book.
“Where's Michel?”
Isabelle shrugged a rounded shoulder. “Madame, I don’t know. He disappeared when the Allies liberated Marseille.”
I frowned. “Someone took him prisoner?”
“No,” Isabelle said, shaking her head, “he packed his bags. He said he needed to lie low for a while, until the dust has settled.” As if by magic, Isabelle produced a feather duster and waved it in the general direction of my dressing table. “I still call every day, to clean the dust.”
“Thank you, Isabelle.”
I paused and gazed at the German perfume bottles, aligned like miniature soldiers on my dressing table. Michel had taken a lover, no surprise there. However, his choice of a German bed mate did add to our complications.
“Michel fears reprisals,” I said, weighing a perfume bottle in my right hand.
Isabelle offered a shy nod. “Yes, madame.”
“He’s been collaborating with the enemy?”
Our maid bit her lower lip and averted her gaze. “It’s not my place to say, madame.”
I glanced at the lacy underwear and said somewhat tartly, “Well, he sure as hell has been collaborating with someone.”
| Language | Status |
|---|---|
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Portuguese
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Translation in progress.
Translated by Ana Meneguetti
|
