“But . . . you’re a collaborator?” She knew he worked with the Germans as part of his job, and she had let herself believe that he had access to contraband items and sumptuous meals because he had money and friends in high places. She just hadn’t entirely grasped that those friends might be part of the German high command. “Antoine, how could you?”

“Oh, Inès.” He stubbed out his cigarette in the sink and crossed the kitchen, taking her into his arms. “Please, my darling, you must let me explain.”

“What could you possibly explain?” But some of the anger had leached out of her, replaced by a desperation to have this whole encounter justified, for what would it say about her if she’d spent the past several months as the ma?tresse of someone who was working for the Nazis? “Please, you can explain, can’t you?”

Antoine kissed her gently, and she let him. “Oh, sweet Inès,” he said. “I know it is popular to hate the Germans now, but you must understand. They have a great vision for our country. All those who think the German Occupation will harm us in the end don’t have a clear view of history. It is our own fault that the Germans were able to take us over so quickly. They are stronger than we are, and they have a better plan for economic stability in the future.”

“But—”

“I thought you smarter than this, Inès,” Antoine said, his voice an octave deeper now. “I thought you were the sort of woman who couldn’t be fooled by false propaganda. Was I wrong?”

She could feel herself blushing. “No, of course not.”

“At the end, Inès, only those of us who choose the right side will survive. I only want what is best for France. How can you fault me for that?”

In the silence, with his imploring gray eyes piercing her defenses, she could almost see his point. Besides, who was to say that Michel and Edith were right? Still, there was one thing that bothered her. “But the deportation of Jews last month . . .”

He shook his head. “Inès, do you really think the Germans would remove people who weren’t causing any harm? The Jews who were taken away were all guilty of working for the Resistance in some way.”

A lump lodged itself in Inès’s throat as she thought of Michel’s clandestine work. “But—”

“Inès, you must understand. The Germans had no choice.”

“But didn’t they take children, too? Certainly the children hadn’t done anything!”

“The people who were arrested are merely being sent east to work camps, where they can atone for their crimes. It’s a kindness on the part of the Germans to allow them not to be separated from their families. It’s mad to believe that the inclusion of children was anything but a favor to these people.”

“But the German signs around town saying that all Jews are criminals and thieves . . .”

Antoine sighed. “Oh, Inès, certainly no one’s mind will be changed by a few posters. The posters are foolish, but they mean nothing in the grand scheme of things.”

Inès thought of Céline. Certainly the propaganda wasn’t meaningless to her. “But you don’t believe what they’re saying about Jews, do you?” she asked in a small voice.

“Inès! Of course not!” Antoine looked horrified. “Please, you must believe me. But I also understand why those who are trying to harm the Third Reich must be sent out of the country. Inès, think about it. What would the Germans have to gain by sending innocent people away, anyhow?”

Inès looked at him for a long time, wondering why her stomach was still in knots when she wanted so much to trust him. “I suppose.”

“I knew you would understand, my darling.” He reached for her again and kissed her softly. “Now, shall we go have dinner? I’ve booked us a table at Arnaud’s.”

Inès hesitated, but when she looked into Antoine’s eyes, there was no danger there, no malice. “Yes,” Inès said, and she knew that with that single word, she’d chosen a side, even if she hadn’t quite intended to. So she did her best to put their argument behind her and let him lead her out of the apartment and down to the street below. At Arnaud’s, they found an intimate table waiting for them, along with a chilled bottle of champagne, which was enough, for now, to quiet the voices of doubt in Inès’s head.

? ? ?

By October, another successful harvest had come and gone, and with the new vins clairs fermenting in their barrels, and the days growing shorter as winter approached, Inès should have felt more relaxed. After all, the Maison Chauveau was surviving the war. Of course, Céline still trudged around with a somber expression, the weight of the world on her shoulders because she had yet to hear from her family.

Though things should have been looking up, Inès felt more unsettled by the day, because her conscience was finally screaming at her about Antoine. While he talked easily, knowledgably, about German strategy and the inevitability of Nazi world domination, Inès was finding it more and more difficult to agree with him. He was so confident that German victory throughout Europe was only a matter of time. But what if Hitler’s military wasn’t infallible? And perhaps more troublingly, what if being on the side of victory didn’t necessarily mean you could sleep at night?