Paris: The Novel

he cross-questioned her about her cousin Hélène that the truth was obvious. Luc Gascon was right. Jacob had clearly used her name as a code. He’d been terrified by what he saw at the Vel d’hiv, decided that all the Jews were in danger, gone to a fellow who might, or might not, be able to provide an escape route and been unable to find him. The Jacobs didn’t know where this Abraham fellow was. Schmid was sure of it. They were of no further interest, therefore.
    But they could certainly be sent to Drancy. The big holding camp on the northern outskirts of Paris already contained all sorts of Jews, including some of the ones who’d been herded into the Vel d’hiv. From Drancy, in due course they could be sent on to meet their fate. He didn’t have to concern himself with that. There was a daughter too. He didn’t care about her either. But the Paris police had been informed that they should pick her up.
    Meanwhile, his chief had been delighted by the art haul. A few moreneat operations like this, Schmid thought, and he might be in for a promotion. He also had a Degas sketch now, of his own.
    So he decided to pay a visit to L’Invitation au Voyage. He’d always heard so much about it.

    Schmid was not entirely pleased by the little interview with Madame Louise in her upstairs office. To be asked such questions was intolerable.
    “Do not interrogate me, madame,” he said sharply. He was the interrogator, he thought, not this brothel keeper in an occupied country.
    But his anger did not seem to faze her in the least.
    “Forgive me,” she replied calmly, “if I remind you that the Parisian establishments like this are the cleanest in the world, and many senior German officers regard my house as—how shall we say—a second home. Our clientele is very select. We take great care. People trust each other. If by any chance you had some little problem which were to be passed on, causing senior officers discomfort, or worse … Well, I’m sure you would not wish such a thing.” She paused. “Nor to be suspected by them as being the culprit.”
    He saw the point of course, at once. He could just imagine a very angry general, and the speedy end of his career. But he hated being obliged to answer to this cursed woman.
    “There are no problems,” he said furiously.
    He was also staggered by the amount of money she calmly demanded. It was more than a week of his pay. No wonder it was only senior officers who came here. No doubt that was how this infernal woman had been able to acquire the artworks he had noticed on the walls.
    Well, he thought, at least he was seeing how the game of life was played. He was more glad than ever that he had taken the Degas sketch from Jacob’s gallery. He should have taken more.
    An hour later, having enjoyed some refreshments and champagne with a most delightful young woman, and having also caught sight of some very senior officers, he felt somewhat mollified. This was an exclusive club. There was a softness, a scented luxury about the place that he had never experienced before. Whatever the irritations of his introduction, these were the prizes for those who rose high. Schmid had always been ambitious for success, but this was the first time he had ever smelled the fruits. And he knew that he wanted them. He wanted them badly.
    It was on the landing that the little incident occurred. His companion was conducting him to a room toward the back of the house. He had asked her about some of the various themed rooms, and passing a door he had asked her what was in there.
    “That’s the Babylon Room,” she answered.
    “I should like to see it,” he said.
    “I’m afraid it’s closed.”
    He would not have given the matter a second thought had he not seen Madame Louise coming up the stairs with an officer he recognized as Colonel Walter.
    A chance, perhaps, to put the woman in her place. Bowing politely to the colonel, he addressed Madame Louise.
    “I should be interested to see the Babylon Room, madame. I hear it is closed, but perhaps I might be allowed to view it.”
    “Ah, that room is a work of art,” Colonel Walter remarked, with a smile.
    But Schmid had noticed something else. Had he just seen a tiny flash of fear cross the woman’s face? It was gone in an instant, but he could have sworn he had detected it. Schmid already knew a lot about fear. Louise turned to Colonel Walter.
    “I thank you for the compliment,
mon colonel
,” she said. “But I am preparing a