The Paris Architect: A Novel Part 13

"The house came completely furnished with everything, including sheets, if you can believe it. I've already had a party there. It was incredible," gushed Adele.

"And you didn't invite me?" Lucien asked, genuinely disappointed.

Adele instantly realized her faux pas and backpedaled. "Oh, they were just fas.h.i.+on people. Total bores, my love. You'll be coming out quite often-you'll see. And it'll be for a party of two," she said, rubbing her hand on the inside of Lucien's thigh.

Lucien was quite aroused by this gesture of affection. He was now glad that he'd worked his way out of his depression and had called Adele up to surprise her with his new car. It would do him good to get out and have some fun and s.e.x. Lucien's good mood vanished when he looked up and saw a grand stone and wrought-iron gate just ahead. Sheer panic gripped him, as if someone were throttling him by the neck.

"Here we are!" Adele exclaimed. "Isn't it magnificent? I bet you thought it was going to be some puny little cottage. Now be honest, didn't you think so?"

Lucien stopped the car just past the gate and stared in disbelief at the house before him. This was the hunting lodge in Le Chesnay-with his secret staircase. It all made sense now. No wonder so many things looked so familiar. He had been this way before. Twice in the middle of the night, but he still remembered some landmarks along the way. His first instinct was to turn the car around and speed off. A voice in his brain shouted, "Don't panic, don't panic," and another kept saying, "Run like h.e.l.l."

Forcing a smile on his face, he turned to Adele. "It's magnificent, my sweet."

To Adele, Lucien's expression of utter disbelief meant abject admiration, and she was beside herself with pride and joy. Bouncing up and down in her seat, she gave him a hug.

"Let's go, I want to show you the inside."

"Of course..." Lucien replied weakly. Adele yanked him out of the car by the sleeve of his suit jacket and led him toward the great house and pushed him through the front door, which was unlocked.

"So what do you think?"

"It's just...incredible," replied Lucien, wondering if anything worse could happen to top this catastrophe.

Taking him by the hand, Adele led Lucien through the first floor and then the second, showing him every room he'd seen before. She saved the master bedroom until last.

"And this, my pet, is where we'll take a slight detour," said Adele, s.h.i.+fting her eyes toward the great bed. "But before the afternoon's festivities commence, let me show you something quite peculiar that I discovered-quite by chance."

Lucien had tried with all his might to avoid looking at the little staircase to the study. Now, to his horror, Adele grabbed his hand and dragged him toward it. He resisted like a child being led to the sink to get his mouth washed out with soap.

"Lift up on the first step and see what happens," said Adele.

Lucien stared at the staircase, silently asking himself why life kept singling him out for such punishment like this. First, the fireplace disaster a few weeks ago, which had devastated him, now this. He stooped down and did what Adele asked. With great effort, he lifted the stair up to reveal the mattress.

"What do you make of all this?" Adele said. "I thought you might know of somebody who could've built something like this."

Lucien let the stair come down with a crash, giving Adele a start.

"Why are you so curious...about this?"

Adele paused for a second or two. "I just thought it was an ingenious hiding place and was impressed by it, that's all."

"It is...quite clever, but I can't imagine who built it. Maybe it's been here since the house was built. Or maybe it was put here during the Revolution."

"I don't think so. The hinges and bolt are quite modern, see for yourself."

"And how did you happen to discover this thing?" Lucien asked.

"A servant was cleaning the carpet and found it."

"I see," said Lucien, then walked over to the bed and sat down.

"And how did you come to possess this modest little cottage? It seems a bit out of your price range."

Adele unb.u.t.toned the side of her black skirt, let it drop to the floor, and pulled off her beige sweater.

"Silly man. One of my clients acquired it and is letting me use it for the rest of the year-completely rent-free. Wasn't that gracious of him?"

"Must be a very special client to be so generous. Do I know him?"

"Oh goodness, no. Just one of those old fools in the clothing business."

Knowing the brief history of this house, Lucien had a suspicion that her client wore a gray-green uniform. He knew he probably wasn't Adele's only lover. She was greedy and opportunistic, willing to use anyone to get ahead. He was intrigued by that mercenary side of her. But if she was literally in the enemy's bed, she was not only a traitor, but also a direct danger to him.

She took off her bra.s.siere, then pushed Lucien down on the bed. Lucien couldn't help looking at the stair the whole time they were making love. But in an odd way, he thought, maybe this was a good thing. This cruel coincidence actually took his mind off the Serraults. It was a case of one horrible thing replacing another. At least he wouldn't think of them every waking hour of the day. Now he'd be forced to face his worst nightmare: could the secret stair be traced back to him? Who else knew about it?

