Escape From Paris Read Online Free Page B

admit her fear to Eleanor or Robert. She couldn’t tell them because Eleanor already wanted her to go home to America. “Not unless you are coming, too,” she told her sister.
    Eleanor had shaken her head. It wasn’t only that France had been her home since her marriage sixteen years before. It was more than that. She couldn’t leave Paris when she had no word from her husband since Dunkirk, and, even if the Germans would permit her to go, they might not be willing to let Robert leave. It was very hard to get permission to leave France now.
    Most Americans had left during the year of the phony war and many who had stayed late fled when the Blitzkrieg began in May. There were only a handful of Americans left in Paris.
    If Eleanor would agree to leave . . . Linda drew hard on the cigarette. But Eleanor was determined to stay.
    The military hospital was out of sight now. Over the next hill lay the Citadel. There would be another stop there, to have her papers checked. If anyone ordered her to open the trunk . . . Her hand trembled and she stubbed out the cigarette.
    â€œI say!”
    The wheel jerked a little under her hands. The car swerved but she brought it straight again. There wasn’t any traffic to worry about. No one had cars but Germans and their Vichy friends. The Frenchmen walking along the road, scythes over their shoulders, turned hard faces toward her car until they saw the Red Cross flag. She waited until she was past the workers to answer.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œSorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
    â€œThat’s okay. Are you all right back there? It’s so small.”
    â€œFine, thanks.” His voice was muffled but cheerful. “How far are we?”
    She realized he wouldn’t have any idea how many miles it was to Paris. “About seventy-five miles. But there isn’t any traffic.” The road began a gradual climb. She could just glimpse the Citadel through the line of poplar trees to her left. “We’ll be slowing down in a few minutes. A roadblock.”
    â€œRoadblock?”
    â€œDon’t worry. It’s just to check papers. There are five or six of them ahead.”
    Not to worry. Unless, of course, they were unlucky. An officious sentry . . . But it was late afternoon now and hot, nearing time for guards to change. They would be thinking of cold beer and food. Why should anyone pay much attention to her?
    â€œLook,” and the muffled voice was serious now, almost harsh, “If anyone, you know, makes you open the trunk, if they search the car, well, you just give a little scream, you know, you are absolutely surprised and I’ll say I sneaked into the trunk, hid myself.”
    She blew out a soft little spurt of air. That wouldn’t save her. But there wasn’t any point in telling him so.
    â€œOkay,” she said quietly, “I’ll remember. Don’t worry. We’ll be all right.”
    â€œRight-oh. I just meant, well, in case.”
    The road swung in an arc around the great stone pile that was the Citadel and she spoke quickly now. “Don’t say anything again until I knock twice, like this,” and she thumped the metal on the dash. She pulled up even with the sentry box.
    The guard looked perfunctorily in the backseat, riffled through her papers then returned them.
    One down, she thought, as the car picked up speed again. She thumped the dash.
    â€œI say, uh, what’s your name?” His voice seemed so young.
    â€œLinda. Linda Rossiter.”
    â€œI’m Michael Evans.”
    â€œHello, Michael.”
    â€œHello, Linda.” He paused. “That’s a pretty name, Linda. You’re an American, you say.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWell, what . . . I mean, how do you happen to be here, in France?”
    Linda drove slowly, carefully, and tried to explain. “Last year, just before Christmas, my parents were killed in a plane crash. They were flying up to