“A favor? You intrigue me.”

“May I miss one night’s work, in two days’ time? I promised a friend I would accompany her to visit her uncle, and he lives at some distance.” All perfectly true. With René, Eve did her best to confine her lies to what was unspoken.

“You wish to miss work.” He measured the words. “There are many who would replace you, you know, and promise not to miss any work.”

“I know, monsieur.” Eve gave him the pleading doe-eyed look. “I hoped you were p-pleased with my service, enough to . . .”

He let her hang there for a while as he set the ledger aside. “Very well,” he said at last, and Eve nearly sagged with relief. “You may have your day.”

“Thank you—”

He cut her off. “It is quite late. Have you remembered your curfew exemption, or shall I have to walk you home again?” He unknotted his tie. “Perhaps I shall walk you home anyway. I would like to further our acquaintance, Marguerite.”

He took possession of her name, or what he thought was her name, casually discarding mademoiselle. And Eve didn’t think, as he removed his tie altogether, that he intended to walk out anywhere this evening. Any furthering of acquaintance would be happening right here.

Because I asked for a favor.

She wanted to swallow the lump in her throat, and she let herself, so he could see her throat move. Nervousness would please him.

He dropped his tie along the leather arm of his chair. “Have you considered my offer of the other evening?”

Eve didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Your offer s-s-surprised me, monsieur.”

“Did it?”

“I am not the right ccompanion for a man of taste. I am a waitress. I have no beauty, no p-p-proper manners, no knowledge of the world. So yes, your offer surprised me greatly.”

He rose from his deep chair, unhurried, going to the little satinwood table laden with crystal decanters. He unstoppered one and poured two fingers of something pale and sparkling into a tumbler. It glittered like a diamond, and he handed it to Eve. “Try it.”

She sipped, not seeing a choice. It burned her throat: fiery sweet, faintly floral, very powerful.

“Elderflower liqueur.” He rested an elbow against the ebony mantelpiece. “I get it privately from a vintner in Grasse. Beautiful country, Grasse—the air smells like that liqueur, flower scented and heady. It’s unique, so I don’t serve it at my restaurant. Brandy, schnapps, champagne, those I give to the Germans. I save the unique for myself. I think you like it?”

“I do.” No point in lying to René about anything she didn’t have to. “Why share it with m-me, if you do n-n-not share the unique?”

“Because you too are unique. You are in possession of good taste, Marguerite—very good taste, I would guess, but utterly untutored. Like Eve in her garden of Eden.”

How Eve managed not to jump at the sound of her real name, she did not know. But she managed, sipping more elderflower fire.

“I have always appreciated good taste and elegance in my companions,” he continued. “Before now I have preferred a finished product to a block of raw material, but Lille does not offer much in the way of elegant women these days. Hunger and patriotism have made shrews of all the ones I know. If I wish a suitable companion, it has struck me that I will have to play Pygmalion from the Greek myth, and sculpt one for myself.” He reached up with one long finger and pushed a thread of hair off her forehead. “I had not really thought I would enjoy the process. So you see, you too have managed to surprise me.”

Eve couldn’t think of any reply. He didn’t seem to anticipate an answer, just gestured at her glass. “More?”

“Yes.”

He poured another generous measure. He is trying to make me drunk, Eve thought. Seventeen-year-old Marguerite would not have much of a head for strong drink. A few glasses of this would make her pliant and willing.

Eve looked into her glass and saw the train tracks that would carry the kaiser toward Lille. She saw the lazy figures of the Kommandant and his officers, grouped around their schnapps, idly spilling secrets. She saw Lili’s beaming face the day Eve successfully passed on her first bit of information. She even heard Lili’s voice: What a bitch this business is.

Maybe, Eve thought now, as she replied then. But someone has to do it. I’m good at it. Why not me?

She drained her glass. When she lowered the tumbler, René was standing much closer. He smelled of Paris cologne, something subtle and civilized. She wondered if now was the moment he would kiss her. She thought fleetingly of Captain Cameron, looking at her on the beach as he taught her to load a pistol. She banished the thought as René bent his head.

Don’t recoil.

He leaned close, inhaling along the line of her throat, and then he straightened with a faint moue. “Perhaps a bath. You may avail yourself of my facilities.”

Her lips tingled, untouched, and for a moment she didn’t understand. Then she looked down at her hands, her cuffs which showed tiny splashes of beurre blanc and red wine no matter how careful she was throughout her shift, and realized she had a faint film of dried sweat beneath her dress from this morning’s brisk walk in the countryside with Lili. I smell, Eve thought, and it was so humiliating she wanted to weep. I smell like sweat and cheap soap, and before I can be deflowered I must be properly cleansed.

“There is soap.” René turned away, loosening his collar in a matter-of-fact yank. “I chose it for you.”

He was waiting for gratitude. “Thank you,” Eve managed to say as he indicated the door behind him. The bathroom had the same obscene luxury as his study: black-and-white tiles, a vast marble tub, a gilt-framed mirror. There was a cake of unused soap laid out, lily of the valley, undoubtedly requisitioned from some woman’s bathroom on a raid, and Eve remembered René saying that scent would suit her. Light, sweet, fragrant, young.

Every bit of advice Lili had given her about the acts which pleased men poured through Eve’s mind, and for a moment she thought she was going to be sick, but she shoved it down. Notice what pleases him, Lili had said. Staring at the soap, Eve knew. Light, sweet, fragrant, young. How he wanted her to be, not just smell. Thoughtful of him to have provided a script.

She filled the tub, splashing hot water with vengeful wastefulness, and sank into the heat with a shiver. For more than two months, she’d had to take her baths from a washbasin with a frayed hand towel. The heat and the two glasses of elderflower liqueur were making her head swim. She could lurk in the warm scented water forever, but she had a job to do.