set up camp in, she would not fail.
Fortunately, acquiring a place for them to stay was far easier than the issue with the visas, and by that afternoon, Ava had secured an apartment near Rossio Square. The landlady was a kind older woman whose family had opened the building to lodgers for two generations, and the current occupants were to leave in a week aboard one of the ships already waiting in the dock.
The melancholy of Otto’s loss was like a fog around Ava and followed her every action. She had been tempted to cancel on James for the dinner party. He even offered when he found out about Otto, but in the end, she did not want to let James down when he was counting on her. Thus far, she had failed too many people.
Not knowing what to expect and mildly intimidated by visiting a palace, she dressed as she would for a night at the Palacio with a midnight blue gown that draped low at the back, and paired it with white gloves that stopped just above her elbows. A few pins to elegantly draw her hair off the nape of her neck and a swipe of Victory Red on her lips later, she was ready to go.
James picked her up in the late afternoon and drove toward Sintra, arriving just as the sun was going down. The sky was awash in an ombré of rainbow pastels amid the distant mountain, its peak so high, it was obscured with a veil of mist.
“There’s a castle up there,” he said.
She peered harder, straining to see through the thick gray clouds. “Is there?”
James’s brows rose in surprise. “You didn’t know?”
It had been her intent to research Sintra prior to their arrival, but she’d been so consumed with Otto’s loss that it had slipped her mind.