Sisters of the Resistance by Christine Wells

Author:Christine Wells
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: William Morrow Paperbacks
Published: 2021-04-02T00:00:00+00:00

GABBY

Gabby and Yvette were admitted through the outer gate to the British embassy on the rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré without incident, but in the courtyard before the grand Hôtel de Charost, which housed the embassy, Gabby balked. “I can’t. I can’t go in there.” Other guests flowed around her, moving toward the shallow flight of steps that led to the palace entrance.

“Don’t be silly,” said Yvette. “You can and you will.” She tugged at Gabby’s hand. “We’ve come this far.”

But it was all happening too quickly. Gabby had been so focused on Jack and the slim possibility that he might be alive, she hadn’t considered the ceremony itself. Now the thought of being singled out in public and having to receive the medal, knowing what to do and where to stand . . . And good God, she wouldn’t have to make a speech, would she? She would fall down dead on the spot.

“Gabby!” Yvette’s voice was sharp, commanding. “Come on.”

Somehow, she managed to move. They mounted the stone steps and entered the magnificent building. “Apparently, the Duke of Wellington bought this house from Napoléon’s sister before Waterloo,” Yvette whispered. “So, in fact, the English indirectly funded Napoléon’s escape from Elba. Did you know?”

Gabby shook her head. She appreciated that Yvette was trying to distract her, but it wasn’t working. Once inside the building, with its high ceilings and checkerboard marble floor, its chandeliers and gilt and ornate balustrades, the thought of getting up in front of people in such a place made Gabby’s stomach churn anew.

She let Yvette steer her down a corridor and into a reception room, following the rest of the guests, who seemed to know the way. There was a handsome red Persian carpet on the floor but the room was quite sparsely furnished, with only a lectern, a few rows of chairs in front of it, and some couches by the windows.

There were already people milling about, conducting hushed conversations, checking the seating arrangements.

“Isn’t this nice?” said Yvette in her normal speaking voice, drawing a few looks. She still gripped Gabby’s hand, as if to stop her bolting from the room. “I wonder where we are supposed to sit.”

A smiling woman with a clipboard came up to them. “May I have your name, please?”

Gabby gave it with a surge of fear that she was in the wrong place, or that they would have left her name off the list and she would be told to go home. But the woman made a checkmark next to her name and said, “You’ll find designated seating in the front row. I’m afraid your companion—”

“My sister,” Gabby said.

The woman smiled apologetically and nodded to Yvette. “Your sister will have to sit behind.”

“Oh . . . Yes. All right,” said Gabby, clutching Yvette’s hand tightly.

“Good luck!” said Yvette, extricating herself, then adding in a whisper, “You’ll be fine. Your fear will evaporate when it’s your turn. The anticipation is always the worst.”

And it was true, Gabby found, once the ceremony started and the official speeches were made.

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