The Lost Girls of Paris - Pam Jenoff Page 0,55

government, Grace’s questions had multiplied: Who were the girls in the photos and how were they connected to Eleanor? Could the answers possibly be in some files in Washington? The likelihood of finding anything seemed increasingly remote, and her doubts about going there to meet Mark grew stronger as the hours passed.

She hadn’t mentioned needing time off to Frankie until the end of the day. “Is everything all right?” he asked when she finally made the request. The lines on his brow deepened with concern. Grace understood his reaction; she hadn’t missed a single day in all of the time she had been working for him.

“Fine, fine,” she reassured. “Just a family matter,” she added with a firmness that she hoped would ward off any further questions.

“You know working, keeping busy, that’s the best thing,” he offered. Grace’s guilt rose. He thought that she was taking time because of her grief over Tom. Instead, she was jetting out of town to chase a mystery that was none of her business with a man she should never see again. “You’ll be back the day after tomorrow?” Frankie asked. It was both question and plea.

“I hope so.” She couldn’t see the trip taking longer than that.

“Good.” He smiled. “’Cause I’ve gotten kinda used to having you around.”

Grace smiled inwardly at the begrudging admission that Frankie had come to depend on her. “Thank you,” she replied. It was more than just the time off for which she was grateful. It was his making a place for her here and holding it. His understanding. “I’ll hurry back. I promise.”

The train, a sleek blue Congressional Limited, whooshed across the wide expanse of the Chesapeake. Grace looked around the railcar. The seats were straight-backed, but made with a comfortable leather. The gleaming plate glass windows offered a splendid view of the sun-dappled water. A boy came through with his cart, selling coffee and snacks. Grace shook her head; she was cautious with money, not knowing how much things on the trip would cost. Instead, she pulled out the egg salad sandwich she’d packed.

As she unwrapped the sandwich, Grace peered out the window at a Maryland suburb, freshly built ranch houses in neat culs-de-sac. Manufactured towns like this one seemed to be springing up like weeds everywhere since the men had come home from the war and couples moved out of the cities to start families. Grace imagined women in each house, doing dishes and straightening up after the children had gone to school. She was mixed with equal parts guilt and longing and relief at not being one of them.

When she finished her sandwich, Grace balled up the wax paper. She took out the photographs of the girls, studying the mystery their eyes now seemed to hold. Each had a name written on the back in the same flowing script. Josie. Brya. Grace wondered if it was Eleanor’s handwriting or someone else’s.

It was after eleven o’clock when the train pulled into Union Station. Mark met her on the platform, freshly shaven in a crisp white shirt and sport coat, holding a smart gray fedora rather than wearing it. Seeing her, he seemed almost surprised. He had thought she might not come, she realized, as he kissed her cheek in a gesture that was at the same time too familiar and yet not at all enough. She savored the familiar scent of his aftershave in spite of herself. “Smooth trip?” he asked.

She nodded, stepping away from him with effort. “So what’s our plan?” she asked as he led her across the vast marble lobby of the station. She marveled at the high-arched ceiling, which was adorned with an octagonal pattern, gold leafing in the center of each plaster coffer.

“I did some checking on the SOE files,” he replied. They walked outside the station. The air was a hint warmer than it had been in New York. Above a cluster of bare trees, Grace could make out the dome of the US Capitol. She had seen it only once before as a girl on a trip with her family. She paused now, admiring its quiet majesty.

He led her to a waiting taxi and held the door. “Tell me,” she said, when he had climbed in and closed the door behind him.

“Remember we discussed that SOE was a British agency that sent its people into Europe undercover during the war?”

“I do. What were they sent into Europe to do? Were they spies?”

“Not exactly. They were deployed to help the

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