Page 65 of The Last Library of Paris

‘Under the nose of the Nazis?’ said Henry in admiration.

‘Oh no,’ I said. ‘It’s even better than that. It’s with the permission of the Nazis.’

Valentine and Henry both went silent as they thought about that, which made me laugh.

‘I was thinking if we can get them to send out our Peacock books too, that’s a really good way of getting them all over the place,’ I said. ‘Field hospitals, canteens, churches … all sorts.’

‘And,’ said Henry, ‘we’d be doing it with the Nazis’ blessing. We’d be sending out books helping our chaps evade capture from the same people who’d given the whole thing their approval.’

‘It does add to the satisfaction, doesn’t it,’ I said, with a grin.

‘Yes,’ said Valentine. ‘This is excellent. Excellent.’

‘Then should I write to this Frances Reed and ask her if she’ll help?’

Valentine shook his head vigorously. ‘Unfortunately not. It’s way too risky writing to occupied France. The Nazis are likely to be monitoring mail from here and almost certain to be checking post in Paris. We also can’t telephone. There’s no way to check the library isn’t bugged.’ He paused, scratching his jaw.

‘She’s still keeping the library open? Really?’

‘That’s what Bea said. She says she is a very determined woman.’

‘She must be,’ said Henry. ‘She sounds a bit like my Gwen. Grits her teeth and gets on with it, she does.’

Valentine sat down at his desk and drummed his fingers. ‘Paris is very dangerous,’ he added. ‘We don’t want to draw attention to Frances Reed in any way.’

I felt a surge of hopelessness.

Henry obviously felt the same. ‘So, there’s no way to ask her?’

‘What if we go?’ I suggested. ‘We could go to Paris and ask her face to face.’

‘Absolutely not,’ said Valentine. He fixed me with a stern glare. ‘Don’t argue with me on this one. Trust me. It’s too dangerous.’

‘So then how?’ I asked, chastened. ‘How can we get in touch with her?’

‘I believe we have a sleeper agent working with the Nazis in Paris,’ Valentine said, thoughtfully. ‘I don’t know the details, but I can find out more. Perhaps we can get word to him, and he can speak to Frances Reed on our behalf.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Do that. Can you do it today?’

‘I can,’ Valentine said. ‘And I will.’

Chapter 17

Frances

Paris

Guy and I had been sorting books all day, because the Soldiers’ Book Service had taken off in a way I’d never expected. We were getting requests from all over France and beyond. From hospitals, army camps, prison camps, and even from individual soldiers. We sent packages of books roughly every other week, but we were already talking about how to increase the collections.

And as word spread about what we were doing, we were being sent donations of books, and money, to keep things going. I’d written to many of my old friends about our scheme, and they’d told others and every day brought more deliveries, and more donations.

Today’s erratic Paris postal service had also brought a couple of thank-you notes from soldiers who’d received a book, which was gratifying.

‘We should put a map of Europe on the wall, and mark everywhere we’ve sent books,’ Guy suggested. ‘It would be great to see how far we are spreading.’

I was reading another request. ‘And North Africa,’ I said, waving the note at him. ‘And the Middle East; this is from soldiers in Syria.’

‘Ça alors,’ said Guy, making me laugh. I loved the ways the French had of expressing surprise.