I should have been excited to finally be living my geography and history lessons but I was too engulfed in worry to really appreciate what I was seeing. Now it wasn’t only a question of finding what had happened to Sid and Gus. It was also the additional fear of being found by Justin Hartley. And I had to complete my task and get back to Liam. It was a greater distance than the man at the Ritz had suggested. My feet were beginning to hurt and I was feeling hot and thirsty by the time I came to the sign saying Quai de Billy and saw the club with its stars and stripes hanging over the front entrance. I hoped that there might be cold drinks or maybe even an ice-cream soda to be had at the club as I went up to the front door and knocked. The elderly porter who opened it stepped back in surprise at seeing me.

“Yes, ma’am. May I help you?” I was glad to hear an American accent and not to have to speak French any longer.

“You may. I’m trying to find Mr. Reynold Bryce. Is he a member here?”

“Mr. Bryce is indeed a member,” he said. “But he’s not here at the moment, I’m afraid. In fact…” then he paused.

“Perhaps you’d be good enough to find me his address.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am but it is against club rules to give out the address of a member.”

“Look,” I said. “It’s very important that I speak to him soon. I’ve come over from America—” I decided to stretch the truth a little, “—with a message from his family. But I omitted to bring his address with me.”

He stood, effectively barring the door to me.

“May I come in and speak to the club secretary?” I stepped forward, wondering if I could force my way past him. “I’m sure he’d be able to assist me.”

“Come in?” He bristled. “Madame, women may not enter the club except on special ladies’ nights.”

My frustration was now threatening to boil over. “I had no idea that people in Paris could be so unhelpful and that a fellow American would be so rudely received at the American Club. I thought it was a city of good manners.”

“You could go to the Prefecture of Police,” he suggested. “All foreigners must register with them when they move here. Perhaps they will be able to tell you more.”

“And how far is it to this prefecture?” I snapped.

“On the Île de la Cité. If you walk up to the Champs-Élysées you can find the Métro and it will take you. Or if you cross the Seine you will find an omnibus that takes you along that bank, but the Métro would undoubtedly be quicker—”