Unhurriedly, Estelle set her own cup aside and picked up the book, putting it out of view on her lap beneath the table. She ordered another cup, drinking it slowly but deliberately, leaving a safe interval between their departures. Eventually she stood, paid the waiter, tucked her chair neatly back beneath the table, and exited the café in careful, measured steps. No one stopped her. On the pavement outside, Vivienne was gone.

Estelle walked back to her apartment, when all she wanted to do was run.

Once she got into her building, she took the stairs two at a time.

“In a rush to get somewhere, Mademoiselle Allard?”

Estelle stumbled to a stop on her landing, coming face-to-face with Frau Hoffmann. The woman was wearing another flowered dress, this one the color of her scarlet lipstick.

“You left early this morning.” The frau put her hands on her hips.

Estelle shrugged and stepped around the woman. She wasn’t going to answer.

“Another man?”

Estelle froze, unease pricking. “Pardon me?”

“I saw you the other day out my window. Leaving with a man. I was going to report you. I might still.”

“Report me? Or the man I was with?” She tried to put scorn into her voice in an attempt to cover the unease. “Because I’m not so sure you want to do that.”

Estelle was rewarded with a flicker of uncertainty. “But—”

“I do not question you about what goes on in your bedroom, Frau Hoffmann. Please extend the same courtesy to me.”

“He could be a spy,” Hoffmann spluttered, flushing.

“Did you get a good look at him?” Estelle went on the offensive and took a step closer to the woman.

“No, but that is not—”

“Discretion is a virtue valued not only by myself but by officers of the Wehrmacht. I’d hate for your husband’s business connections to be…blemished because his wife made assumptions about important people. Put certain individuals into awkward situations.” Estelle was making this up as she went but it seemed to have the desired effect. The flush of the woman’s cheeks drained, leaving behind a crimson slash in an otherwise pale face.

“I think we can both agree that we can leave the matter there, yes?” Estelle prompted.

Frau Hoffmann stared at her.

“I’m glad we understand each other, then.” Estelle put her key in the lock and opened her apartment door.

“You might fool them, but you don’t fool me,” the woman shouted as the door closed. “I know what you are!”

Estelle leaned against the back of the door, her heart beating loudly in her ears. Frau Hoffmann, for all her unhappy vitriol, was a real threat. Her husband did indeed dwell in high circles within the Reich, high enough that a complaint from him, if only to placate his wife, would have dangerous consequences. The noose around this apartment, and everyone in it, was tightening.