2

‘Miss Fitzgerald,’ the Colonel said, ‘we want you to think this over very carefully. You must not make up your mind without realizing the risks involved. And they’re very serious. You’re a bit younger than we like, but unfortunately we’re in desperate need of people with your special qualification.’

Bilingual in French. Able to speak and write and even think like a Frenchwoman. She had blushed when the Captain started a conversation in rapid colloquial French, but she answered without hesitation, slipping back into her second language. The Colonel was watching her closely. A very striking looking girl, with Irish colouring so seldom found among the native Irish. Dark hair, the rose-bud complexion, beautiful green-blue eyes.

As she talked she lost her identity; he was fascinated to see her shrug and use her hands. She became French as she spoke. But only nineteen. Very, very young. How long would she last? He put the question out of his mind. There were obstacles to overcome before he need worry about her life-span in Occupied France.

‘Very good,’ the young Captain said. ‘Very good indeed.’

They were being friendly, trying to make her feel at ease. She felt the senior officer exerting pressure on her. Don’t rush into a decision. Think what may happen to you. You’re really too young for this sort of thing. But we’re so desperate and you have something so valuable to give.… There was a subtle contradiction there, and for all her innocence she sensed it. He wants me to say ‘yes’. That’s all he cares about. The warnings and the rest are just dressing. They were waiting for her to say something.

‘I think I’d like to go,’ she said. ‘But I do need to know a bit more about it.’

‘You can’t know very much more,’ the Colonel said. ‘You may refuse when you’ve thought it over, or you may fail to pass your training course. But I think Captain Alfurd could give you a few details. Sketch in a little more for you.’

He had a fine voice; it reminded her of a famous actor. Very penetrating eyes, and a neat brush moustache under that big nose. She had scarcely noticed the other man, the Captain who spoke perfect French. The Colonel blotted out other people when he talked.

‘Alfurd,’ he said. ‘Can you spare Miss Fitzgerald a few minutes and brief her?’

They hadn’t used her surname, or treated her as a ranker in the Women’s Services. It was all conducted on friendly, civilian terms. Which made saying ‘no’ more difficult. The Colonel got up, ending the interview. She pulled herself together and saluted; then shook hands with him. He had looked tall when she came into the room. Standing, he was quite short. He smiled and the deep-set eyes were kind.

‘Thank you for coming to see me,’ he said. ‘Captain Alfurd will look after you now.’ They went downstairs, the Captain leading the way. On the second landing he paused. He looked at his watch. She waited, feeling awkward.

‘It’s nearly one o’clock,’ he said. ‘Why don’t I take you round the corner and we can have some lunch. Much easier to talk than in my office.’ He had gone on down the stairs without waiting for her answer. She caught up with him in the hall. He turned and she had time to look at him properly. He grinned, and she liked him for that. Very fair, rather washy grey eyes, young – uniform made him better-looking. It improved most men.

‘Let’s go then,’ he said.

‘All right; as a matter of fact, I’m starving.’

Round the corner was a small private hotel. Kate went into the cloakroom and combed her hair. It was short and curly, and stayed neat under the Wrens cap. She hated herself in the dark, ill-cut uniform. The officers looked terrific, but she didn’t expect to rise out of the ranks. He ordered them a drink. She said gin and tonic, which she wasn’t used to, but it sounded better. At home they always drank wine. She hadn’t any head for spirits. He asked her about herself. She described her first weeks at Portsmouth and made him laugh. She began to feel at ease with him. Over the table she said, ‘Tell me, Captain Alfurd, how did you know I was brought up in Paris?’

‘Because I was sent a copy of your file. Anybody with links in Occupied Europe or bilinguals are referred to us. We don’t always follow them up, but you seemed particularly promising.’

‘Why?’ She had a way of asking direct questions, and meeting the eye till she got an answer. Not a fool, he judged, and not lacking in courage either.

