\u00a0 Title: <\/span>Last Twilight In Paris<\/span> BLURB<\/span><\/b> PURCHASE LINKS EXCERPT\u00a0<\/span><\/b><\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/b>Prologue<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n Helaine<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n Paris, 1943<\/span><\/i> <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n Darkness.<\/span><\/i> <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n Helaine stumbled Hours earlier, They had stood An hour passed, Helaine looked Finally, the Helaine had The women were When the women As they bumped If home was a To distract Several minutes The women Outside the Now Helaine They were herded Bright lights Excerpted from LAST TWILIGHT IN PARIS by PRAISE FOR THE BOOK\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/b><\/span><\/p>\n “A fast-paced and vibrant wartime tale of holding on to love against the odds and learning to fight for the truth.” \u00ad\u00ad![](\"https:\/\/blogger.googleusercontent.com\/img\/b\/R29vZ2xl\/AVvXsEiSxcxCVZIGt_rMmdGkjUFsEe5BBdjP1D6Zr-pMQCvyn49Ai_IWvLU3TXyeNLuwsJeNIkI9hw2uArgZNc5HtcEtkDtMNVdmSAd8_dl8UmsrWForDynmyNeRkp2Tka-n02p68h-OWfZwegWJ73J-2H0AYwa-z6Cc60IGJHS1KPfym3gP8PHdfiOkmQEnk9fS\/s1600\/710-HTP-Banner---Winter-2025(1).jpg\")
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Author: <\/span>Pam Jenoff<\/span>
Publisher: <\/span>Park Row, Harlequin Trade Publishing<\/span>
Genre: <\/span>Historical Fiction, Romance , Womens Fiction<\/span>
Release Date: <\/span>4th February 2025<\/span><\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
A Parisian department store, a mysterious necklace and a woman\u2019s quest to unlock a decade-old mystery are at the center of this riveting novel of love and survival, from New York Times bestselling author Pam Jenoff
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London, 1953. Louise is still adjusting to her postwar role as a housewife when she discovers a necklace in a box at a secondhand shop. The box is marked with the name of a department store in Paris, and she is certain she has seen the necklace before worked with the Red Cross in Nazi-occupied Europe \u2014and that it holds the key to the mysterious death of her friend Franny during the war.
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Following the trail of clues to Paris, Louise seeks help from her former boss Ian, with whom she shares a romantic history. The necklace leads them to discover the dark history of L\u00e9vitan\u2014a once-glamorous department store that served as a Nazi prison, and Helaine, a woman who was imprisoned there, torn apart from her husband when the Germans invaded France.
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Louise races to find the connection between the necklace, the department store and Franny\u2019s death. But nothing is as it seems, and there are forces determined to keep the truth buried forever. Inspired by the true story of L\u00e9vitan, Last Twilight in Paris is both a gripping mystery and an unforgettable story about sacrifice, resistance and the power of love to transcend in even the darkest hours.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
HarperCollins<\/a>
Amazon <\/a>
Barnes & Noble <\/a>
Bookshop.org<\/a><\/span><\/b><\/span><\/p>\n
\nforward, unable to see through the black void that surrounded her. She could
\nfeel the shoulders of the others jostling on either side. The smell of unwashed
\nbodies rose, mingling with Helaine\u2019s own. Her hand brushed against a rough
\nwall, scraping her knuckles. Someone ahead tripped and yelped. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nwhen Helaine had been brought from her underground cell at the police station
\ninto the adjacent holding area, she was surprised to see other women waiting.
