Page 20 of The Last Library of Paris

‘Valentine says it when a job seems too big.’

‘Does he?’ I made a face.

Hughes pushed his glasses up his nose. ‘It’s warm here in Lisbon, isn’t it?’

‘You’ll get used to it.’ I smiled at him. ‘And most of the rooms have those big ceiling fans so we’re really better off here than being in London when it’s summer. It gets so stuffy in those old buildings in Westminster.’

Hughes looked up. ‘No ceiling fans here.’

‘Well, no,’ I admitted. ‘Big windows though.’

There was a short, slightly awkward pause.

‘Have you worked with Valentine for long?’ I asked.

Henry shook his head. ‘A few weeks.’

I was surprised. ‘It seems like you’ve known him longer.’

‘Well, his reputation precedes him, doesn’t it?’

‘Absolutely,’ I lied. I’d been in Lisbon for such a long time now that the comings and goings of people in Westminster were a mystery to me.

‘I was delighted when I landed this job,’ Henry told me, looking a little sheepish. ‘My brother’s joined up of course. And my best friend from school. But I couldn’t. I’ve rotten eyesight, you see.’ He swallowed. ‘And then my Gwen, she joined the Land Army.’

‘Is that your girlfriend?’

He stood up a little straighter. ‘Fiancée.’ He pulled out his wallet and showed me a photograph. In it, a younger, happier Henry stood on a windswept clifftop, his arm round the shoulders of a ruddy-faced, sturdy girl with freckles.

‘She looks nice,’ I said truthfully.

‘She’s extraordinary.’ Henry gazed at the photograph for a moment then he shut his wallet and stuffed it back in his pocket, while I wondered if anyone would ever call me extraordinary.

‘So, yes, I was feeling rather useless back home, stuck behind a desk.’ He pushed his glasses up his nose again. ‘Then I got the old tap on the shoulder, one afternoon. I didn’t really believe that was true – thought it was a bit of a myth.’

I chuckled. ‘Me too. But mine was before the war. I was still at university.’

Henry sucked in his cheeks. ‘You must have made an impression on someone.’

‘I can’t be sure, but I think it might have been my history lecturer Professor Norris.’

‘It’s a funny old game, isn’t it?’ He glanced at my left hand. ‘Are you married?’

‘No.’

‘Parents?’

‘They think I’m a translator for the consulate.’

‘Plausible.’

‘And half-true, actually. I do translation when I have time.’

‘Is that what you’re doing now?’

‘No.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘I’m in clerical.’

‘Seems like a waste of your skills.’