Lost in Paris by Elizabeth Thompson (ebook smartphone .txt) 📕

me amidst a chorus of cheers, santé, and hear, hear. We toast a successful first day for Les Années Folles, new friendships, and the romance of Paris.

April 15, 1940

Paris, France

Dear Diary,

It has been a while since I’ve written. Forgive me, faithful friend. So much has changed. Our lives have turned upside down. This war that I never believed would amount to much is suddenly of monumental concern. The situation is bad enough for Andres to send me away, home to Bristol to stay with my cousin Abigail. I leave on the ship that sails tomorrow from Calais to Dover.

Andres has given me enough money to stay in a hotel as I make my way to Bristol and to purchase what I might need, as I can only take what I can carry.

I implored him not to send me away. I tried to convey how desperately I do not want to leave him alone in Paris. Alas, he confessed, it is not that he doesn’t want me here. He has work to do, and the fewer people coming and going, the better. His apartment has become a workshop for a forger who creates papers that allow Jewish families to assume new identities until they can reach safety. He acts as a courier to transport the papers to the people who need them. He is doing all he can to maintain the appearance of normalcy, so that the neighbors do not become suspicious.

It’s not safe for me to be there, but it’s just as risky for me to remain alone at my place on the square la Bruyère.

I wish I could do more to help him, but he said knowing I will be safe with my cousin is help enough because our eventual reunion will be his reason to survive. I have resigned myself to believing that my going to Bristol without my beloved is my way of fighting for the resistance. It is my sacrifice until I get settled and find things to do to help combat the Germans—even small things like mending uniforms for the allies and cutting cloth into bandages for the wounded.

This war has changed him in so many ways. Not only has he shown he is willing to put his own life on the line to fight for what is right and good, but he has also promised that once we are reunited, he will make me his wife.

I never thought I would see the day that he would get down on one knee and propose. But he did. He put a gold band with a small ruby on my ring finger. He said it belonged to his grandmother and it was proof of his undying love. I cried—tears of joy mixed with bitter sadness. His promise is the hope to which I am clinging. That, and the belief that Hitler will not prevail.

I set sail tomorrow into what I hope will be a future of prolonged peace. But I shall not rest until Hitler is defeated and Andres and I are together again.

Twenty-Six

February 3, 2019—6:00 p.m.

Paris, France

The final day of the first tour ends at 6:00 after I leave my charges to enjoy dinner at Auberge de Venise Montparnasse. The first run has been a success by all accounts, even if I still have a few things to iron out.

After Emma leaves to catch the train home, I tell Tallu and Marla to take the next two days off. They’ve worked hard and deserve to relax before the next tour starts, three days from now.

I’m writing up notes in my office when I’m startled by a knock on the door. It’s Marla.

“Do you have a minute?” she asks.

“Sure. I thought you’d left with Tallulah.” I motion for her to come in, and she sits in the chair across from my desk.

“What’s on your mind?”

She starts with awkward small talk—how well the tour went, how pleased Emma seemed to be with our work—and I wonder if she’s about to ask me for a raise or something equally absurd.

“So, yeah, I need to talk to you about something.”

Here we go.

“I didn’t want to say anything to you until I was one hundred percent sure, and I wanted to wait until after the first tour was over.”

She licks her lips and then stares at her hands. Even though the silence weighs a million pounds, I give her the time she needs. Maybe it’s the opposite of a raise; maybe she’s about to quit Heart to Heart.

Strange enough, despite everything, I don’t want her to.

After a moment, she takes a deep breath and says, “It’s about your father, Hannah. Would you like to know who he is?”

I drop my pen and sit back in my seat.

“Well, yeah. Of course.”

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a folded letter-sized envelope and hands it to me.

I open it and see what looks like a lab report on stationery that says PATERNITY TESTING OF ENGLAND. Subheadings say, “Understanding Your Report” and “Definition of Terms.” Following that is a grid of five columns with numbers labeled “DNA Analysis.” My eyes skip to the bottom row that’s labeled “Paternity Probability: 99.99%.”

Marla’s name is on the report and so is—

“Who is Darius?”

“He’s your father.”

“Okay, but this says Darius Gaynor. Like Martin Gaynor? Is that Martin’s real name?”

Marla shakes her head. “Darius is Martin’s brother.”

I can’t quite wrap my mind around what she’s told me. I guess I’d been expecting her to finally come clean and confess that it was Martin, so the Darius twist throws me. My first impulse is to ask when I can meet him. Then dozens of questions flood my mind and I feel like I’m drowning.

“Darius Gaynor.” I test the name. It sounds strange to my ears.

Marla nods like a bobblehead. I hope she will offer more, but she just keeps nodding.

“How did you meet him?” I ask. “I mean, I know you followed Martin Gaynor and the Wellies on the road. But how