But when she arrived at the brasserie late in the morning, it was closed up tight, and no one answered when she pounded on the door. She went around back to Edith’s apartment, but there was no answer there, either. Hugging herself tightly and turning into the fierce, frigid wind whipping through the streets of Reims, Inès finally walked away in a daze.

Where could Edith be? It was a Wednesday morning, a time when Edith and Edouard should have been preparing to open for lunch. She imagined Edith at a clandestine meeting somewhere, delivering information to a shadowy contact like the one Inès had stumbled upon in the cellars of the Maison Chauveau, and the more she thought about it, the more irritable she felt. How was it that everyone seemed to be walking around in possession of precious secrets, while Inès was coasting through a life that hadn’t changed at all, a life that meant nothing in the grand scheme of things?

Perhaps she could persuade Edith that she could have some value as a worker for the underground, too. She would make Edith see that she was trustworthy, and she would finally be able to show Michel she was someone he could respect.

But the longer she walked around Reims, keeping her head down to avoid eye contact with any of the German soldiers strolling by, the colder and more abandoned she felt. By the time she passed by the Brasserie Moulin for the sixth time that day and finally found it open, her mood had darkened again. She went in and spotted Edith immediately.

“Where have you been?” she asked Edith as she approached the bar.

Her friend looked up from drying glassware. “Inès? What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to see you. I’ve been in Reims all day, Edith, but you were out.”

“Yes, well, Edouard and I had somewhere to be.” Edith’s eyes slid away. “I didn’t know you were coming.” She gave her a small smile. “Are you all right, then?”

Inès could feel her shoulders relax a little. “Where were you?”

Edith blinked. “Just at a friend’s apartment for a bit.”

“Which friend?” Inès didn’t know why she was pressing; she likely didn’t know all of Edith’s friends anyhow, which made her feel sad. Life had moved on here without her, just as it had at the Maison Chauveau.

“Someone you don’t know.” Edith hesitated and then crossed from behind the bar to take Inès’s hand. “My dear, you don’t look like yourself. Would you like to go upstairs to our apartment, perhaps take a nap for a bit?”

Inès shook her head. “Perhaps I can help you out in the restaurant tonight.”

Edith glanced over her shoulder, where a bartender was drying glasses, three waiters were chatting, and two Germans were deep in conversation at a table in the corner. “Oh no, Inès, we have plenty of help.”

“Are they in on it, too?” Inès nodded to the waiters. “Do they . . . listen to conversations?”

Edith’s eyes widened and flashed as she released Inès’s hands. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Inès,” she whispered.

“I’m sure you do.”

When Edith spoke again, her tone was frosty. “Be careful, my friend.”

Inès closed her eyes. This wasn’t going how she’d imagined it. “I’m sorry, Edith. I didn’t mean—” She stopped and took a deep breath. “I need you, Edith. Nothing is working out the way I thought it would. I’m useless at the Maison Chauveau, and Michel has grown to despise me.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Edith said, her eyes darting quickly to the Germans in the corner again before returning her divided attention to Inès. “You’re the love of his life.”

“You’ve barely seen us these past two years, Edith. Things are different now.”

“I’m so very sorry you’re feeling that way. But I’m not sure what you think I can do.”

“You can help me, Edith. You can let me have a role in whatever it is you’re doing here. Please. I want to show Michel that he can trust me. I want him to look at me the way he . . . the way he looks at Céline.” And there it was, the raw truth, the thing Inès most feared.

“What are you saying?” Edith asked softly. “You think he’s having an affair with Céline?”

“I—I don’t think so.” Inès hesitated. “But the way he feels about me has changed. Maybe if I work with you . . .”

“No, Inès.” Edith’s tone was firm. “There is nothing you can do. You are welcome here anytime, but only as my dear friend.” She leaned in closer. “The work we are doing here is dangerous.”

“And you think I cannot handle it.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

Edith sighed. Edouard emerged from the kitchen and frowned at her, his eyes darting to the Germans in the corner. Edith nodded slightly, unspoken words passing between them. She turned back to Inès. “I’m sorry, but I really must deliver some beers. But stay as long as you like. Come sit at the bar, and I’ll have the bartender fetch you a glass of wine, all right? You are always welcome here. But don’t think that you can casually become involved in something you don’t understand just because you want to win your husband back. That’s not how things work.”