secret.” He turned away, putting his hands on the back of a chair. “I thought I could save her from prison. My wife—she has always been unhappy. She wanted a child, desperately, and she couldn’t have one. She kept thinking every few weeks that this was the time—then the disappointment every month made her do strange things. Steal things, then make a fuss when they were missing. Fire the maids for listening at the door when they were on the other side of the house. Become obsessed with money, providing for a child’s future when we didn’t even have one yet, and claim her pearls had been stolen so she could cash in the insurance . . .” He rubbed at his forehead. “When that came out, she begged me to take the sentence for her. Someone had to go to prison, and she said she was too afraid. I wanted to spare her. She’s so fragile.”
She’s a liar who was content to let you take the punishment for her crime, Eve thought. Even if it destroyed your career and your life. But it sounded harsh and unforgiving, and she didn’t say it.
“She’s to have a child in the spring.” He turned around. “She’s much calmer now that it’s finally happened. She’s . . . happier.”
“You aren’t.”
He shook his head, a halfhearted denial, but Eve could read him like a book. He was weary and heartsick, they both were, and they might all be dead soon in this hellish place of war and blood. She stepped closer, knowing this was a very bad idea, but unable to stop, wanting so badly to banish the thoughts of René’s spiderlike hands and toneless voice. I’m here, she thought. Take me.
Cameron lifted her hand, bringing it to his lips. The sad gesture of a knight-errant, one who could never take advantage of a lady. It was on the tip of Eve’s tongue to tell him she was no innocent anymore, that he wouldn’t be taking anything René Bordelon hadn’t got first. But she couldn’t tell him that. He might remove her from Lille. He might do that anyway, if she lay with him as she wanted to. Fool, Marguerite’s voice hissed in Eve’s head. Stupid girl, what did Lili tell you? They all think a horizontale isn’t to be trusted and you go throwing yourself at him like a whore?
He won’t think that of me, Eve thought. He’s not so narrow as that.
But Marguerite was warier. Risk nothing.
Eve stepped back. Nothing too overt had been said, quite—she could deny she meant anything intimate, even if they both knew better. “Pardon me, Uncle Edward. Are we f-finished here?”
“Quite finished, mademoiselle. Take care of yourself in Lille.”
“Lili takes care of me. She and Violette.”
“Marguerite, Lili, and Violette.” He smiled, and the worry in his eyes bordered on agony. “My flowers.”
“Fleurs du mal,” Eve heard herself saying, and shivered.
“What?”
“Baudelaire. We are not flowers to be plucked and shielded, Captain. We are flowers who flourish in evil.”
CHAPTER 19
CHARLIE
May 1947
Four gin martinis sent Eve straight from supper to bed, but I was still restless. Too tired to go for a walk—the Little Problem drank my energy down like hot chocolate; I hoped that part of being pregnant would go away soon—but tired or not, I wasn’t ready to go up to my room. Then Finn pushed back his chair from the table, pocketing the bullets Eve had given him from the Luger. “I’ve some work to do on the car. Come hold the torch?”
It had showered while we were eating, so the night was warm and rain scented. The pavement gleamed under the streetlamps, and cars passed by with a swish of wet tires. Finn rummaged in the car’s trunk, came out with a flashlight and a toolbox. “Keep it steady,” he said, handing me the flashlight and popping the hood.
“What’s wrong with the old girl now?” I asked.
Finn reached down into the Lagonda’s innards. “Got an old leak somewhere. I tighten things up every few days, make sure it doesn’t get worse.”
I stood on tiptoe, aiming the flashlight’s beam as a cluster of giggling French girls blew past. “Wouldn’t it be easier to find the leak and fix it?”
“You want me to take the time to break down the ruddy engine and put it back together?”
“Not really.” As pleasant as today’s drive had been, the warm sunshine and the new camaraderie being woven among the three of us, I was on fire to get to Limoges. Rose.