Chasing Sylvia Beach (30 page)

Diana leaned forward. “You may have heard of the Nazis’ interest in the occult?”

Despite her interest in World War II in high school and college, Lily hadn’t heard about this. She shook her head no.

“Some believe they are working with black magic. Hitler dreams of developing a miracle weapon that would allow him to win the war, all wars, using ancient sources like
Yggdrasil
. If we can remove that possibility, we’re potentially saving a lot of people.”

Lily found this hard to believe, that a book could have that much power. But she herself was proof that books could change everything. It was the book about Sylvia, after all, that had ultimately led her here.

“That’s all well and good. But I want to go home.” She tried to sound firm.

The woman tilted her head and nodded, like she found this very interesting. She crossed her arms.

“So you’re in a hurry to resume your ‘normal’ life, are you?”

“Simple as my life is, I’d like to go back.” Lily clasped her hands in her lap, feigning the good girl.

Louise joined in. “I’m not surprised. You prefer to have a small life than something . . . nobler. You adapted well but there’s something, I don’t know, timid about you.”

“Timid? How can you say that! I did everything you asked. I got your book. I think you owe it to me to help me get home.”

“Owe you? We could just leave you here, you know.” She sipped her drink. “Then you’d really find out what you’re made of. This has been a romp in the playground compared to what you would find in a few years.”

“Louise, that’s enough,” Diana said.

Lily tried not to squirm. Would they really abandon her here?

“Despite Louise’s misgivings about your ability to be detached, we invite you to join us,” Diana said, and the women on the settee nodded agreement. Lily gazed at each of them, breathing in the scent of the books. It was what she’d always wanted. To be part of something. To be surrounded by strong women. To be a strong woman herself. But if she did, she’d be one of them. She’d be a person stealing from someone else. She wasn’t convinced that the Athenaeum Neuf was serving such a noble purpose. They hadn’t really explained what they were doing with the books. Finally, she spoke.

“Louise wouldn’t tell me everything. But from what she said, I don’t think this is for me. Spending my life as an invisible person, forbidden from making friends, from living a normal life—that seems sad.” But as she spoke it, she was unsure. What was in Denver for her? Valerie, Daniel, the bookstore . . . a small life. She wanted to write, but was that enough? She wanted an interesting life. She wanted to be part of something, not reading about people who lived interesting lives.

“One more thing you might want to know,” Diana said.

“What now?”

“There’s another reason you may want to join us.” She glanced at Louise, who took a sip of her drink. Diana continued. “It’s part of your heritage.”

Lily turned quickly. “What do you mean?”

“Have a seat, please,” Diana insisted.

Lily sat and one of the women set a glass of water on the table next to her.

“Your mother, Claire, was a member of the Athenaeum Neuf. She made the choice you’re trying to make now—going for a safe, normal existence.”

Lily nearly choked. “What! My mother? Claire Heller?”

“Claire Abbott. She was about your age when she started. Claire pulled off several successful operations. Then something happened and she wanted out. Only Louise knows why.”

Lily turned toward Louise, who merely sipped her drink and avoided Lily’s gaze.

Lily rose and rushed toward Diana’s desk.

“Tell me! Just tell me everything. I’ve had it with your secrets!”

Diana pursed her lips and took a deep sigh before speaking.

“Your mother and Louise were partners. On this same operation. But something happened, and Claire couldn’t go through with it. She slipped back, leaving Louise in a dangerous situation. Now, Harold’s pulling the same thing. Louise needs a partner, and she’s convinced herself she wants you.”

“Why me?”

“Because you remind me of her,” Louise said softly. “You’re just like her.”

“I’m nothing like my mother! Are you kidding? She was a near recluse in her garden.” Lily couldn’t believe that her whole life she’d felt so different than her mother and now she was being chosen because of their similarities.

“She left Athenaeum Neuf for you. She wanted to have a child, and she got one. You.”

“But she ignored me most of the time! She went and died on me, even!” Lily choked back tears, unable to believe that her mother was behind this whole thing. The last thing she wanted to think about was her mother.

“When you put her ring on, it alerted us. Wearing that ring means you’re part of the group. It’s what allowed Louise to track you and be on that plane coming over with you. Then you gave it to that nice French boy, but luckily by then we had you covered. You were easy to track.”

Lily slumped back in the chair. She had been a puppet for these people—a player to get them what they wanted. Her mom had probably sat in this very room. And here was Lily making the same decision she’d made—to leave, and have a life of her own.