30.

"A beautiful building. You should be very proud."

Lucien was proud. So proud that he was daydreaming at that very moment of winning the French Academy of Architecture's highest award for his just-completed engine factory in Chaville. Standing alongside Major Herzog, he relished every detail-the strong horizontal lines of his ribbon-gla.s.s windows, the vertical emphasis of the brick entryway, the beautiful curve of the arched concrete roof, which was strong enough to withstand an Allied air attack. Lucien and Celeste had no children, but he'd always imagined that the completion of a great design would be like the birth of one's child.

"I knew I could do a good building if I had the chance," said Lucien, talking to no one in particular.

"It will be the first of many," said Herzog, slapping him on the back with his elegantly gloved hand. "Your design for the Tremblay factory is even better than this."

Lucien beamed at Herzog. After three months, he had come to regard the German as his friend, a kindred spirit. His unease over being friendly with the enemy had evaporated. Lucien was still annoyed that Celeste thought of him as a collaborator. He was merely an architect who wanted work. And the opportunities to do this happened to be coming from the Germans. Herzog needed factories, and Lucien designed them for him. Technically, he was working for Manet, who cooperated in order not to have his business appropriated by the Germans. It was the smart thing to do. He wasn't some evil profiteer who was raking in millions. And Lucien was in no way getting rich off all this war work for the Reich.

"You really think the Tremblay factory will be better?" asked Lucien, finding himself anxious for Herzog's approval.

"Much better. The concrete structure is even more dynamic than this. A beautiful expression of functionalism."

Lucien's ego was flying into the stratosphere. He had finally proven that he could design. All he had needed was the chance. At this moment, he felt that there was nothing he couldn't do architecturally. He couldn't wait for more commissions.

Lucien and Herzog walked slowly around the building, admiring every detail. Trucks were driving in to unload the machinery for production work, which was to begin next week. Though Manet had driven his crews to finish the building ahead of time, they'd still adhered to Lucien's drawings and hadn't cut any corners. Everything had been done according to Lucien's specifications. That would never have happened in peacetime. Clients always deleted some detail that they thought useless and unnecessary but that Lucien absolutely loved.

"I'll tell you a secret," Herzog said. "A new munitions factory is being planned south of here in Fresnes. When I was in Berlin on leave last week, Reich Minister Speer talked about it. It's only in the early stages, but it will happen, I a.s.sure you. And because of your success here, you're a shoo-in for the commission."

"How big will it be?" asked Lucien, almost salivating.

"Over fifty hectares. A huge complex, like a city."

Lucien's mind was racing. He forgot about the building in front of him. In just ten seconds, he was envisioning the site plan. The buildings would all join together to create one grand composition. Lucien was so lost in his fantasy that he didn't notice Colonel Lieber approaching. Herzog cleared his throat and saluted, bringing Lucien back to earth.

"A very adequate building, Herzog," said Lieber. "Some unnecessary flourishes, but very adequate. Congratulations, Major. Berlin is very pleased with my...our work here."

"Thank you, Colonel. But it is Monsieur Bernard's building. His fine design gives us a most efficient facility," said Herzog, nodding toward the architect.

Lieber barely acknowledged Lucien. "Yes, an interesting building, monsieur."

When a client said a building was interesting, it meant he didn't like it but didn't have the nerve to say so outright. He smiled at the colonel and bowed his head slightly. His hatred of the man had increased exponentially since the night at rue du Renard. But as Manet had repeatedly told him, there was nothing to be done about it. Lieber wasn't going away.

"Now Reich Minister Speer, there's a great architect," exclaimed Lieber. "The Fuehrer's personal architect. He's designed some incredible buildings. The great dome in Berlin will hold two hundred thousand people. His new Reichstag is an incredibly beautiful structure."

Herzog, who was standing behind Lieber, rolled his eyes, and Lucien looked down at his shoes, trying to suppress a smile. Speer's design for Berlin was an over-scaled, pompous display of egomania. Hitler, who had twice failed to get into the Royal Academy of Art in Vienna when he was a young man, had always harbored the wish to be an architect and took a personal interest in designing the new Berlin. Lucien didn't fault Speer for designing to please the Fuehrer. Maybe Speer secretly hated the neocla.s.sical style that Hitler loved. All architects kissed a.s.s to get commissions; it was part and parcel of the job. Lucien had seen examples of Hitler's art and frankly thought he had an innate talent. He would've hired him to do a rendering of one of his buildings. Just think how the world would've turned out if Hitler had gotten into art school, thought Lucien.

