Raising her glass, Kat clinked it to Ellie’s. “To sisters and their halos. Or lack of.”
A large man with a white apron and beads of sweat dotting his forehead poked his head around the dining room wall. Scanning the room, his eyes stopped on Ellie. “Miz Eleanor.”
“Are those macaroons done yet, Pierre?” Ellie drained her champagne glass.
“Oui, but it is not the macaroons you need to worry about.” With the corner of his apron he wiped away the sweat dropping down to his ear. “Jean-Claude has delivered the oysters, and well, Miz, they are less than expected.”
“What do you mean?”
More sweat popped out on his head. “They are less.” He held his thumb and forefinger an inch apart.
“Oh, for pity’s sake. I told him only yesterday to—Never mind, it’s done now.” She set her glass on a shelf next to Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables and Chanel’s latest fashion of 1936. “Kat, you can entertain yourself, can’t you? Have another drink and mingle. Most of them don’t know English, but their French is passable. Oui, oui, Pierre. Je viens.”
Mingle. Dread crawled down Kat’s spine as gray uniforms danced before her eyes like a kaleidoscope of drab horror. Throwing herself into a pit of vipers would be more bearable. Grabbing another glass of bubbling champagne, she skirted around the dancers and pushed through the double doors out onto the balcony.
The smell of sweet freesia mingled with the night’s gentle breeze. Kat gripped the wrought-iron handrail, the cool metal a relief against her warm palms. She dropped her chin to her chest. If appearances didn’t need maintaining, she’d drop her cheek down to the smooth rail for a brief respite from the abomination of merrymaking behind her while the people of the country cowered in terrified submission to their oppressors. And her sister in the middle of it all.
An ache groaned up inside of her. How wrong she’d been to imagine a tear-streaked Ellie falling into her arms with a desperate plea to whisk her back home. Back by Tuesday—wasn’t that what she’d said to her parents as they waved her off at the train station last Saturday morning? Her naivete had crashed down around her ears with the starry-eyed look from Ellie. Her sister was in pure bliss, like a fawn unaware of the prowling wolves.
A knot twisted in Kat’s stomach. Father would be furious if she gave up and allowed the family name to be smeared through the German mud. He’d never trust her to accomplish his purposes again.
Taking a deep breath, she lifted her head. She’d dreamed of visiting this city of lights with its tree-lined avenues, museums, and smoke-filled cafes, but tonight the magic was doused beneath blackout curtains. Except Ellie’s, of course. An eclipse couldn’t shadow her sister’s sparkle. It was a trait Kat had failed to grasp when weighted with the responsibility of family duty, but one that whispered wistfully to her. Perhaps when the war was finally over and Ellie safely at home, she could come back and enjoy the city in her own time. No rules and no one else deciding which parks she should stroll through or how many crêpes she shouldn’t eat. Pure bliss.
Metal twanged.
Kat peered over the rail to the empty street below. The cobbled gray thoroughfare was deserted, with every window shuttered and door locked tight. Even the mice had succumbed to Nazi rule after dark.
Scuffling. More metal slapped, like something heavy hitting a wall. Kat leaned farther over the rail, inching sideways down the balcony as the scuffling drew closer. Her pulse pricked. What if one of those legendary sewer rats had escaped in search of midnight delicacies? Like the cave-ripened brie perched on the edge of Ellie’s buffet table.
She wiggled her toes. Velvet Ferragamo pumps were the wrong footwear to take on a rodent.
“You might want to stand back.”
Kat jumped. “Who’s there?”
A large shadow swung over the balcony and dropped next to her. She screamed.
“Shh! You’ll wake the neighbors.”
A second scream caught in Kat’s throat as she stumbled back into the rail. The shadow leaped forward, catching her around the waist. Her hand flew up and struck hard.
“Ow!” Pain shot through her fingers.
“Careful of the buttons, lass. They’ll leave you smarting.”
Pulse careening, she shoved against the dark mass in front of her. “Unhand me at once, you . . . you prowler.”
“‘Prowler’?” The r rolled off his tongue in a muted burr that kicked her pulse in a completely unexpected way. The securing arms