Diana rose and came around to Lily. She placed her hand on Lily’s shoulder, and for a second, it felt incredibly comfortable. Then Diana spoke. “You belong with us. You know it.”

Lily sat up and shrugged Diana off. “I’m sorry, but I can’t join your group. Part of me wants to, but really, I want my own life. I think I can do something with it. I know I can.”

Lily couldn’t finish. She’d wanted so badly to get home but now sadness accompanied her determination to return home. Sylvia and her shop, and her mother with her garden . . . it was that kind of commitment that she wanted to express no matter where she was.

Diana sighed. “It’s a shame. You could have done good work here. And now who knows what you’ll do with your life?”

“Something different,” Lily said.

Diana gave her a long look. “You do look exactly like your mother. She was a brave, good woman. You have the same determined look.”

Lily didn’t try to hold back her tears.

Diana shrugged. “Fine. If you’re sure. Harold will take you to the bookstore to say good-bye to Sylvia. Not a word of this to her.”

Lily nodded reluctantly. She couldn’t imagine Sylvia’s reaction if she tried to explain this.

“Louise will come get you later. Be ready to go.”

AT THE BOOKSTORE, Sylvia was on the phone. Lily waited, trying to absorb every detail about the shop: the smell of paper and linen and cigarettes and dog, the disorder of Sylvia’s desk, the enveloping sense of all the books. When she hung up, Lily approached, unsure of how she’d say good-bye.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Better now that you’ve arrived just in time for closing.”

“I’m sorry. It’s been crazy. I . . .”

Sylvia started rifling through a stack of papers.

“I can’t find the invoice for the books I shipped to Carlotta last week. Have you seen it?” Sylvia asked.

“I’m pretty sure I filed it with the others.”

Sylvia shook her head. “Well, it’s not here.”

“Under
B
for Briggs?”

Sylvia let out an exasperated sigh. “No, it should be under
C
for Carlotta.”

“Oh. I thought you alphabetized by last name.”

“I do, but not for friends.”

No wonder your shop is in the pits,
Lily thought, and tears came to her eyes. She thought of all that Sylvia had put into this place. In 1941, she would box everything up and take it upstairs, hiding the shop from the Nazis. Lily wasn’t sure what became of all those books.

“Aha! Here it is.” Sylvia pulled out the invoice and shuffled it to the top of the pile. She peered at it over her glasses.

They passed a companionable half hour in silence, Sylvia going through papers and Lily trying to pretend she was present while sorting out everything she’d just heard. Did she really insist upon going home? Maybe joining the group was the best choice. She wished she could talk it over with Paul. She was no longer certain she’d been wise to not let him know what was happening with her. She was staring blankly at Teddy, lost in her thoughts, when the bell over the door rang. It was Louise.

“Hello, ladies.” Sylvia took a few steps into the shop.

Lily rushed over. “So soon?” Lily said.

Louise nodded. “It’s time.”

“What? Just like that?” Lily glanced nervously at Sylvia.

“Hello, Louise,” Sylvia said.

Lily began to speak, but Louise ignored her and greeted Sylvia.

“You’re Lily’s aunt?” Sylvia asked with suspicion.

“I am,” she said, gazing at Lily fondly.

Lily stared back. Was she adept at fictionalizing, too? Of course she was; her whole life was steeped in trickery.

“Lily’s mother, Claire, sent her to help me move,” Louise said. “She’s been remarkably helpful, and I’ve heard she’s had fun helping you, too.”

Sylvia smiled. “Lily’s done quite a bit for our ragged shop.”

“I’m sorry to take her away from you.”

“But you’re not leaving Paris forever, Louise. You’ll be back, right?” Sylvia asked.

Lily was stunned. Did Sylvia know about the Athenaeum Neuf? Was that why she hadn’t pressed Lily about Heinrich’s claim that she’d stolen the book? If she joined the Athenaeum, she might be able to see Sylvia again. Lily felt her nose prickle and her throat constrict. She was sure Sylvia could see the emotion in her eyes, but she didn’t mind. She tried to convey everything in that one look—how much Sylvia inspired her, how sad she was to leave her, how she wanted to assure Sylvia that she’d survive the war and retire in peace, how she’d refuse Heinrich her personal copy of
Finnegan’s Wake,
and how she, Adrienne, and friends would quickly dismantle the entire bookstore and hide its contents away upstairs. If Lily wasn’t mistaken, she saw a glimmer in Sylvia’s eyes. Understanding? Tears? Lily would never know how Sylvia really felt, even after all this.

Louise broke the moment. “One never knows when one will be back in Paris.”

