‘An example?’
‘Earned himself a nickname: The Reaper.’ He widened his eyes and I felt a frisson of fear run along my spine.
Just then Lyndon returned, holding a room key in his hand.
‘Let’s get you settled,’ he said, lifting me by my arm.
I felt I had to comply until I could find the right opportunity to escape. We stepped into the elevator while the attendant closed the iron grill and pushed the button for us to ascend. No one spoke a word and I looked down at my shoes. I could see the rip in my stockings from the night before. Armand. Oh, my heart crumpled in on itself like a discarded love letter. I suddenly felt very weary. I longed to be inside the comforting surrounds of Shakespeare and Company, working with Sylvia, cataloguing the books, greeting the customers.
‘Troisième étage,’ the attendant informed us and opened the gate for us.
As we walked down the carpeted hallway lined with tall plants on either side, I tried to gather my thoughts, but it was pointless.
‘Here we are,’ Lyndon said. ‘I booked you the room next to ours.’
I walked in, about to put my bag on the bed, but came to my senses and turned to leave. ‘I can’t stay here, Lyndon.’
He stood in the doorway, blocking my path. ‘You will do as you are told, little sister.’ With a movement I hadn’t seen coming, he pushed me so hard into the wall opposite that I smacked my forehead and slumped to the floor, dazed.
As I sat there, he calmly closed the door and left.
I’m not sure how long I lay there, hugging my knees on the floor. It could have been twenty minutes or two hours.
‘Ménage!’ called the housekeeper.
I had no energy to reply, but the knocking was relentless.
‘S’il vous plait?’
I heaved myself up and unlocked the door. ‘What on earth … ?’
It was Armand.
He strode into the room and picked up my bag and coat. ‘Come quickly.’
‘But where … how?’
‘I’ll explain after, dépêches-toi!’ He grabbed my hand and made for the door.
We hurried down the corridor, in the opposite direction from which I’d come, to a back stair. I hadn’t time to think, only silently prayed that we would not get caught. He held my hand tightly and, once on the ground floor, we kept to the staff corridor and found ourselves running through the kitchen, where the chefs hardly had time to shout at us before we found a side door on to the street. We ran down the alleyway and crossed several cobbled streets, Armand winding his way through the shortcuts of the city like a street urchin. Past street vendors selling flowers and fruit, under bridges and then out on to a grand boulevard I recognised. We were heading towards Shakespeare and Company.
‘Wait, wait!’ I panted, out of breath. ‘Just … a moment,’ I said, grabbing a streetlamp for support.
Armand finally let go of my hand, which he’d had in a tight grip the entire time. Immediately, I felt the loss and as I glanced at his face, his brown eyes scanning the street, the night before came into sharp relief.
‘He knows about the bookshop,’ I said, ‘it’s the first place he will look for me.’
‘Sylvia wants you to come, she has a plan.’
‘You’ve spoken to her?’
‘This morning, I came to your lodging …’ he hesitated. ‘I couldn’t wait to see you.’ A brief smile lit his face. ‘That’s when I saw them take you, so I followed.’
‘But how did you know what room I was in?’
‘I didn’t,’ he replied, shaking his head. ‘I knocked on every door.’
‘Oh.’ I was somewhat taken aback.
‘Now we must hurry.’
Sylvia was awaiting my arrival at the back entrance. She gave me a quick, firm embrace, then handed me a key.
‘A friend of mine has a house outside Paris, near Tours. You can stay there until—’
‘You don’t understand, I have to leave. Permanently. What I have done, running out on this wedding—’
‘Wedding?’ Armand repeated.
I opened my mouth to explain but found that I did not have the wherewithal to speak.
‘How’s everyone at Stratford-on-Odéon today?’ Mr Joyce asked in his offbeat manner, poking his head around the door. My heart jumped – he must have wandered through from the front of the shop without any of us noticing.
‘There’s no time to explain, Jimmy. Opaline must leave the country immediately,’ said Sylvia.
After some suggestive winking in Armand’s direction, he casually suggested a swift exit to Dublin city.
‘I have only ever heard you complain of your country’ said Armand, which was quite true. We’d all heard him opine about Ireland's lack of culture and their ignorance at failing to recognise his genius.
‘Yes, but I’m a writer. An artist. I am obliged to curse my home. But no,’ he said, leaning against the wall and lighting a cigarette, ‘I think Ireland could suit you down to the ground.’
I considered it. We spoke the same language. For heaven’s sake, it had been part of Britain until that business with the treaty.
‘Now that I think of it,’ Joyce said, snapping his fingers, ‘I’ve got a friend there who owns a nostalgia shop. A rare gentleman in these times, Mr Fitzpatrick. If you use my name, he’s sure to give you a job, might sort you out with lodgings too.’
‘It sounds like a bit of a long shot,’ I said.
‘What other option is there?’ Sylvia asked.
And that was that. Joyce was hurriedly scribbling the name and address of the shop, whilst promising to send his friend a telegram, so he could expect my arrival.
What he actually meant was that he would get Sylvia to do it.
Everything got lost in a blur of tears after that. I felt like I was breaking apart and no one was coming to put me back together.
‘Now, now, there’s no need for all that,’ Sylvia said, handing me an envelope with the address and my wages. ‘You’re a grown woman with a brain in your head, two good arms for carrying books and two strong legs to get you where you need to go.’
‘What will you do if my brother comes here looking for me?’ I asked.
‘Why, sell him a book, of course!’
Armand took me to the port and secured a crossing for me. As we stood together, waiting for my turn to embark, he removed a chain from around his neck. The golden, hand-shaped pendant sparkled brightly in the sunlight .
‘It is called a hamsa,’ he explained. ‘In my culture, we believe it offers the wearer protection from the evil eye.’
‘Like an amulet?’
‘Exactement. As long as you wear it, you will always be safe.’
It was time to leave.
‘You have my address – it is the safest way to communicate with Sylvia. Your brother knows nothing of me.’
I nodded. I hadn’t been aware that I’d been crying. I could now feel my tears drying on my cheek, or perhaps the sea air had caused them to evaporate. He took me in his warm embrace one last time. There was nothing left to say. He crossed the street and did not look back. I felt my heart descending rapidly, like an anchor into a bottomless sea.