Page 144 of The Last Library of Paris

‘You especially, Cassie,’ she said. ‘You’re a good friend.’

Suddenly and ridiculously, I felt tears in my eyes. ‘Stop it,’ I murmured, but I gave her arm a little pat, so she knew I felt the same.

Archie crept out into the main part of the basement, holding the short stubby candle up high to light the way. The clanging and hammering was louder now. He led the way and we all followed, as the noise got louder and louder. It wasn’t coming from the stairs though, it was coming from the dogleg where the grille was.

‘Arrête!’ shouted a voice. A cold draft blew through the cellar.

‘French?’ I said to Lara, bewildered and shivering in the cold. She shrugged.

We turned the corner. Archie stopped suddenly and we all banged into one another. There was a bit of shuffling as we arranged ourselves and then suddenly we could see what was happening. Up on the wall, where the grille had once been, was a big gap. We could see men’s legs and boots, and the heads of mallets.

‘Hello!’ called Archie. ‘Bonjour?’

There was a burst of excited chatter in French and then a man’s face appeared in the gap.

‘Bonjour!’ he said.

Behind me, Guy let out a tiny squeak. He pushed past the rest of us and looked up at the man.

‘Alain!’ he said in satisfaction.

Chapter 38

Frances

Paris

I looked up at Alain’s grinning face as he peered through the gap. I couldn’t quite believe my eyes.

‘Bonjour, Frances!’ he called. ‘I came to get you out.’

‘I can see that,’ I said. ‘Who are your friends?’

Alain beamed with pride. ‘This is the Resistance.’

I felt like an enormous fool. I glanced round at Guy who shrugged.

‘I’m sorry I doubted you,’ I called up to Alain.

He snorted. ‘I wanted you to doubt me. It’s all part of the act.’

I didn’t believe that for a second. ‘It worked,’ I said.

‘This is lovely,’ said Lara. ‘But could we get out, do you think?’

For the first time, Alain seemed to realise there were more people down in the basement with us than he’d expected. He stood up, vanishing from our view, and we heard urgent chat. Then another man’s face appeared.

‘Who are you?’ He wasn’t smiling and I had a sudden fear that he’d dismiss us all as collaborators and block the hole back up again.

Fortunately, Archie took the lead. He stepped forward and looked up at the man. ‘We’re from British intelligence,’ he said in smooth, confident French. ‘We’ve been working with your chaps on escape routes and Frances has been helping.’

‘That’s right,’ I said, slightly desperate now. ‘The books, Alain. You know about the books.’

‘I was in Marseille last year,’ Archie went on. ‘And I was here for a while.’ He began reeling off a list of names – presumably of his contacts in the Resistance. And upstairs, the man’s face began to relax into a smile.

‘I know about you,’ he said to Archie. ‘You are Monsieur Chérie.’

‘Valentine,’ Archie muttered. ‘I’m Monsieur Valentine.’