“Good, then. Do visit when you’re here.” Sylvia smiled politely and Louise moved for the door.

“I need to say good-bye to Sylvia,” Lily said.

“Of course,” Louise nodded. “I’ll wait outside. Good-bye, Sylvia.” With that, she stepped outside.

“Well, that’s nice,” Sylvia said. “You can leave just like that. No warning.” She paused to light a cigarette, her hands trembling. “I guess that’s how you arrived—just showed up and barged in. Now you’re just barging out.” She straightened some books on the desk without looking at Lily. “Have a good trip home with your aunt.”

“I’m sorry,” Lily said. “I was really getting comfortable here. I’m so grateful to have had the chance to work here, with you.”

“That’s fine. They all leave at one point or another. Come and go, and I alone remain.” It sounded like the refrain of a sad, sad poem.

“I’m sorry, Sylvia. I wish I could stay. I can always come back and see you.” She heard how ridiculous that sounded. Certainly she would come back, but not for a long, long time, and not in this era. Not if she could help it.

“Well, you did turn out to be helpful, after all. Despite your spunky attitude.”

Sylvia sat back down. Lily watched her shuffle papers. She would go on at the store as if Lily had not been there. Lily might have made a difference for Sylvia or not. She’d never know. Sylvia slapped her hand on a stack of paperback books.

“Oh, bother. I don’t have money to pay you now.”

“Don’t worry about it, Sylvia.”

“Hush.” Sylvia pulled a thick book out from under a stack of other books. It was covered in a light blue dust jacket. She handed it to Lily. It was
Ulysses
, heavy in her hand.

“Sylvia, you can’t do this. You can’t give this to me. It’s far too valuable. I mean, it will be.” She blushed.

“Second edition. Not as valuable as the first, but it is signed.”

Lily opened to the frontispiece. There, under the title, a scribble of two arcing
J
’s. She closed the book and rubbed her hand across the cover. It was pristine—no nicks, no bumps. The spine was intact, as was the dust jacket. This was worth a fortune. Rare first editions went for thousands of dollars. Even though this wasn’t a first edition, it was bound to be a rare book, with Joyce’s signature.

“Don’t cut the pages. It will lose value if you do. I’m sure you need money like anyone, but I hope this is a better substitute. And you need to read it anyway.”

Lily ran her fingers along the nubby edges of the pages. She flipped through the book, and the pages bowed out.

“Sylvia, I can’t take this. I couldn’t work a lifetime and have earned this.”

“Well, it will have to do. I have to confess I’ve developed a soft spot for you. I don’t know what it is about you, but I will miss you when you are gone.”

“Merci.” Lily couldn’t believe it. Not only was Sylvia giving her a book that could fund a year off of work, she was admitting that she liked Lily. It made it even more difficult to leave, knowing that Sylvia was about to face Hitler’s troops, an occupied city, internment in a camp outside Paris, and the demise of the shop. Should Lily warn her?

“Sylvia . . .”

Sylvia continued to paw through the mail on the desk. It was as if she was done with her flash of sentimentality and wanted to move on as quickly as possible.

“If I didn’t have to leave, I wouldn’t. I love it here and I even like working as your minion. But I have a feeling that you will be all right. No matter what, you’ll be okay.”

Sylvia glanced up at Lily. For a second Lily thought she saw a softening, a wave of relief washing over Sylvia, as if she actually believed what Lily had said. She smiled and returned to her cluttered desk with a muffled thanks. Lily took the book to the wrapping station and carefully centered it on the desk. She pulled a sheet of brown paper off of the rack and laid it on the shipping table. Valerie was going to flip. She wouldn’t believe it. The book would be Lily’s proof that she had time traveled. She didn’t have to tell Louise about this. She finished wrapping the book and tucked the package into her bag.

“Well, then,” Sylvia said.

“Good luck. Thanks for the book. It’s awfully generous of you.”

Sylvia waved her hand. “Good-bye, then. Bon voyage.”

No embrace, no handshake. Sylvia held the door open and Lily stepped out into the evening shadows. Then Sylvia shut the door, pausing for just a second, and turned the sign to Closed. Teddy stood at her side, his tongue hanging out, his eyes focused on Lily.

Lily crossed the street to join Louise, whose cigarette punctuated the dusk with a red dot. Lily turned back for one last wave but Sylvia had already shut off the light. The shop was dark and Lily didn’t see any movement inside. Her throat clenched up and she hurried away.

