Page 142 of The Last Library of Paris

‘Lord, that’s high,’ he said. ‘Shall I see if I can get up there?’

‘It’s worth a go,’ Archie said. ‘We could use those crates of books.’

Overhead we heard footsteps and some voices. We all stopped talking for a second.

‘It’s risky,’ said Henry.

‘So is staying in a basement with no food and no water,’ Archie said. ‘Or banging on the door to be let out and facing Nazis, who no doubt would shoot us on sight.’

I swallowed. ‘We have wine.’ I was trying to sound light-hearted, but I knew things were bleak.

Henry made a face. ‘Let’s see what we can do.’

Together we all went into the main part of the basement and quietly – horribly aware of the Nazis above our heads who could appear downstairs at any time – we explained what we were going to try to do.

‘There are enough of us,’ said Sylvie. ‘We can move the crates and climb up to the grille.’

‘Hopefully,’ said Henry. He didn’t sound hopeful. He sounded, if I was being honest, a little hopeless.

‘Do you think this will work?’ I asked Archie quietly. He took my hand and held it to his chest.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘But I promise I will do everything I can to get us out of here, safely.’

I nodded. ‘We should move some crates then.’

First we tried dragging them, but the scraping sound echoed round the basement so loudly we were convinced the men upstairs would have heard. We all paused, and waited to be discovered, but nothing happened.

‘Lift them,’ said Henry. But the crates were too heavy. So we chose the tallest one, took all the books out of it, and moved it – slowly because it was cumbersome and awkward – round the dogleg. Then we did the same with another, smaller crate, as a sort of step up. But they weren’t very secure as they were, so we set up a line and passed books to one another to weigh the crates down and make them stable enough for someone to climb up.

It took us hours. Hours. But the thought of staying in the basement for much longer – or coming face to face with a group of Nazis – spurred us on.

Eventually, as the light coming through the grille began to dim with the approach of evening, we had a way up.

‘It’s very narrow,’ said Frances. ‘Can someone even fit through there?’

Henry looked at her. ‘I’m not sure,’ he admitted. ‘But I’m going to go up and find out.’

Sweating from the exertion, and from nerves, we all watched him clamber up, first onto the lower crate where he paused.

‘All right?’ said Archie, who was holding the crate to make sure it didn’t move.

‘Yep.’ Henry pushed his shirtsleeves up to his elbows. Then he pulled himself up onto the higher crate. Again he paused, and then he turned his attention to the grille. He examined it on each side, pushed his fingers through the metalwork and pulled it this way and that, and then turned to where we all stood.

‘It’s cemented into place,’ he said. ‘Stuck firm in the bricks.’

‘Want me to take a look?’ asked Archie.

‘Feel free.’

With a little more effort than it had taken Henry, because he wasn’t so tall, Archie clambered up next to him. The crate swayed precariously, and I steadied it.

Archie and Henry studied the grille and spoke together in voices so quiet that I couldn’t hear what they were saying. But I could tell from their expressions that things didn’t look good.

I felt Lara sneak her hand into mine.

‘Are we stuck do you think?’ she whispered.

I didn’t want to say yes, but I also didn’t want to lie. Instead, I just squeezed her hand.