The room fell silent.
“She’s got you there, Simsie.” Mike’s voice broke the spell, and Mr. Sims swiveled his glare on the younger man.
“Don’t call me Simsie,” he barked. “Or you’ll be back on US soil before you can attempt an apology.” With that, he stormed from the room.
Peggy mouthed, I’m sorry.
But Ava shook her head. This was an argument that needed to happen, one she had to win. Going forward, she would do everything possible to acquire more letters like this one, so the world would know exactly what the Jews of Europe were up against.
FOURTEEN
Elaine
Elaine found Manon sitting on the cushioned seat at the piano, her slender fingers resting on the keys without playing. As if the instrument no longer gave off music. Or perhaps it was the woman who’d lost the melody.
“Manon?” Elaine stepped lightly into the room to avoid startling her.
Manon removed her hands from the piano. “I did not expect you for some time.”
“I need to speak with you.”
Manon turned on the bench to face Elaine. Her dark eyes seemed larger than usual, her cheeks hollow beneath her sharp cheekbones. There was always a fragility about the woman, but suddenly she appeared immensely delicate, susceptible to being swept away by the slightest whisper of wind.
Perhaps the conversation should not be had after all.
“What is it?” Manon asked.
Elaine’s tongue went still with indecision.
“Do you need my help?” Manon indicated she should take a seat on the plush blue velvet settee. “Whatever it is that is on your mind that you are struggling to say, I want to know what it is.” Despite her wan appearance, her voice was strong.
Elaine obediently settled on the sofa without leaning back, and the words dislodged from the stubborn place in her chest. “I’ve met a mother and son who are without a home at present. Yours would be more suited for them than other safe houses.” Elaine gave a regretful smile. “I know that means I will give up my place here with you, but I think it better for them.”
“You may stay as well,” Manon offered. “The couch—”
“I couldn’t add to your risk or theirs.”
Manon gave a small, thoughtful smile. “It is considerate of you to put them first. They can come, of course.”
“They are Jewish,” Elaine said. “The boy…”
Manon nodded. “I understand.”
“It will place you in more danger than previous guests.”
Manon exhaled a bitter laugh. “Danger.”
Her reaction took Elaine aback somewhat. “The child might be loud…”
The brief mirth slipped from Manon’s face as she turned to the piano, studying the display of photographs. “It will be good to have a child here again.”
The statement was made more to herself than to Elaine. Still looking at the pictures, Manon continued in a thin voice. “Did you know I had a son?”
Had.
Elaine couldn’t help but glance up at the portraits where a black-and-white Manon leaned her head toward the dark-haired man, and another where a baby gazed out with large eyes and a dimpled smile. War was unkind to all, but mostly to the vulnerable.
“Is that him?” Elaine asked, breaking the weight of silence that settled between them. “Your son.”
Manon lifted a small palm-sized frame from the piano. “Yes.” With slow and gentle care, she ran a finger down the image. “My husband was killed at Dunkirk shortly after I discovered I was with child.”