“She told me. I thought it rather clever.”

“What happened to her? The American?”

“She sold everything else she owned to the Nazis—the most impressive of her jewels went to Göring, and some things even went to Hitler, I heard—and left Paris. I don’t know where she went. Though her furs, I must assume, are still behind the walls of the Ritz.”

Jerome turned toward her. “What is this room for?” He had the grace to sound somewhat abashed.

“Did you know that Serge is a doctor?”

Jerome nodded slowly. “I think Rachel mentioned that once.”

“He lost his practice,” Estelle said. “He is restricted to seeing only Jewish patients, in their homes or in his. So long as people only get sick during the hours before curfew.”

Jerome said nothing.

“This room is here just in case he needs it. If his patients need it. Because while the Nazis might suspect a Jewish doctor of hiding Jewish patients, they will not search the apartment of the Parisian socialite who lives across the hall. But one can never be too careful. So, yes, I keep my subscription to Signal renewed, and, yes, I display the photo of a German soldier that I found in my German primer ten years ago, and, yes, I linger at the Ritz when asked. But, no, I am not one of them, and, no, I will never betray Vivienne, and, no, I will never betray you.” She was breathing hard when she finished speaking.

Jerome looked down at his boots. “I’m so sorry, Allard” was all he said.

Estelle ducked back into the wardrobe and pulled the hidden door closed, her anger draining and leaving nothing but exhaustion in its wake. “Me too.”

“Will you ever be able to forgive me?”

“Yes. You are not my enemy, Jerome.”

She sank down onto the edge of her bed. Neither of them spoke for a long minute.

“Meyer told me tonight that the Luftwaffe had destroyed the British air force.” It was Estelle who broke the silence. “Said that unopposed, London would be obliterated within days.”

“Meyer is full of shit.”

“How do you know that?”

Jerome looked away. “All Nazis are full of shit.”

“I need to talk to Vivienne. Soon. I want to ask her about it. London, that is. And there is radio equipment in the cellar of the Ritz. I think they are putting some sort of special encryption device down there for Göring. It might be important.”

He looked back at her. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you.” She smoothed her hand over the lemon-yellow skirt and looked up to find Jerome staring at her intently with a peculiar expression on his face.

“Do I have something in my teeth?” Estelle asked him. “Or is there something else you want to accuse me of?”