‘Because you were a girl, educated, right family background. Described as willing and cheerful in your report. Nice photograph too.’

‘How much can you tell me?’ Another direct one.

‘Not much, I’m afraid. If you accept the Colonel’s offer and join us, you’ll go through a period of training. Six months. You’ll have to pass certain tests, satisfy your instructors, and the officer in charge that you’re the right material, mentally and physically, for this type of job. All I can tell you is that obviously you’ll have to operate somewhere French-speaking and you won’t have a nice time if you get caught by the Gestapo.’

‘Can’t you tell me what kind of work?’

He shook his head. ‘No. The senior course officer will decide what you’re suited for. Courier, wireless operator – that kind of job.’

She frowned. ‘I wouldn’t have to kill anybody?’

‘I wouldn’t think so.’ He made the question sound silly. He was smiling slightly, almost teasing, when he said, ‘Do you think you could?’

Kate laughed out loud. ‘I can’t swat a fly,’ she said. He laughed too. She might surprise herself one day.

‘The main thing,’ he said, ‘is to be sure you want to get involved. On the good side, you’ll work with some tremendous people, but you’ll have no contact with anyone outside. You’ll have to dedicate yourself completely to the job. You’ll be yelled at and pushed to your physical limit, and then beyond that. You’ve got to be very fit if you go over; and very careful about details. I don’t have to tell you about discretion. That’s number one. You don’t mention anything even to your own family. And that’s not as easy as it sounds. Am I putting you off?’

She shook her head. ‘No, not a bit. The good side sounds very good. And the bad side I can probably guess.’

He was serious at once. ‘The bad side,’ he said, ‘is that you won’t come back. And that’s really all I can tell you. Except to say that personally I hope you’ll join our organization. I think you’d be a great asset.’ He changed the mood. ‘I can’t bear to think of you spending the rest of the war scrubbing passages in Pompey.’

She thanked him for lunch; it was meagre and the vegetables were watery and stale. She wasn’t hungry though; excitement was knotting her stomach as she said goodbye to him, and queued for the bus on her way back to Waterloo station.

She didn’t need time to think about it. Take a week, the young officer encouraged. Unless of course you’re absolutely set on it. Then give me a ring. She took the card with the telephone number scribbled on it. SOE. The Special Operations Executive. She had never heard of it, but then why should she? Discretion was Number One. Secrecy, adventure, danger! A little lurch of the knotted muscles then. But useful, really useful. Not just a conscript wasting her time doing menial routine jobs that a thousand other girls could do far better. They’d thought she was particularly promising. That was nice, to be told that. And she wasn’t scared by what he’d called the bad side. If things went wrong and she got caught … she shrugged, sitting in the crowded, smoky train. That was part of the risk. If she was killed, so were people every time there was an air raid. I don’t need a week, Kate said to herself. I don’t even need twenty-four hours, but I’ll wait till Wednesday to make it look as if I’ve taken their advice. Pity I can’t tell the family. Never mind. They’d only worry. She wedged herself into the corner so she could watch the countryside speed by. Her thoughts were far away.

The Colonel was in his office when Captain Alfurd came back. He knocked on the door and came in.

‘How’d you get on, Robert?’ The Colonel looked up briefly.

‘I took her to lunch, Sir.’

‘I thought you might. Well?’

‘I think she’ll join,’ Alfurd said. ‘And I think she’ll be good, too.’

‘Let’s hope you’re right. Now, Simpson wants us to go over to Whitehall at four o’clock. He’s mounting a presentation for Winston.’

He bent over his desk again. The girl was forgotten.

The Fitzgeralds were an affectionate family. When Kate arrived at the house, her mother rushed to meet her. ‘Kate, Kate, darling!’ She was a small, rather plump woman, pretty as a bird in her youth, with sparkling brown eyes. They brimmed with tears as she embraced her daughter. She spoke with a strong Parisian accent. ‘How are you? You look tired. Come in, I’ve been waiting all day for you to come. I’ll make tea, and your Papa will be home soon. He was so excited to hear about your leave.’

