to work in a restaurant is simple. The laying of silver, the removal of plates. It is not.” His voice did not flex up and down like normal voices. It was a voice made of metal, slightly chilling. “I require perfection, mademoiselle. In the food that comes from my kitchens, in the servers who convey it to table, in the atmosphere in which it is eaten. I create civilization here—peace in a time of war. A place to forget, for a while, that there is war. Hence the name Le Lethe.”
Eve opened her eyes to their widest and most doelike. “Monsieur, I don’t know what that m-m-means.”
She expected a smile, a patronizing glance, even irritation, but he just studied her.
“I have w-worked in a café before, monsieur.” Eve rushed on as if nervous. “I am d-deft and q-q-quick. I l-learn fast. I work hard. I only want t-t-t-t-t-t—”
She hung up badly on the word. For the past few weeks she hadn’t noticed her own stammer much—perhaps because she did most of her talking with Captain Cameron and Lili, who had the gift of not noticing it either—but now a random syllable stuck behind her teeth and wouldn’t come out, and René Bordelon sat and watched her struggle. Like Captain Cameron, he didn’t rush to finish her sentence for her. Unlike Captain Cameron, Eve didn’t think that was out of courtesy.
Eve Gardiner would have balled her fist and pounded her own thigh in sheer, stubborn fury until the word came loose. Marguerite Le François just stuttered into red-faced silence, looking so mortified she could sink through the sumptuously carpeted floor.
“You stammer,” M. Bordelon said. “But I doubt you are stupid, mademoiselle. A halting tongue does not necessarily mean a halting brain.”
Eve’s life would be considerably easier if all people thought this way, but not now, for the love of God. It would be far better if he assumed I was an idiot, she thought, and for the first time her nerves prickled. He should think her stupid. It wasn’t just the stammer—she’d been layering Marguerite for him in precise strokes ever since she walked through the door. If he wasn’t buying the easy camouflage her stutter gave her, she was going to need a different shield. She veiled her eyes with her lashes, pulling confusion around her like a blanket. “Monsieur?”
“Look at me.”
She swallowed, looking up to meet his gaze. He had eyes of no particular color, and he seemed to have no need to blink.
“Do you think me a collaborator? A profiteer?”
Yes. “It’s war, monsieur,” Eve replied. “We all do what we must.”
“Yes, we do. Will you do what you must, and serve the Germans? Our invaders? Our conquerors?”
He was baiting her, and Eve froze. She had no doubt at all that if he saw fire in her eye—as Lili put it—then her chance was gone. He wouldn’t hire a girl he thought might spit in the Germans’ boeuf bourguignon. But what was the right answer?
“Do not lie to me,” he said. “I am very good at scenting lies, mademoiselle. Will you find it hard to serve my German patrons, and serve them with a smile?”
No was a lie too absurd to even attempt. Yes was an honesty she couldn’t afford.
“I find it h-h-hard not to eat,” she said at last, playing up the stammer just a little. “I don’t have t-t-time for other hardships, monsieur. Just that one. Because if you do not hire me, I will not find w-work elsewhere. No one will hire a girl with a s-s-s-stammer.” This was the truth. Eve thought back to her days in London and how hard it was to find that silly filing room job, because jobs that didn’t require easy speech were rare. She remembered the frustration of that job search, and let M. Bordelon see her bitterness. “I cannot answer a telephone or give directions in a shop, not w-w-with a stumbling tongue. But I can move plates and lay silver in s-s-silence, monsieur, and I can do it to perfection.”
She gave him the doe eyes again, all desperate, hungry, humiliated youth. He steepled his fingertips—extraordinarily long fingers, no wedding ring—and looked at her. “How remiss I’ve been,” he said at last. “If you’re hungry, I shall feed you.”
He spoke as carelessly as if speaking of putting milk down for a stray cat. Surely he hadn’t offered refreshment to all the girls? It is not good if he singles me out, Eve thought, but he’d already rung the