Free The Paris Architect: A Novel by Charles Belfoure

your hide like that?”
    Lucien looked down at his feet as they walked. “So what happened to Isabelle’s father?” he asked.
    “Poor Isabelle doesn’t know where he is or even if he’s still alive. You know damn well he’s been tortured to death. She was lucky as hell she wasn’t brought in by the Gestapo. A good-looking girl like that could be sent to a brothel in Poland or someplace.”
    “That’s a shame about her father.”
    Adele stopped suddenly and looked Lucien square in the eyes.
    “A shame? Fools who take risks like that deserve to die.”
    “Still, you have to wonder why someone would do something like that.”
    “Lucien, my love, you’re absolutely hopeless,” said Adele, playfully mussing his hair.
    They strolled on and Adele chattered away like a magpie, but he didn’t hear a word. The wonderful anticipation of making love to Adele he’d felt as they’d left the café now was evaporating into the warm night air. Just for tonight, he’d wanted to put aside his fear of getting caught for what he’d done for Manet, but now Adele had ruined that with her story.
    The dread was back. Lucien loved to walk the streets of his beloved Paris, but now he walked them in a state of continuous fear, always looking around to see if a black Gestapo Citroën was pulling alongside him or if plainclothes Gestapo men were sneaking up behind him to make an arrest.
    Yesterday, while walking along the rue du Louvre, he’d felt a hand on his shoulder and had come close to fainting, but it had only been his friend Daniel Joffre standing there. Tonight he was so scared he didn’t think he’d get it up even with the sight of Adele wearing only the pearl necklace and high heels. Lucien was shaken out of his reverie by Adele’s shrill voice.
    “Well, my goodness, the streetwalkers are out in force tonight, aren’t they?” exclaimed Adele. She was talking to a woman walking toward them.
    “Mmm, that was exactly what I was thinking when I saw you, my dear,” replied the woman.
    Lucien was confused by the exchange. The woman, he immediately noticed, was amazingly attractive. Much too beautiful to be a streetwalker.
    The three of them now faced one another. “Lucien Bernard, let me introduce Bette Tullard. You’ve heard me mention her, of course. She’s the indispensable right-hand man of my fashion house. I hate to admit it, but if she left me, my business would collapse within twenty-four hours.”
    “And that’s no exaggeration, Monsieur Bernard, believe me. Very pleased to meet you.”
    “Likewise, mademoiselle,” he said, staring like an idiot at Bette’s beautiful face.
    “I never forget a handsome man. I believe I saw you at our show last spring.”
    “Why…yes, I was,” said Lucien, flattered to be remembered by such an attractive woman.
    “I especially liked your wavy hair. Not slicked down like most men’s.”
    “Well, thank you,” said Lucien, running his hand self-consciously through his hair.
    “Yes, it’s one of his many fine qualities. Lucien’s an architect, Bette; he designed my apartment.”
    “Ah, handsome and very talented. I love Adele’s apartment, even though I’m barely there five minutes when I visit. Adele’s always shoving me out the door,” said Bette, frowning at Adele.
    “I am running a business, my dear.”
    “Really? I always got the impression that I ran the business,” replied Bette.
    Lucien had heard Adele talk of Bette many times, but she had never described her. Now he knew why. He was amused by their relationship. Each time Adele insulted her or snapped at her, Bette insulted and snapped back with equal force. Bette seemed to know Adele could never fire her.
    “Of course, with the new show coming up, you’ll be working through the night on the portfolio?” asked Adele with a smile.
    “My, what a beautiful necklace, Adele,” said Bette, adroitly changing the subject.
    Adele shifted her eyes toward Lucien, and Bette nodded.
    “We won’t keep you,