They waited for a long moment as the boy did what he was told. She clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering from terror as much as from the cold. The officer appeared impervious to the weather, most likely from the heavy coat he wore and the girth of his prominent belly jutting beneath. The boy emerged several minutes later and spoke in German.
The officer glared at Elaine and dread tingled over her skin.
Had they found the newspapers?
“I’m sure he’s proven my innocence,” she said in a brusque tone she prayed would be convincing.
The officer didn’t deign to reply. Nor did he look convinced. Instead, he reached for her with an unfriendly hand, trapping her where she stood. “You are under arrest.”
SEVENTEEN
Ava
Every day James met Ava downstairs to walk to the kiosk with her, and every day he had the same answer about the possibility of a rescue plan for the Jewish mother and child in Lyon: no news yet. Though Ava had been reluctant to accept his offer to join her in the mornings, she had to admit that she’d not seen the German since James began accompanying her.
Additionally, Alfonso nodded at their morning arrival in silent confirmation that everything appeared to be clear. So it was that time went by without incident and Thanksgiving came and went. The occasion was marked with a quiet affair at the embassy with far more roasted fowl, heavy gravies, potatoes, and candied yams than any of them could possibly eat. Ava had jokingly invited James, who respectfully declined.
The following week, the next issue of Combat fell into Ava’s hands with a similar message slipped into yet another article. Which meant the plea for help still had not been answered. Its recurrence dug at her thoughts often enough that she tried finding her own avenue.
However, any attempts to acquire US assistance were met with a stern rejection from Sims and anyone else she managed to snag on the phone in DC.
November shifted into December with Christmas bringing a sad little tree in the corner of Ava’s apartment, drenched in tinsel the way her mother had always done in their childhood. Beneath it lay a V Mail envelope with a letter from Daniel she saved to make the day more special. Only it brought scarce comfort as she read it, unable to stop the image of him jumping out of a plane into the unknown and sheltering in an icy trench somewhere. Such thoughts left her with tears in her eyes and a hollow ache in her chest.
James had shown up then with a roasted turkey far too large for the two of them as well as every pastry he could find, all sparkling with sugar crusts and some with brightly colored jams leaking from their flaky centers. He also brought a gift for her, a new messenger bag wide enough to hold the newspapers on her daily collection. It was fortunate she had purchased him a present as well: a copy of A Study in Scarlet, the first of the Sherlock Holmes books, which he received with a broad grin.
By the time New Year’s arrived, there hadn’t even been a discussion if they would spend it together. They simply went to the Palacio in Estoril where they sipped champagne and nibbled canapés in their finest clothes. What hadn’t been expected was the kiss they shared at midnight and how James hadn’t needed a single line of recited verse to coax it from her.
That kiss was never brought up again, but as Ava looked back on it, a fog of champagne and gaiety kept her from recalling exactly if he had leaned toward her…or she toward him. Regardless, neither of them mentioned it and the first week of January rolled by unceremoniously.
Ava received yet another copy of Combat from Otto, and this time there was no longer a coded message. The realization was met with a flutter of uncertainty. Had they given up or were they already rescued?
The two options were still puzzling her when she joined James the following morning to assume their usual rounds through Lisbon’s kiosks and bookstores.
The collar of his dark wool coat was flipped up to ward off the cool January morning, which was by no means comparable to the bone-deep chill of DC. Still, the cold air at her legs under her navy skirt made her miss the availability of stockings. She also was glad she had not gone with a refugiado hairstyle when the weather was hot, named after the short cropped hair en vogue in Europe when refugees fled their homes. Her long hair kept her neck warm, swept back from her face in an understated victory roll by her right part.