It was perhaps the last time she would see Sylvia alive. In this short week, Lily had only begun to understand the real Sylvia. Still, she knew more now than from her bookish pursuit. Lily knew that under Sylvia’s tough demeanor was a beautiful, generous soul who gave more than she took. She knew that Sylvia’s selflessness cost her more than she let on. Lost in her thoughts, Lily numbly accompanied Louise down the street.

At the carrefour, the squealing of brakes brought her to attention. Karl and Heinrich leaped from a car a few feet away. Karl wore a look that did not bode well. Heinrich, behind him, frowned. They started toward Lily but Louise grabbed her arm and shouted, “Come!”

Lily was tugged along, her feet stumbling as she ran to keep up with Louise. She heard the men’s footsteps behind her. Louise darted into a side road, right in front of a car zooming toward them. It jerked to a stop and the driver shouted, “Get in!”

It was Harold. Louise leapt in the back and held the door open. Lily dove in, too. Louise shouted, “Go! Go! Go!” and Harold gunned it. The door slammed shut. Lily sat up to see Karl running alongside, trying desperately to grab the door. Harold accelerated, but Karl could not hold on. He fell and rolled on the pavement. Heinrich bent down to check on him. Harold took a sharp, fast turn onto the boulevard, and Lily thought that two tires lifted for a second before the car righted itself and zoomed away.

Louise turned worried eyes to her.

“You okay, Lily?”

“Are you kidding?” Lily gasped, unable to say more, her heart beating, panic flooding her body. She leaned back against the seat, trying to catch her breath and calm her shaking. The car turned quickly onto a side street, then another, and yet another. Then it slowed and cruised along the embankment.

“Well done! You’re safe,” Harold said, smiling at her in the rearview mirror. Lily couldn’t help but smile back, a nervous, excited laugh bubbling up. They drove along the quay and soon Lily calmed down. Louise lit a cigarette and Lily asked the question that had been bothering her ever since their meeting at Diana’s lair.

“Are you really my aunt or was that another of your ruses?”

Louise regarded Lily. “Can we call a truce? Can you forgive me for bringing you here? Can you honestly tell me it was so bad?”

“If you answer my question.”

Louise bent her head slightly. Lily stared at her, taking in her dark hair, her profile. And she saw her mother, bent at her garden: the same jaw, the same nose. The same aloof demeanor. She fell back, incredulous. Louise avoided the question.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join us? You are more capable than you think.”

Lily watched the buildings as the car rolled along the river. She wasn’t sure of anything. She didn’t like how she’d been manipulated. But if she were part of the group, maybe she’d be in on the decisions. She considered her apartment in Denver. The thought of never seeing it, or Valerie, or Daniel, or her father, no longer provoked a reaction in her. If she were a member of the Athenaeum Neuf, she could perhaps see Sylvia and Paul again. It was certainly more interesting than her life in Denver. And an interesting life made for interesting writing. She couldn’t deny she had written more since she’d been here than she ever had at home. And she could always quit when she wanted, like Harold did.

“I don’t know, Louise. All I know is I don’t want a small life. This might be a chance to do some good for books.”

Louise tilted her head in surprise. “You’re reconsidering?” She clapped her gloved hands in delight. Again, Lily was surprised to see Louise express such happiness over her. She nodded, wondering if she should take more time to make such a big decision. But she had gotten into this situation without any decision at all, and maybe this was the opportunity to live an interesting life befitting a writer even she couldn’t dream up.

“I’ll do it,” she said.

Louise grinned, reaching out to squeeze Lily’s arm. “I’m so pleased you’ve changed your mind. You’ll love being part of our little group.” She stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray in the door, then opened her purse and handed Lily a card. In an elaborate script, Lily read Louise’s name and phone number and almost cried out. The last name was Abbott, her mother’s maiden name. Lily gaped at Louise.

“You really are my aunt.”

Louise touched Lily’s cheek with a gloved hand. “Maybe you will be able to trust me now. I’m so glad we’ll have this time together.”

Lily could only nod, unable to imagine any future scenarios. For once, the present was enough.

The car drove across the Pont Neuf, and Lily sighed. The open space offered by the river made her love Paris every time she saw it. The car turned left on rue de Rivoli and after a minute pulled up in front of the Palais Royal metro station. Louise stepped out and gestured for Lily to follow. They stood in front of the Guimard entry, its curved green arches providing a graceful entrance to the subway. The women paused and Lily took a second to savor the rush of Paris around her: the grumble of traffic on the boulevard, bikes zooming past gracefully, the scent of cigarettes and perfume. She closed her eyes to hold it in her mind forever.