\nShe had not encountered anyone since her arrest. She had studied the women, who
\nlooked to be from all walks of life, trying to discern some commonality among
\ntheir varied ages and classes that had caused them to be here. There was only
\none: they were Jews. The yellow star they wore, whether soiled and crudely sewn
\nonto a worn, secondhand dress or pressed crisply against the latest Parisian
\nfinery, was identical\u2014and it made them all the same. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nin the bare holding area, not daring to speak. Helaine was certain that her
\narrest had been some sort of mis take. She had done nothing wrong. They had to
\nfree her. But even as she thought this, she knew that the old world of being a
\nFrench citizen with rights was long gone. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nthen two. There was nowhere to sit, and a few people dropped to the floor. An
\nelderly woman dozed against the wall, mouth agape. But for the slight rise and
\nfall of her chest, she might have been dead. Hunger gnawed at Helaine and she
\nwished that she still had the baked goods she purchased at the market just
\nbefore she was taken. The meager breads, which had seemed so pathetic days
\nearlier, now would have been a feast. But her belongings had been confiscated
\nat arrest. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nupward through the thin slit of window near the ceiling. They were still in
\nParis. The sour smell from the city street and the sounds of cars and footsteps
\ndespite the curfew were familiar, if not comforting. How long they would stay
\nhere, she did not know. Helaine was torn. She did not want to remain in this
\nempty room forever. Yet she also dreaded leaving, for wherever they were going
\nwould surely be worse. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\ndoor had opened. \u201cSortir!\u201d a voice ordered them out in native French, reminding
\nHelaine that the policemen, who had brought them here and who were keeping them
\ncaptive, were not Germans, but their own people. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nfiled into the dimly lit corridor with the others. They exited the police
\nstation and stepped outside onto the pavement. At the sight of the familiar
\nbuildings and the street leading away from the station, Helaine momentarily
\nconsidered fleeing. She had no idea, though, where she would go. She imagined
\nrunning to her childhood home, debated whether her estranged mother would take
\nher in or turn her away. But the women were heavily guarded and there was no
\nreal possibility of escape. Instead, Helaine breathed the fresh air in great
\ngulps, sensing that she might not be in the open again for quite some time. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nherded up a ramp toward an awaiting truck. Helaine recoiled. They were being
\nplaced in the back part of the vehicle where goods should have been carried,
\nnot people. Helaine wanted to protest but did not dare. Smells of stale grain
\nand rotting meat, the truck\u2019s previous cargo, assaulted her nose, mixing with
\nher own stench in the warm air. It had been three days since she had bathed or
\nchanged and her dress was wrinkled and filthy, her once-luminous black curls
\ndull and matted against her head. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nwere all inside the truck, the back hatch shut with an ominous click. \u201cWhere
\nare they taking us?\u201d someone whispered. Silence. No one knew and they were all
\ntoo afraid to venture a guess. They had heard the stories of the trains headed
\neast to awful places from which no one ever returned. Helaine wondered how long
\nthe journey would be. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nalong the Paris streets, Helaine\u2019s bones, already sore from sleeping on the
\nhard prison cell floor, cried out in pain. Her mouth was dry and her stomach
\nempty. She wanted water and a meal, a hot bath. She wanted home. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nplace that even existed anymore. Helaine\u2019s husband, Gabriel, was missing in
\nGermany, his fate unknown. She had scarcely spoken with her parents since
\nbefore the war. And Helaine herself had been taken without notice. Nobody knew
\nthat she had been arrested or had any idea where she had gone. It was as if she
\nsimply no longer existed. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nherself, Helaine tried to picture the route they were taking outside the
\nwindowless truck, down the boulevards she had just days earlier walked freely,
\npast the caf\u00e9s and shops. The familiar locations should have been some small
\ncomfort. But this might well be the last time she ever came this way, Helaine
\nrealized, and the thought only worsened her despair. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nlater, the truck stopped with a screech. They were at a train station, Helaine
\nguessed. The back hatch to the truck opened and the women peered out into pitch
\nblackness. \u201cRaus!\u201d a voice commanded. That they were under the watch of Germans
\nnow seemed to confirm Helaine\u2019s worst fears about where they were headed.
\n\u201cSchnell!\u201d Someone let out a cry, a mix of the anguish and uncertainty they all
\nfelt. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nclambered from the truck and Helaine stumbled, banging her knee and yelping.
\n\u201cQuiet,\u201d a woman\u2019s voice beside her cautioned fearfully. A hand reached out and
\nhelped her down the ramp with an unexpectedly gentle touch. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\ntruck it was the tiniest bit lighter, and Helaine was just able to make out
\nsome sort of loading dock. The group moved forward into a large building. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nfound herself in complete darkness once more. This was how she had come to be
\nin an unfamiliar building, shuffling forward blindly with a group of women she
\ndid not know, uncertain of where they were going or the fate that might befall
\nthem. She could see nothing, only feel the fear and confusion in the air around
\nher. They seemed to be in some sort of corridor, pressed even more closely
\ntogether than they had been. Helaine put her hand on the shoulder of the woman
\nin front of her, trying hard not to fall again. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nroughly through a doorway, into a room that was also unlit. No one moved or
\nspoke. Helaine had heard rumors of mass executions, groups of people gassed or
\nsimply shot. The Germans might do that to them now. Her skin prickled. She
\nthought of those she loved most, Gabriel and, despite everything that had
\nhappened, her parents. Helaine wanted their faces, not fear, to be her final
\nthought. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nturned on suddenly, illuminating the space around them. \u201cMon Dieu!\u201d someone
\nbehind her exclaimed softly. Helaine blinked her eyes, scarcely daring to
\nbelieve what she saw. They were not in a camp or a prison at all. Instead, they
\nwere standing in the main showroom of what had once been one of the grandest
\ndepartment stores in Paris.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nPam Jenoff. Copyright \u00a9 2025 by Pam Jenoff. Published by Park Row Books, an
\nimprint of HTP\/HarperCollins.<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/b><\/span><\/p>\n
\u2013Kristin Harmel, New York Times bestselling author of The Paris Daughter<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n