It was wonderful to be home, Kate thought, looking round at the familiar furniture, recognizing her mother’s needlework on two new cushions; all the security of a happy family enveloped her like sunshine, although it was raining and dismal outside.

‘Maman,’ she said, hugging her, and broke into French. ‘Maman, let me go upstairs and take off this ugly uniform and put on some of my own clothes! I won’t be a minute – Oh, it’s so lovely to see you and be at home!’

Her bedroom was the same as the day she left it. Photographs of her parents and her brother; snapshots of their old home in Paris. The teddy bear nightdress-case propped on the pillow, exactly as it had been since she was ten years old and given it for Christmas. She ran to the wardrobe, to the chest of drawers, pulling out her clothes. Minutes later the Wrens uniform was draped over the back of a chair, and Kate hurried down to find her mother.

‘I’ve got fat,’ she announced. ‘This skirt is really tight! It’s all that awful stodge we get to eat – bread and potatoes and caterpillar cabbage – Oh, Maman, what have you got in the oven?’

Her mother laughed. ‘Something special. Not stodge, my darling. There’s your father, I can see by Mimi’s face; she knows when he’s walking up the street, that dog!’

The little terrier bounded out to the front door, and Kate ran to meet her father. They were very similar in looks. Born in County Wexford, he’d been educated in England and gone to Cambridge to read law. Opportunities were poor at home, and the professional classes sent their sons overseas. For thirty years he had worked with the same Anglo-French banking company, and married Denise in Paris, where they made their home. Both their son and daughter had been born there and the family was more French than anything else.

‘Kate.’ He hugged her, held her out to look at her. ‘You’re looking well. Very well, just my little Kate again.’

There was a special bottle of wine opened for the dinner conjured out of rations like a miracle. They talked and laughed and interrupted each other, and after dinner, the questions began.

‘Tell me,’ her father said, ‘how did you get this job? And why do you have to change services?’

‘Because they want interpreters in the WAAF, and as soon as someone realized I was bilingual, they thought I’d be better employed speaking French than scrubbing bloody floors – sorry, Daddy, that slipped out. Don’t you think pale blue will suit me better than that navy serge?’ She laughed and they joined in. She hated lying to them. More questions, forcing her to elaborate. ‘Six months’ training … why six months, Maman – I don’t know. No not training, really, just going to courses and learning to type and use some shorthand. Then maybe some lovely cushy job in the Air Ministry! Just think, I’d be able to get home at weekends.…’ She saw the joy on their faces.

‘We’re thrilled for you,’ her mother said.

They talked about her elder brother, David; he was taking a gunnery course at Manobeir. She was given his last letter to read. It was funny and individual, just like him. They had got on well as children; having a brother made Kate more of a tomboy. That night, lying in the comfort of her own bed, nursing the luxury of a hot-water bottle, Kate thrust the memories of her childhood aside. It was no good slipping back mentally, when she had made the decision. Lying to the people she loved had been both difficult and shaming. But that was part of the price she must pay every day of her life from now on. She didn’t belong to herself or her family any more. It was a chilling thought, and for a moment the niggle of fear stabbed like a pain. Of course, she wanted to tell her parents, to ask for their support, even to share her excitement and, yes, fear again, with them. But it wasn’t possible or kind. They’d worry themselves to death. Her father knew the situation in France better than most. Her mother fretted over David in the safety of Wales. Besides, wasn’t she taking too much for granted – how did she know she’d even pass the rigorous tests ahead? Scotland was going to sort out the candidates, she’d been told, seeing the Colonel on her way through London. A lot of people got injured or gave up. Only the fit and the courageous got past that initial stage. She had no guarantee. She fell asleep thinking about it, and didn’t wake till lunchtime.

