Page 134 of The Last Library of Paris

‘What is it?’ I said. ‘Is Alain? Is he …’

Guy let out a moan of anguish. He pushed past Sylvie and down the stairs and I followed, my heart pounding.

But Alain wasn’t dead as I’d feared. On the contrary, he had clearly felt much better. Because he was gone.

‘Where is he?’ I said, looking round in shock and surprise. ‘Alain?’

Guy ran upstairs again and I heard him calling Alain’s name – quietly but urgently.

‘So we were right,’ Sylvie said in a bleak undertone. ‘Alain is not a hero. He is a coward.’

‘What if he tells someone we are here?’ I said. ‘Do you think we need to leave?’

Sylvie nodded. ‘Not now,’ she said. ‘Let’s talk in the morning.’

But Guy did not want to talk. He did not want to eat. Or sleep. He wouldn’t try the chicken soup and the following morning he still refused to discuss moving on.

‘Alain will come back,’ he said firmly. ‘He will come back.’

I looked at Sylvie and shrugged. We were at a loss.

Later that day, I was upstairs on lookout duty. It was grey and cold and I shivered as I sat by the window, looking down on the street. I was watching but I wasn’t paying attention – not really. Instead, I was thinking about what to do. We had to leave this basement, and we had to leave soon. We had to go somewhere safe. Somewhere out of the city. I needed to get Guy away from the library, the memories of Alain and the risk of the Nazis.

Down below, movement caught my eye. Four people were walking along the street. Two men and two women, carrying suitcases. They looked like they were trying to find a specific place, and they paused beside the library, gazing up at the building. Concerned about their odd behaviour, I knelt on the window seat, my eyes fixed on the group below. One of the men walked ahead, to the archway that led to the library’s courtyard. He beckoned the others and they all went into the yard and out of sight.

‘Shoot,’ I breathed. As quickly as I could, I ran down the main staircase and into the basement where Guy was sitting listlessly on the bed.

‘Where’s Sylvie?’ I asked. He shrugged. ‘There are people here,’ I said.

Now he looked more interested. ‘Resistance?’ he asked.

I shook my head. ‘I don’t think so. They looked like …’ I paused, trying to make sense of what I’d seen. ‘They looked like tourists.’

‘Que se passe t-il?’ Sylvie appeared in the room, carrying a jug of water. ‘What is happening?’

Guy had lost interest again. ‘There are some tourists looking for the library.’

‘Tourists?’ said Sylvie, looking baffled. ‘No one comes to Paris now.’

I went to where I had left Marcus’s gun and unwrapped it from its cloth. ‘They went round to the back entrance,’ I said. ‘They might try to get in.’

‘Are you going to shoot them?’ Sylvie said, alarmed.

‘If I have to.’

Guy sat up. ‘What if they’re from the Resistance?’ he said. ‘What if Alain has sent them to help us?’

‘Alain is not sending anyone to help us,’ I said, speaking slowly and clearly. ‘He is not. And the sooner you realise that, Guy, the better.’

Guy looked at me for a second, then he lay down on the bed again, turning so his back was towards me.

‘Sylvie, stay here,’ I said. ‘Watch him.’

Sylvie looked as though she might argue, but I picked up the gun, and she shut her mouth.

I crept up the stairs, listening carefully after each step. I could hear voices now; they must have got in through the door even though we always kept it locked.

Were they speaking German? My heart thumped and my fingers felt sticky on Marcus’s gun. I adjusted my grip slightly as I pushed open the door at the top of the basement stairs.