The Paris Architect: A Novel by Charles Belfoure Page A

and maybe a wide balcony that stretches across the whole back. The view is incredible. And the sea is an indescribable shade of blue. You should see it.”
    “The Côte d’Azur?” said Lucien. “Well yes, I’d like to see that. But I would need transit papers to travel south.”
    “No problem, I can arrange it.”
    “Really?
    Manet threaded his arm through Lucien’s and started to guide him gently through the house. Thirty rooms was a lot of ground to cover in an afternoon. They started in the attic and worked their way down, slowly moving from room to room. The floor-to-ceiling paneled walls with high baseboards were a possibility; here, the walls were thick enough to fit a body. Still, Lucien wanted to keep looking. The enormous entrance hall contained a beautiful wood staircase with a thick carved railing. The staircase started from a huge wood-paneled newel post. It reminded Lucien of the base of the statue of Mercury in the rue de Galilée apartment. The top could be hinged, and two people could pull it shut by a strap, but it was too tight for two adults. Lucien gazed up at the ceiling and saw that it was supported by huge exposed wood beams. He immediately knew the second-floor structure could be used.
    On top of the main beams was overlaid a series of smaller ones at right angles on which thick plank flooring was attached with pegging. These beams were about thirty centimeters deep, which told Lucien a person could lie down on his back within them. The plank flooring could be removed and hinged to create a trap door of sorts. To prevent a person from falling through the plaster ceiling between the main beams, some board reinforcing would have to be installed. During a search, though, Gestapo boots would be running on top of the guests just a couple of centimeters from their faces. As he’d realized at the rue de Galilée, the cleverest design wouldn’t work if Manet’s guests panicked and cried out. This seemed too risky.
    He discovered a window seat in an oriel window on the second floor at the rear of the house that was deep enough and wide enough to work as a hiding place. As he walked through the house, considering more options, the excitement was building up within him again. He found himself enjoying the challenge of outwitting the Germans, realizing it was a more powerful lure than the fifteen thousand francs. He could see crazed Germans tearing through the house in a hopeless effort to find their quarry. But all the time, the Jews would be right under their noses. Then finally, a Gestapo officer would give the order to leave, saying the Jews weren’t there. Thinking about this had the effect of a handful of amphetamines, and Lucien quickened his pace through the rooms, forcing poor Manet to struggle to keep up with him.
    “Why not the back of a closet?” asked Manet as they entered the master bedroom.
    “That’s the first place they’d look,” said Lucien impatiently.
    He stopped and saw how tired Manet was. Lucien wasn’t ready to make his final decision and needed to continue looking.
    “Please, monsieur. Go downstairs and wait for me. Let me help you.”
    “I’m fine. Let’s keep going.”
    Lucien held Manet’s elbow as they mounted a short flight of steps that led to a small study. As he put his foot on the first step, it slipped and Lucien fell forward, bashing his knee into the steps.
    “Goddamn it!” he cried, clutching his knee in pain.
    Manet stooped to help him up.
    “Let me be, I’m all right,” said Lucien.
    Manet sat on the steps to rest.
    “Why did they put the steps here?” asked Manet.
    “It’s just to give the floor a level change and provide more headroom for the library that’s right below us.”
    “I see. It’s to separate the study from the bedroom here.”
    “Yes, just four steps,” said Lucien. “It’s a nice detail. I would’ve done the same thing.”
    As he massaged his kneecap, he gazed at the steps.
    “Hold on, I’ll be right back.” Lucien