“If you would like it. I should like it—if you would like it.”
“I think I should like it,” said Aurélie gravely. “Very much. We could have little boats for the children.”
“And for the dogs?”
Aurélie gave him a withering look, which was rather wasted in the darkness. “Not for the dogs. They can swim.”
“So shall our children,” said Max easily. “I will teach them.”
“You can swim?” said Aurélie, trying to ignore both the casual reference to their children and the image of Max stripped down to his skivvies in a sunlit stream.
“Of course. One doesn’t live on an island without learning to swim. I’m not sure how old I was when I first fell into the lake. Or if I fell or was tossed.” He touched a finger to Aurélie’s cheek. “Shall I teach you to swim? The lake is particularly lovely in the summer twilight.”
“Do you promise not to toss me?” Too late, Aurélie realized the double entendre. “I didn’t mean—er. Tell me more about your home.”
“Our home.” Max leaned back against the pillows, bringing her with him. “There are formal gardens—my grandmother saw to those—but what I like best are the wildflowers. Fields and fields of wildflowers. The land is very flat and rather damp, and in the spring, when all is blooming . . .”
Aurélie frowned at his chin. “How could you bear to be in Paris when you had that waiting for you?”
“You were in Paris,” said Max simply.
When they could speak again, Aurélie said unsteadily, “I’m not clever like you, you know. I’m not cultured or well-read. I can’t debate philosophy in three languages—or even one.”
“But you can outshoot me. Didn’t you tell me so?” When Aurélie didn’t smile, Max turned so that they were lying on their sides, on a level, looking directly at each other, his fingers twined through hers. “I don’t love you for any of those things, you know. Not because you can outrace me or outshoot me, or doubtless outfence me, too. You are . . .”
“Yes?”
“You are you,” he said to her, as she had said to him what felt a very long time ago. “You are remarkable just as you are. There is no one else in the world like you and there is no one else for me. And I don’t care if you’ve read Plato or Kant or last week’s Paris-Midi.”
“I haven’t got last week’s Paris-Midi. Or last month’s. And half the time I didn’t bother to read it, anyway.”
“You see?” said Max, and she could hear the tenderness in his voice. “You are the most honest person I know. The most honest and the most honorable.”
Except when she wasn’t.
She could feel the talisman between them, as if it were there. She had lied to him about the talisman; she had lied to him about everything. Except what had happened between them in this bed. That much was true.
“But I’m not.” Aurélie drew back a bit, determined to disabuse him. “I was meant to beguile you, you know. To rifle your conversation for spare bits of intelligence.”
“It’s just as well I haven’t any, then,” said Max, but when she didn’t smile at it, he drew her closer. “My heart, don’t you think I know? You were never subtle about it.”
“I wasn’t?” Aurélie wasn’t sure whether she ought to be offended.
Max affected a falsetto. “‘Goodness, it’s cold for November, isn’t it, and by the way, have you heard anything about an offensive?’”
Aurélie pushed against his chest with both hands. “I never sounded like that.”
“I paraphrased,” said Max, unabashed, and Aurélie wrinkled her nose at him, even though she wasn’t quite sure he could see it in the darkness. His voice changed, grew serious. “I have heard one thing, though.”
“Are you really sure you should be telling me? I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”
“You really aren’t very good at being a spy, are you?” said Max tenderly.
“No,” Aurélie agreed glumly. “I’d make a much better general.”
“So you should. I shouldn’t want to stand against you. But this isn’t like that. Everyone will know soon enough.”
“What?” There was something about his tone that made her very nervous.
Max stared up at the ceiling, choosing his words carefully. “The High Command has decided there are too many mouths to feed in the occupied territories. They have decided to allow a select number of people to leave. Women and children and men too old to till the fields,” he specified.
“Leave for where?” Too many people had already been sent to work camps in Germany.
“To France—the other parts of France, that is. The convoy will travel first to Switzerland, and from there, back into France. They mean not to tell anyone until a few days before, so that people won’t have much time to prepare. The first convoy will leave in June.” There was a moment of silence, before Max said, “I should like you to be in it.”
Aurélie sat up, accidentally elbowing him in the chest. “Me?”
Max looked at her gravely. “You. I would feel better knowing that you were safely in Paris.”
Aurélie pleated the sheet with her fingers, trying to make sense of what he was saying. “But . . . what about my people?”
“They have your father to look after them. Isn’t that what you said?”
Yes, when he wasn’t risking his own skin playing with pigeons. Aurélie shoved her tousled hair away from her face. “But Hoffmeister would never let me go.”
“No. But if you were to acquire forged papers, you could be gone before he realized. You would have to cover your hair. You’re too recognizable as you are. But it could be done.”
Aurélie stared at the outlines of his face, wishing she dared light the lamp. “You’ve thought of this before.”
“As soon as I heard about the evacuations.” They were only centimeters apart, but Max suddenly felt very far away. Quietly, he said, “If you go, I’ll go.”
Aurélie bristled. “That’s not fair. You can’t tie your survival to my desertion!”
“Aren’t you asking me to do the same? To desert to save myself?”
He didn’t need to sound so damnably reasonable. “I’m not telling you to desert! Only to get yourself reassigned.”
“And is that not the same as what I ask of you?” Max took her limp hands in his, chafing them gently to warm them. “Aurélie, I don’t know what plots and intrigues you’ve embroiled yourself in. I don’t want to know. All I ask is that you conduct them from Paris, not here.”
Paris. She had run from Paris, had come all this way, through horrors unspeakable. And what had she done? Fallen in love with a German. And served as a symbol for her people. There was that. And the food she had brought, while little, had been sorely needed. She was needed.
“And if I were to refuse?” Aurélie’s voice cracked on the words.
Max didn’t hesitate. “Then I stay here with you.”