Page 24 of The Paris Agent
“I barely remember that day at all. I already told you that.”
“You also just explained to Charlotte that the memories become more distinct with a little prompting,” Read reminds him softly. “I’d be keen to know if you can rememberhowyou were traveling that day.”
“No. That’s all I remember.” Dad runs his hand through his hair, then he blurts, almost defensively, “The pressure was on because of D-Day. We were just trying to get the mission back on track.”
“On track how?” Read asks. Dad shrugs helplessly.
“Fleur was...” He breaks off, struggling for words. “It happened during the landing, I think.”
Dad and Read stare at one another in silence. Dad looks away first, sucking in a sharp breath through his nose as he shakes his head. Dad doesn’t just look uncomfortable now. He looks...ashamed?
“Noah,” Theo says quietly. Dad turns toward him slowly. “Was Fleur injured somehow?”
“Her landing seemed perfect at first, that’s what confused me,” Dad blurts. “I’d seen bad landings before, I’d even seen one agent shatter the bones in her leg when she landed, but Fleur’s looked to be perfect then she was on the ground. I wasn’t sure what to do. I hadn’t heard the sound of a gun, but a gunshotwasthe most obvious explanation for why someone would collapse like that. So many agents were captured or killed parachuting in—it was one of the most dangerous moments of a mission, and if the Germans were watching, I’d be putting myself at risk going to her aid.” Dad is facing Theo so I can’t see his face, but I can hear the strain in his voice. I reach up to rest my hand on his shoulder.
“Fleur wasn’t shot though, was she?” Theo asks quietly. When Dad just stares at him silently, he prompts, “Was it her ankle?”
Read turns his attention to Theo, gaze narrowed, expression darkening by the second. It takes Theo a moment or two to notice this, but when he does, his eyes widen as if he’s panicked. His skin flushes red and he suddenly looks out the window.
Dad doesn’t seem to notice. He’s staring at the floor now, his voice a hoarse whisper.
“I ran over to help her just as Remy landed. And yes, she’d sprained that ankle badly once...a training jump that went wrong. The doctors had long since cleared her for fieldwork, but the landing somehow aggravated the old injury.”
Dad trails off again. Theo is also staring at the ground now. Read is once again staring at Theo.
The atmosphere in the office is thick with tension and I havenoidea what’s going on.
“Why does all of this matter?” I ask them, trying to get the conversation back on track. “What does any of this have to do with Remy?”
Read reaches into his drawer and withdraws a lined notepad and pen. I feel a brief burst of hope—is he about to give us Remy’s details? But no. Instead, he scrawls today’s date at the top of the page.
“How were you traveling that day at Salon-La-Tour, Noah?” he prompts, his tone firmer now. “You say that Fleur couldn’t walk so I’m guessing you weren’t on foot.”
“No.” Dad thinks carefully. “No, we were in a car.”
“A car,” Read repeats. He writes the word down and underlines it three times. “And what was the date?”
“I told you, I’m not sure. Sometime just after D-Day.”
“It was just after D-Day. You were travelingina carand you attempted to drivethroughSalon-La-Tour. Were you driving?”
“I can’t remember.”
“Did someonetellyou to take that route, Noah? Did someone tell you to take the car? Perhaps a contact at Baker Street—or maybe a contact in France?” Another grim shake of Dad’s head. I can no longer tell if Dad is being evasive or if he genuinely doesn’t remember. Beside him, Theo is now sitting with his elbows on his thighs, leaning forward. His expression is every bit as grim as my father’s is pained.
The professor suddenly drops his pen onto the notepad and leans back in his chair. He looks at Dad, then seems to decide something, because he nods to himself and tents his fingers in front of his chest.
“I do understand your desire to thank Remy for saving your life. I can’t tell you who he is, but I can ask him on your behalf if hewould be willing to meet you. I have to warn you, when we last spoke he was resolute that he did not want to revisit the war years. But I’ll call him and explain, and we shall see how he responds.”
“Thank you,” Dad says, but he doesn’t sound nearly as elated as I expected him to. His tone is heavy and his shoulders are slumped.
“All I ask in return is that you come back at some point in the future to undertake a comprehensive interview. We’ll leave the students and your daughter out of this one—it will just be me and you, and if you don’t want it recorded, I’ll simply take some notes. I have a lot of questions about that day, Noah.” He drops his voice and adds quietly, “I’ve long wondered about ‘Marcel’ and the things he got up to in France.”
Dad, apparently, can’t leave the room fast enough. He’s on his feet, walking past me toward the door, almost before the professor has finished talking. I scramble to follow him, but as I reach for the door, Professor Read calls.
“Theo.” His tone is grim. I glance back just in time to see Theo wince. “Stay back please, son.”
Dad charges out of Read’s office, but I hesitate in the doorway, watching something unpleasant passing between Theo and Read. But I’ve been dismissed and I’m worried about Dad, so I jog lightly to catch up with him. Mrs. White is on the phone, but I wave to her and whisper my thanks as I pass, then I’m right onto the stairs, chasing Dad toward the building exit. He’s still powering ahead, his footsteps heavy and his shoulders locked.
