An American in Paris by Siobhan Curham

Author:Siobhan Curham [Curham, Siobhan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction & Literature, Historical, Romance, Contemporary Women
ISBN: 9781800190108
Google: -oUAEAAAQBAJ
Goodreads: 55847902
Published: 2020-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

* * *

The address I’d been sent to was in the twentieth arrondissement, right by Père-Lachaise cemetery. I tried not to take this as some kind of sign. The Métro was crawling with German soldiers, and although they weren’t doing a formal check of papers, their eyes felt like searchlights as they swept over my body. It made me realise that dressing so chicly might not have been the greatest idea. Next time, if there was a next time, I’d wear something a little more drab and dreary. I was just breathing a sigh of relief that I’d gotten to my destination safely, when the flow of passengers out of Père-Lachaise station came to a halt.

‘What is it? What’s going on?’ a young guy next to me kept asking as we all queued by the steps to the exit. He kept looking around anxiously and sweat was beading above his lip. With his chestnut hair and brown eyes, he kind of reminded me of Otto. His anxiety reminded me of him, too.

‘Why aren’t we moving?’ the guy said again, louder this time, causing people to turn and stare at him. I wanted to take him to one side and tell him to cool it, that he wasn’t doing himself any favours by doing such a convincing impression of a startled rabbit, but I thought of the sheet music in my bag, and the secret message it must contain. I hadn’t been able to figure it out, but what if the Germans did? I couldn’t afford to bring any attention to myself by association. So, as the young man began cursing under his breath, I kept my gaze fixed straight ahead. Then I heard a kerfuffle behind me. Two German soldiers had appeared from out of nowhere and grabbed the young man by the collar.

‘What are you so nervous about?’ one of them asked him in French.

I suppressed a shudder. Had this all been a deliberate ploy? Had they planted soldiers at the back of the queue to see who panicked at the thought of going through a checkpoint? They’d caught us like rats in a trap. In spite of my growing panic, I kept looking ahead and focused on my breathing. Inhaling and exhaling, slow and steady.

‘Identity card and papers!’ one of the soldiers barked.

The young man fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a card.

‘Jewish!’ the other soldier spat.

My heart sank.

The young man began pleading with them in French. He had a wife at home and a newborn baby, he said. He needed to get back to them.

There was a loud cracking sound as one of the soldiers hit him hard across the face. The young man staggered into me. I wanted to hug him, hold him, protect him, but I couldn’t, and that feeling of impotence enraged me. Once again, I stared straight ahead and started mentally reciting Walt Whitman to try and stay calm. ‘Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am … amused, complacent,

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