And Pemmy did not like that gun being pointed at her.
Thursday, November 28, 1940
VILLA AIR-BEL
After a midday Thanksgiving supper of the roasted chicken Madame Nouget had managed to find, they took Varian’s nut pie （with plenty of whipped cream, thanks to Madame LaVache） into the Grand Salon. Edouard forked a bite, imagining Luki warmed by this fire, and carrying her upstairs to tuck her in at night, milking Madame LaVache with her in the morning, and dancing to music all the way from Boston. His thoughts of the future were here, in a place he could see in his mind. What was a place like Boston or New York or Chicago like? Who would they know? How would he manage to house and clothe and feed Luki there?
“Perhaps Nanée might put Luki on the train,” Varian said, continuing a conversation started as they were cutting the pie. “You could meet her in Portbou, on the far side?”
The nuts were gravel between Edouard’s teeth. “I’ve done this before, though. I sent Luki with a friend on a train to Paris, meaning to follow.” It had been well over a year now since he’d hugged Luki.
“Look, let me lay this out for you as clearly as I can,” Varian said, getting testy. “When we started this, yes, it might have been possible to get you out on the train with your daughter. But border guards willing to look the other way can no longer be counted on or even hoped for. And the Gestapo in Spain are checking every request for a Spanish transit visa, and picking up refugees with no apparent resistance from Franco.”
Edouard went to the window, to the long empty stretch to the sea in the distance, no one coming. He knew he and Luki had to leave as soon as they could. Escapes were increasingly dangerous, and might soon end altogether. Captain Dubois of the Marseille police, a connection Vice Consul Bingham had made for Varian, had just days earlier let Varian know the Marseille police had now been charged with gathering evidence enough to eject Varian himself from France. Varian’s passport was good until January, but his French visa had expired, and he had no ability to get it renewed for want of a letter that the American embassy refused to give him. “How many times do we have to tell you there is nothing we can do for you?” the embassy insisted. “Even your wife wants you to go home.” And the CAS’s own Charlie Fawcett had just been arrested in Spain, and with a secret list of refugees who needed visas too. The list was hidden in the third valve of Charlie’s trumpet, on which he’d learned to play songs that didn’t need that valve. Other documents were sealed inside plaster heads that appeared to be works of art in progress. Neither the list nor the documents had been found on Charlie yet, as far as anyone knew. But everyone at the CAS office now meticulously destroyed anything incriminating once it was no longer needed, and Varian brought the remaining documents back to the chateau each night.
“Luki can cross the border on foot with me,” Edouard said to Varian.
“I’m not offering you this alternative, Edouard,” Varian said. “I’m telling you that if you wish to leave France, this is the way we will help you do so. We’ll provide you documents under an alias to get to Portugal—”
“Forged documents.”
“Yes. Ones that will not match your daughter’s name. The two of you traveling together in France—that’s not a risk we’re willing to take. There will be some risk with you traveling together through Spain too. Once you get to Portugal, you can use your real name and your American visa.”
Edouard fingered the window glass, the view as limited as that through the lens. Whatever he did put Luki and everyone else in danger. He was a watcher, and he was watched.
Thursday, November 28, 1940
CHTEAU DE CHENONCEAU
Nanée tried to appear as meek as a servant girl to the Germans. “To decorate the house,” she said again. Haus—that was the word in German, but would a servant girl know that? She pointed to the chateau, the servants’ entrance just across the forecourt, if only they could reach it. Luki, mercifully quiet, only stared at the soldier on the moat and his gun.
“Du arbeitest hier?” the German demanded.
“To decorate the chateau,” she repeated, not knowing what else to say.
A woman appeared at the servants’ door, calling, “You’d best hurry! The mistress is impatient!”
The Germans conversed with each other, but didn’t lower the gun.
Nanée said to Luki, “Come, sweetheart.” She nodded toward the woman standing there. She might just walk on if she were sure the child would follow, but she couldn’t risk leaving her standing there alone.