It was a bright day outside. Her father worked in a reserved occupation in London; she spent a happy day with her mother, helping her in the house, drinking cups of tea and gossiping. The mood of childishness had passed. She was a woman, with another woman, who was a loved friend and companion as well as a mother. Denise Fitzgerald saw the change in her daughter, and thought it was sad and wonderful how quickly that change had come about. Still so very young, but with a confidence that hadn’t been there when she left for Portsmouth, only a few months before, red-eyed and uncertain of what was waiting for her.

‘Kate,’ she said, ‘is there a young man?’

Kate was surprised. ‘Good Lord, no. What makes you ask that?’

Denise Fitzgerald shrugged. ‘Nothing. You seem so grown up. I wondered if you had fallen in love. I’m being silly, take no notice.’

‘I haven’t even met a man, Maman,’ Kate said. ‘I told you, I’ve been marching up and down the parade ground and scrubbing floors as a punishment, and putting on weight because all we do is eat and scrounge off each other. I haven’t been off with a sailor, I promise you!’ She laughed and kissed her mother. ‘Maybe I’ve had to grow up in a hurry,’ she said. ‘What are we going to have for dinner? I’m starving.’

The week went by too quickly; she avoided telling more lies by busying herself and refusing to think about it. Every night she helped her father check the blackout when he came off the smelly, stuffy train from Victoria. Three times the sirens wailed and they went down to the Anderson shelter in the garden, but no bombs fell. They went for walks with the terrier, Mimi; she started making herself a blouse with a remnant her mother had saved up, and refused to wonder when she’d finish it. Already, the crisp east wind was stinging her in the face, warning that winter was coming, and the leaves were deep on the ground. It was comforting to be with them, but by the end of the week she was ready to go. She said goodbye to them at the local station early on Saturday afternoon. She had a travel warrant to get her to London and from London overnight to Scotland. She would be met, her instructions said, at Lossiemouth.

The loch was like a sheet of dirty steel on that October day. Massed clouds overhead gave it their own sombre colour. There was no shift of wind to move them. They lowered over the water and the house close by the edge of it like God the Father’s frown. It was a place built to withstand the weather, with thick walls and deep-set windows. A high hedge separated it from a second house, humbler in origin, built of the same heavy stone, with a low sloping roof. There was room for twelve students to be housed in both buildings, four instructors, two senior officers and a commandant, apart from domestic staff.

It was an isolated place, part of a group of similar centres in the Highlands, chosen for their locations in bleak countryside. In the depth of winter they were cut off by snow. A Major in the Scots Guards and a Captain in the Royal Corps of Signals were walking by the side of the loch. The house, with its big domestic annexe, belonged to the Major’s grandfather.

‘Bloody shame about Harris,’ the Major said. ‘He was shaping up well.’

The Captain shrugged. ‘Too cocky, that was his trouble. He’s the “I’m out for a gong” type and we don’t want those. I’m not sorry he’s out.’

Major McKay didn’t answer. Arthur Taft took dislikes to people and there was nothing to be done about it. The trainee they were discussing had antagonized him from the start. Personally McKay regretted losing him. He had courage and an aggressive spirit, and even Taft had to admit that if he had got through the physical training, he would have made an excellent pupil for the sabotage section. He had tried an over-ambitious descent in the rope-climbing two days before, hit an outcrop and cracked his shin bone in three places.

McKay and Taft had been senior selection officers at Loch Gary for eighteen months. They had a good team; four top instructors, experts in their fields. They concentrated on the French Section, known as F. Their students were all destined for the SOE operation in France if they survived the final selection course. Activity in F Section had been building up steadily in the last year. Some of their pupils, as McKay called them, had already distinguished themselves establishing resistance groups all over France. A number had been captured and were dead.

