The Paris Housekeeper by Renee Ryan

Author:Renee Ryan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2023-10-20T22:41:12+00:00

The Roundups

Chapter Twenty-One

Rachel

May 1941.

Paris, France.

The flat-eyed l’agent de police arrived on the Bermans’ doorstep at twilight, when the sky leaned toward lavender, and the slow-moving breeze held the promising scent of summer. A beautiful night spoiled by the foul presence of the French police. He did not explain the reason for his sudden appearance, or why he held two small green postcards in his hand. He merely stared straight ahead, not speaking, not even looking at her, as if she was supposed to understand why he had come. Rachel knew this wasn’t about the vandalism of her father’s shop. That had been weeks ago.

Months and months of police indifference.

Still, he was here in an official capacity. Something in the air stirred around him, a menacing heat that sent her heartbeat thudding in the hollow of her throat. Whatever his purpose, it was not a piece of friendly business. He was taller than most policemen and seemed aggressively defiant with his broad shoulders thrown back and those savage eyes, a street thug who’d been given unchecked authority. Her chin tipped up. “May I help you?”

His hard face went harder still, his eyebrows slashing down in a scowl. When he spoke, his voice was measured, controlled. “Is this the Berman residence?”

Every line in Rachel’s body tensed. This man, this sworn member of the French police, had come to perform an unpleasant task. “Oui.”

“Your name?”

“Rachel Berman.”

“My business is not with you.” He glared over her shoulder, where the rest of her family gathered. “I am here for Ezra Berman, and his eighteen-year-old son, Srulka.”

Rachel’s mind held only two words.

It begins.

She started to shut the door, unwilling to allow such a man inside her home, for whatever nasty business had brought him. But her father stepped in front of her. “I am Ezra Berman.”

“These are for you and your son.” He passed over two green postcards. “You will obey the summons or suffer the consequences.” Having made his nasty little threat, he spun on his heel and left.

Silence fell in his wake, until Rachel’s mother asked, “What do the cards say?”

Her father stared at her with a troubled look. “It is written in French.”

This was his way of saying he didn’t know the language well enough to decipher all the words. Rachel took one of the cards, a single slip of heavy green card stock, noting the other was identical to the first, but for the handwritten name. “It’s from Police Headquarters in Paris, stamped with today’s date.”

She lifted her head, caught her father’s scowl, then continued, “It says, ‘Mr. Ezra Berman is invited to present himself in person, accompanied by one member of his family or by one friend, at 7:00 in the morning on 14 May 1941, for an examination of his situation. He is asked to provide identification. Those who do not present themselves on the set day and hour are liable for the most severe sanctions.’” Her hand began to shake so hard she nearly dropped the postcard. “It’s signed in bold typeface, Le Commissaire de Police.

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