One appeared before her, pinched in Etienne’s tapered fingers. “Make it small,” he cautioned.
With shaking hands, she tore off a corner of the paper and wrote out the only thing that mattered.
Dearest Joseph,
I’m sorry for everything I said. I love you always.
-Hélène
Those few precious words took up the entire scrap. She folded it in quarters, the edges blurring from tears. With the note held out for Etienne, her gaze locked with his. “Do not let me down.”
He nodded, but even as he did so, his worried expression belied his fear that he would once again fail.
NINE
Ava
While Ava waited for James to investigate the matter with her neighbor, the nip of her unease began to grow teeth. Finally, the afternoon arrived for them to meet at Café A Brasileira in Chiado. Her nerves drove her to arrive early. Instead of merely waiting in the opulent café with its warm notes of ochre and red and gold throughout, brass fixtures polished to a reflective shine, she went to the long wooden counter and ordered coffees for them both.
In the time she’d been in Lisbon, she’d come to appreciate the petite cup of powerful coffee, taking not only one in the morning, but also in the afternoon as was an endemic habit of the locals.
The two saucers and small cups obtained, she settled into a high-backed chair facing the door and freely poured sugar into her bica. Even as the white grains spilled into the tan foam atop her coffee, the action felt wrong. Almost gluttonous.
But in Lisbon, there was no restriction on how much coffee she could drink or sugar she could consume. Bakery windows were filled with delectable pastries glittering with sweet granules sprinkled liberally over their surface and baked into gooey delicious custard centers.
A lean, masculine figure in the doorway caught her attention. She sat up in her seat, bica forgotten as James crossed the black-and-white-checked marble floor.
He took off his fedora with a pinch of his middle finger and thumb and settled it on the empty spot beside him as he slid into the chair opposite her. “His name is Diogo Silva. He runs a newspaper kiosk by Pra?a Luís de Cam?es.”
Ava knew exactly the square he spoke of with its statue of Luís de Cam?es, Portugal’s greatest poet. “So, he needed the magazine to sell then?” she asked. “For the Germans or Japanese to purchase as we do?”
James poured his usual helping of sugar into his bica. “I’m not certain, but his kiosk has been shuttered since he was taken.”
Ava pulled in a breath. “What happened to him?”
He shook his head and held the handle loop of the tiny cup in his fingers. “I don’t know, but your conversation with the Nazi had nothing to do with his disappearance.”
Ava nodded and masked her uncertainty with a sip of coffee. James had put himself at risk enough for her sake. Any additional digging would need to be done on her own. At least now she had a name and a place to investigate and could hopefully Dick Tracy her way to getting more information.
Another familiar figure entered the café, one with prominent ears. Ava waved to Alfie and slid over so he might join them.
He rushed forward, his face paler than usual as he thunked into the vacated seat. “I just heard…”
“What’s happened?” James asked.
Alfie put his palm to his brow, his long fingers curling like marble against his red hair. “Leslie Howard is dead.”
“Leslie Howard?” Ava repeated the familiar name and the recognition quickly followed. The actor who had played Ashley Wilkes in Gone with the Wind. She hadn’t seen the movie herself, but all of its stars had been plastered on every newspaper and magazine for months before and after the film’s release.