He wondered sometimes whether Taft worried about them as much as he did. It would be difficult to judge. He never referred to anyone after they left. He was a dour, surly man, devoid of charm. McKay had nothing in common with him but a determination to pick the very best out of the men and women and not let anyone doubtful slip through. They often disagreed until the last moment.

‘Well,’ McKay said at last. ‘We’ll have the new ones by tonight. Derain, Le Brun, Hunter, Sansom, Gunn and Fitzgerald. Let’s hope we’ll find one of them turns out useful.’

‘Fitzgerald’s only a kid,’ Taft said snappily. ‘Bloody ridiculous sending someone of that age.’

‘That’s what I said,’ McKay agreed. ‘But the boys in Baker Street hand-picked this candidate for some reason. I made no impression at all.’

‘Must have lost a few then,’ Taft grunted. ‘But that’s not our responsibility. We send them out of here able to look after themselves, fit as fleas and raring to go. What gets buggered up in Hampshire is another matter. Getting cold out here.’ He hunched his body up against a sudden squall of wind that tore at the loch water, lashing and whipping at it in a fury. The rain spat down on them.

‘Christ, what a climate,’ Taft muttered.

McKay ignored the remark. ‘Michaelson is the conducting officer; this is his fourth group in three months. I hope he’s in a better state than last time.’

Taft turned away from the sheeting rain, his head sunk down into his shoulders like a turtle. He surprised McKay by saying something in defence of Captain Michaelson.

‘He looked at the end of his tether last time,’ he said. ‘Living with them day and bloody night without a break for weeks on end. He shouldn’t be back so soon. Typical Baker Street.’

There was a running war between Taft and the senior officers in F Section. The last time Captain Michaelson had spent five weeks with a group of six trainees on the loch, Taft hadn’t found a good word to say for him.

‘Let’s turn back,’ McKay suggested. He looked at his watch. ‘Hickey and his lot will be back in half an hour. The new lot should get here around seven if the train’s on time.’

The storm was passing and, as the clouds cleared, a brilliant patch of sky was reflected like a sapphire in the loch. Taft hated the place; McKay had grown up there and he loved it above anywhere else in the world.

Katharine was so stiff she ached when she got up and pulled her baggage off the rack above her head. The train hissed at the platform, sounding like a punctured tyre. Doors were opening and banging shut and the guard was shouting ‘Lossiemouth, Lossiemouth’. The station’s name had been blacked out.

She heaved her bag on to the platform, shoved the door shut and got her ticket ready. She felt creased and grubby after the endless journey. Her smart new WAAF officer’s uniform had been slept in and it looked like it. She went through the barrier and waited outside. Five other people stood about, kitbags at their feet. Four men and a woman. Two in army uniform, two in RAF. The woman wore a smart khaki uniform. Kate recognized it. The First Aid Nursing Yeomanry. FANY. The Americans choked on that one. An officer with three pips on his overcoat was walking towards them. Kate didn’t hesitate; she joined the group. She saw him frown and wondered what she had done wrong.

‘I’m Captain Michaelson,’ he said. He shook hands with the men first, the army nurse and finally with her.

‘I’m Flight Officer Fitz –’ she started, hoping to please, and smiling in her most friendly way.

‘I know who you are,’ he snapped. ‘There’s a bus picking us up. It should be here by now.’ It rounded the corner and pulled up. ‘Get in please,’ he said. He followed last and sat in the front beside the army driver. The girl had slipped on to the bench seat beside Kate.

‘Charming manners,’ she whispered. ‘I’m Judy. No last names.’

‘Thanks for telling me,’ Kate murmured. ‘Nobody else did. I’m Kate. I’d love a cigarette. Do you want one?’

‘Thanks. What a journey! Did you sleep?’

‘On and off; more off than on. It’s going to be pretty cold up here.’

‘Don’t you know Scotland?’ She had a pleasant voice, with a trace of accent.

‘No,’ Kate answered. ‘We live in Surrey. There’s going to be a storm.’

