Gerard swallowed a smile. Emily was laying it on thick, but the soldier seemed to be buying the whole performance. Oscar winner Joan Fontaine couldn’t hold a candle to his partner.
“Highly irregular.” He grabbed the paper and held it close for several minutes. Finally, when Gerard was sure he’d claim it was a forgery, he tossed it down then yanked open the center drawer. He rummaged among the folders and forms, his lips moving in silent complaint. He withdrew a travel pass and held out his hand. “Your identity cards.”
Gerard pulled them from his breast pocket.
The man flipped open the books, transferred the information onto the form, and flung everything back at Gerard. “Now, you need to leave.”
Emily curtsied and continued to bat her eyes. Wreathed in smiles, her face beamed. “Thank you, sir. You’ve been most helpful. God bless you.”
They whirled and hurried from the building, Gerard’s breath ragged, waiting for the man’s shout to halt. Could their escape from France be this easy?
Once outside, Emily skipped head of him then turned and beckoned him forward. Rolling her eyes, she wrinkled her nose. “Highly irregular,” she mimicked. “I thought we were goners for a few seconds, didn’t you?”
“Not with your Academy Award-winning performance.”
She laughed. “They call themselves the master race, yet he was so gullible. He actually believed we’re in love. Stupid fellow.”
Gerard’s heart fell. He’d begun to think she might have feelings for him. Now, who was stupid?
Chapter Nineteen
Emily shifted on the buffed leather seat in the train compartment to break the mesmerizing clickety-clack of the wheels that threatened her ability to stay awake. If she napped now, she’d never sleep tonight. Beside her, Gerard sat with his arms crossed, eyes closed, and gray fedora pulled low over his face. Anyone who didn’t know him would think he dozed. His rigid frame told her differently. She wasn’t sure he ever slept more than a couple of hours a night. How he managed to remain vigilant was a mystery.
She frowned. After their success with the travel visa, he’d become surly and morose. When questioned, he insisted nothing was wrong. Yet, he’d been as irascible as a wounded mountain lion, giving one word answers and glowering at everyone they’d been in contact with from the porter to fellow travelers.
The scenery outside the window whizzed past in a blur. Countryside greens and blues changed to grays and browns when they passed through towns. She glanced at her watch. Still several hours until bedtime when she and Gerard would make their way to the sleeper car he insisted they purchase to further their guise as a newly married couple. Her face heated. It would be a long night.
Hurtling across the French countryside in fear for her life was not what she’d planned for her honeymoon. She rolled her eyes. Who was she kidding? She never figured on getting married, so planning a trip with a husband was not on her to-do list, yet here she was tied to Gerard for better or for worse. Could it get any worse?
Another peek at her watch, and she sighed. Three minutes had passed since she last checked.
A gentle knock sounded at the door, and the porter waved through the window. He slid open the wooden divider, and an elderly couple appeared behind him. “Monsieur and Madame Boucher, may I present Monsieur and Madame Vidal? They will be sharing your compartment for a short while. I apologize for any inconvenience.”
Emily scooted close to Gerard who sat up and shoved his hat back on his head. His body stiffened, but he remained mute.
She nodded at the couple. Why did they need to share the compartment? Was it a ploy to get close to Gerard and her? Where did their loyalties lie?
“Merci. We appreciate your gracious hospitality.” Madame Vidal gripped her husband’s arm as she toddled into the small alcove. Her diminutive hat was a confection of flowers and netting that wiggled with each movement of her head. Although expensive-looking, her navy-blue suit had seen better days, and her black pumps were scuffed. “The attendant said you just got married. Félicitations. How optimistic of you in a time of war.”
Snuggling into Gerard, Emily grinned. “We are so happy. Aren’t we, chéri?” She stroked his arm and affected a high-pitched giggle.
Gerard cleared his throat. “Oui. We were tired of waiting for the end of the war. It seems the conflict will never cease.”
The woman peered down her nose. “You are not in uniform. Do you not fight for the cause?”
He shook his head. “I work in the factory. We were able to secure a travel visa for this short trip. I must return in two days.” He ran a finger along the side of Emily’s face, and she shivered. “Not nearly enough time to spend with my bride.”
Monsieur Vidal chuckled. “There is never enough time. We have been married for nearly fifty years, and yet it feels like yesterday that I met this beautiful, feisty woman.”
“Fifty years? You must have been children when you married.” Gerard extended his hand, and the man shook it.
“How gallant of you to say, young man.” Madame Vidal patted her hair causing the hat to slip to one side.
Emily’s face ached from smiling. How long before the couple departed? “We’re heading to Paris to see the sights. Are you?”
Madame Vidal waved her hand in dismissal. “Non. We are too old for the crowds and chaos. And all those…Germans.” She grimaced. “The next stop is ours. Our daughter lives outside the city.” Her face fell. “We used to take in the sights. The Eiffel Tower. The Arc de Triomphe. The Louvre. Those were the days, weren’t they, amoureux?”
Her husband laced his fingers with hers. “And they will be again, someday. Now, let us speak of happier things, such as this lovely couple. How did you meet?”
Emily swallowed. As her favorite detective would say, “The game is afoot.”
j
Gerard uncrossed his arms and wrapped one around Emily, marveling again at how perfectly she fit against his side. They needed to appear deeply in love, so he would act the part even if a piece of his heart died in the process.
He studied the octogenarians. Were they too old to be of use to the Resistance? Or worse, the Nazis? They seemed harmless enough, but if he’d learned one thing while in combat, it was to never underestimate his opponent. He’d nearly been killed during his first shift on sentry duty in North Africa. A boy of perhaps twelve or thirteen had wandered into camp. Gaunt and dirty like most of the street urchins he’d seen, the lad asked for food and drink. When Gerard had bent to retrieve his ration pack, the waif had pulled a knife. Fortunately, the blade only sliced Gerard’s coat and had not pierced his skin, but the boy’s wiry frame and tenacity made him difficult to subdue. Gerard’s platoon mates ribbed him for days about his inability to overpower a child. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Emily’s shoulder quivered under his hand. His gaze slid from the couple to his wife. Would he ever get used to the term? Her hands were clenched in her lap, yet a smile played on her lips. Apparently, she was as unsure about the elderly pair as he was. He laid his hand over her fists, their warmth sending tingles through his palm.