The Paris Architect: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page B

asked Lucien. It sounded kind of insulting, similar to the Jewish word schmuck .
    “I believe it means a human being, a person who stands up and does the right thing.”
    “Before I do the right thing, there’re a few conditions.”
    “Go on,” said Manet.
    “I’m not to know anything…I mean anything…about your goddamn Jew,” said Lucien, looking around him to make sure no one was listening in on their conversation.
    “I understand perfectly.”
    “What about the workmen who’ll be doing the construction? How do I know they won’t talk?”
    “They are men who have worked for me for over twenty years. I can trust them and so can you.”
    “The tenants will wonder what’s going on when they hear all the noise. Every one of them would be deported if a Jew was found in the building. If they suspected anything, they’d inform the Germans to save themselves.”
    “There’s a risk, I agree, but the concierge has been well paid to lie if need be. All the tenants are at work during the day. Besides, your solution is ingenious because it’s so simple—there won’t be that much noise.”
    “What about the owner of the building? What if he gets wind of the work?”
    “I am the owner, Monsieur Bernard.”
    Lucien finally relaxed and sat back in his chair. With those concerns out of the way, it was now time to get down to business.
    “You mentioned a fee of twelve thousand francs, Monsieur Manet.”
    Manet produced a thick hardback book out of the satchel he held on his lap. He placed it on the table and pushed it toward Lucien.
    “Do you like to read? This novel by the American writer Hemingway is most entertaining,” he said with a great smile.
    Lucien never read anything except architectural magazines. But he did go to the cinema and had seen all the American films based on great works of literature, so he could pretend he’d read the books.
    “Of course, Hemingway.” Gary Cooper starred in A Farewell to Arms in 1932. It was a damn good film.
    Lucien slowly picked up the book and examined the cover, then began to fan the pages. He abruptly stopped when he saw the first franc note nestled in the hollowed-out book.
    “It looks most interesting. I’ll start it tonight before I go to bed.”
    “I know you’ll enjoy it,” replied Manet.
    “Now, did I hear you correctly when you said you’d be needing additional factory space for your new contract?” Lucien asked, holding on to the book with both hands in his lap.
    “You did indeed. Why don’t you come to my office the day after tomorrow to discuss the project—say about two. I’ll have all my requirements written out for you. I’m sure you’ll need to go back into the apartment to take a few measurements for a drawing, so hold on to the key.”
    The smile suddenly vanished from Lucien’s face. “But let me make one thing absolutely clear to you, monsieur. I’ll never do anything like this again.”
    “But of course, I understand completely.”
    An awkward silence settled between the two men. Lucien took another sip of his wine. He wanted to get the hell out of there with his new book. Manet smiled and sipped his drink as if he were in no hurry at all.
    “You asked me why I was committing suicide.”
    “Yes, and you told me you’re a devout Christian who wants to help your fellow man,” said Lucien.
    “Devout? Not at all. I attend mass on Easter and Christmas and that’s it. I do believe that as Christians, we have a basic duty to do what’s right, but that’s not quite the whole story. There’s more to it.”
    “Really?”
    “Monsieur Bernard, people think the aristocracy, with their money and privilege, have everything in life, but they’re dead wrong. The children of my class lack the most important thing: a mother and a father.”
    “You were an orphan?”
    “Not at all. I had a mother and father, but they, like others of their class, never had time for their children—attending endless social events, entertaining in the