31.

"What do you mean, you're not interested in seeing my building?"

Celeste kept her back turned to Lucien, vigorously was.h.i.+ng a dinner plate in the sink. Lucien walked up to her and spoke directly into her right ear. There was a time when he would've planted a kiss on that slender neck, but that time had long since pa.s.sed.

"I said...what do you-?"

"You heard me the first time," Celeste said.

Lucien turned and sat back down at the kitchen table and began to play with the little white enameled scale they used to weigh portions of their food. All Parisians had one, so they could stretch their meals as much as possible. He pressed his finger down on the metal pan and the dial read 200 grams. The rage was building inside of him, but he decided he wasn't going to lose his temper this time.

"All right, you don't have to see it. But can you at least have the courtesy of giving me your reason for not wanting to come with me?"

"I don't want to be seen with a collaborator."

"You're calling me a collaborator?"

"You and that Manet, you're profiting from the misery of the French people. Helping Germans to kill our allies. And the worst thing is that you enjoy doing it. You throw your heart and soul into those G.o.dd.a.m.n projects. And you're always kissing that German major's a.s.s. You spend so much time with that guy that I think you may secretly be a queer."

"Did you happen to notice that we eat three meals a day, have decent clothes, and don't have to scrounge around for the basic necessities of life?" Lucien shot back, still keeping the pent-up rage from spewing out like a geyser.

"But at what price, Lucien?"

"Are you saying I'm a traitor?"

Celeste put down her dish rag and hesitated a moment before answering, which infuriated Lucien. He wanted her to instantly say that it wasn't true.

"No, traitor's not the right word. You're a sort of an architectural Mephistopheles. You know, you've sold your soul to the devil in order to design."

Lucien didn't react but sat there absorbing the word "Mephistopheles," repeating it in his mind. He didn't know what to say to defend himself.

"So don't ask me to go see your buildings again. I won't go."

"Don't worry, I won't trouble you. After all, you never bothered to see my work before the war, so what the h.e.l.l's the difference."

"You'll be d.a.m.n lucky if France doesn't find you guilty of being a collaborator after the war. The disgrace...and you could be hanged."

"Knock off the dramatics. No one's going to be hanged because I'm not helping the Germans; I'm doing buildings that will help France recover after the war."

"Nice rationalization-or should I call it fantasy? Your buildings have swastikas on them, never forget that."

"You don't know a G.o.dd.a.m.n thing, woman. I am fighting the n.a.z.is."

"You? That's a joke.

"I've saved French lives."

"The only life you care about is your own."

"Bulls.h.i.+t! I saved two Jews," Lucien said vehemently.

An awful silence enveloped the kitchen. He knew he'd made a horrible mistake. A look of disgust began to form on Celeste's face. She walked over to the table and sat in the chair across from him. Celeste swallowed hard.

"Lucien, have you gone mad? Tell me you didn't help any Jews. Don't you know you've signed our death warrants? Tell me you're lying."

"I can't tell you any more."

"The Gaumont family on the rue Rousselet were all shot for hiding that little Jewish kid. Just for pretending a four-year-old boy was a Christian relative. The mother, the father, the grandparents, and all their kids are dead. All for some stupid self-righteous notion about helping one's fellow man."

"Maybe it isn't so stupid."

"In wartime, Christian brotherhood takes a backseat to saving one's own skin. It's not pretty or n.o.ble, but it's the cold hard truth."

"That wasn't why I did it."

Celeste smiled. "I wondered where that money came from. I knew it wasn't from the n.a.z.is. They don't pay their collaborators that well. It must have been a big temptation to have all that money in your pocket. To buy nice things for you, me, and your mistress."

Lucien, who had been holding his head in his hands, looked up at Celeste.

"You idiot," said Celeste. "A wife always knows."

"I did it for us, whether you believe it or not."

"I don't believe it. But I am impressed that you played both sides. Getting money from the Jews and designing your beloved architecture for the Boche. I guess you can have your cake and eat it too. But leave it to you to screw yourself in both directions. You're either going to be killed by the Gestapo for helping Jews or killed for being a collaborator. I don't know exactly what you've gotten yourself into-I don't want to know. I could put up with that s.l.u.t you have on the side, but not this. I'm not going to be tortured or deported because of your foolishness."

"So what are you going to do?"