Page 112 of The Last Library of Paris

I was full of purpose as I led him up the steps, and horribly aware it was because I really thought Alain was about to die, right there on the camp bed, and I didn’t have the faintest idea what to do about it.

The library was dark and gloomy. Smoke hung in the air, but it was cold and there was nothing burning.

We paused at the bottom of the stairs, listening. It was silent.

‘Come on,’ I whispered, though I wasn’t sure why.

Together, we went on up to the office and I found Guy’s bag, exactly where he’d said it would be.

I unbuckled the strap and pulled it open. Inside were some trousers, a shirt and an undershirt. Relieved, I threw them at Marcus. ‘I don’t know if these will fit,’ I said. He was shorter than Guy but stockier. ‘But it has to be better than wearing a Nazi unform.’

Marcus was looking calmer and now he managed a smile, gesturing to his bare chest. ‘Half a Nazi uniform,’ he said.

I was looking at his feet in blood-stained socks. ‘You might need to take Alain’s shoes when we go back down,’ I said. ‘The boots are a giveaway – you can’t put them back on.’

‘Yes, you’re right.’ Without a hint of self-consciousness, he began pulling off his trousers and embarrassed, I turned away.

I opened Alain’s bag, which was next to Guy’s, rooting through more clothes, and – I noticed – a couple of the Peacock books. I pulled out the clothes so I could see better and let out a gasp of relief as I found some bottles at the bottom.

‘Look,’ I said. ‘Sulfa? And aspirin. And some other things.’ I rooted some more and found a little sachet containing syringes.

‘What’s this?’ I held it up and Marcus looked over his shoulder.

‘Morphine,’ he said. ‘Good. That’ll see him right.’

I dropped all the bottles back in the bag, then I went to the shelves and found the books Marcus had written – the stories he’d been told by the Jewish people. I wanted to keep them safe. I put them in the bag, too.

‘I’m decent,’ Marcus said. I turned to see him buttoning up his shirt. The trousers were a little long but not too awful, and the shirt slightly baggy, but he looked French already.

‘Take Guy’s hat,’ I said. ‘You can pull it down and keep your face in shadow. Is your leg all right?’

He nodded. ‘It’s fine.’

‘You could put some of the sulfa on it. That might help it heal.’

Marcus shook his head. ‘Alain will need that. I’ll see if I can get someone to have a look at it, before I go.’

‘Before you go where?’ I said. ‘Where are you thinking of going?’

‘Lisbon,’ he said.

‘Oh, Marcus, no,’ I began, but he held his hand up to stop me arguing.

‘I can be there in a few days,’ he said. ‘It’s the obvious place to go.’

‘You’re injured and it’s too dangerous. Don’t you have someone here in Paris? A contact in British intelligence?’

He shook his head. ‘It’s too risky to go to them,’ he said. ‘The Nazis could be watching. I need to get out of the city.’

‘Then go to London. It’s much nearer.’

He gave a small chuckle. ‘Nearer, but I’d never make it across the Channel.’

‘What will you do when you get to Lisbon?’

For a second Marcus looked panicky again. ‘I’m not actually sure.’

‘Here.’ I opened Alain’s bag again and found the Peacock books. I held them out to Marcus. ‘They might help. And if they don’t, then they’ll keep you distracted.’