‘It’ll pass,’ the girl called Judy said. ‘You get sudden squalls of rain and wind, then they blow over and it can be beautiful.’

There was a tap on Kate’s shoulder and she looked round. Three rings on the sleeve; the Squadron Leader had a very strong accent.

‘I should put those out,’ he said quietly. He nodded towards the silent figure up in the front. ‘He doesn’t like to smoke when travelling.’

‘Thanks,’ Kate whispered. What pale eyes, she noticed. A French face, under the British cap. Fine-featured, an aquiline nose; a narrow-lipped mouth that was smiling at her. And the ice-grey eyes with flecks of green in them.

‘Did he come up on the train?’ she asked.

‘Probably.’ He shrugged.

‘Do you know him?’ she asked again.

‘Only by reputation,’ he whispered back. ‘I’m Philippe.’

‘Judy.’

‘Kate.’

Both girls trod out their cigarettes under their seats. From his position by the driver, Captain Michaelson saw them do it in the driving mirror. He heard a subdued giggle. Christ, how he hated dealing with the women. The tough, butch types were different, but when it came to girls like these two.… He had bitten the head off the youngest one. All bright smiles and puppy friendliness at the station. Giving her rank and real name. And the preliminary Selection Panel had passed her. Easy for them. Not looking beyond the eager candidate, intent on giving the right answers to their loaded questions. He couldn’t get Lisette out of his mind, that was the trouble. He kept seeing her in every woman.

He realized that he had clenched his hands to stop them shaking. It took the best part of two hours before they reached the Loch and the darkness was not even lit by a star. A biting wind tore at them as they stepped out of the bus; Kate shivered, glanced round quickly and heaved her bag up. The mass of the house loomed up at them, blacker than the sky. Inside the transformation was dramatic. Lights, a big fire burning in the hallway, a fine carved stair that led out of the hall. A group of people standing by the fire, in khaki and air-force blue, looking at the new arrivals. All men, Kate noticed. The dour young officer who’d travelled with them directed them up the stairs.

‘I’ll show you your rooms; have a clean up and come down in fifteen minutes. We’ll have a drink and I’ll introduce you to the others. We have dinner at eight thirty tonight. Make yourselves at home.’

Kate’s room was next to the girl called Judy. It was pleasantly warm. Shabby, but with a comfortable bed and a good light to read by. Plain, solid Victorian furniture, and rubbed chintz. A large coloured print of a child holding two kittens faced the bed. Years ago, she thought, this was a child’s bedroom. Now it’s mine. God, I wish I could just stretch out and go to sleep. I’m so tired I’m not even hungry. And I don’t fancy spending the next six weeks with that Captain Snappit breathing down my neck. There was a knock on the door. Judy looked in.

‘Are you ready? I thought we’d go down together.’

Kate jumped up, feeling guilty. ‘I haven’t even combed my hair.’

The older girl said quietly, ‘I’d hurry up then. I’ll wait for you, but it doesn’t do to be late.’ She waited while Kate fumbled in her holdall for lipstick and quickly combed her hair. She’s quite beautiful, she thought, but she doesn’t know it. Michaelson is going to give her hell. It would be interesting to see how the girl coped. There was a lot of the schoolgirl about her, and an independent gleam that Captain Michael-son would do his best to extinguish. If he succeeded, she was out. Judy looked at her watch.

‘I’m going down,’ she said.

‘Wait for me!’ Kate threw the holdall into a corner and hurried after her. ‘It’s only a minute or two after he said,’ she protested.

‘It’s still late,’ Judy answered. ‘It’ll count against you.’ They were almost at the door of the staircase and the man called Philippe was already by the fire, talking to the others.

‘How do you know?’ Kate demanded.

‘Because I’ve been here before,’ Judy answered.

Captain Michaelson advanced on them. ‘Come and meet the rest of the group,’ he said.

Kate hardly listened to the names. Six men, all different, roughly the same age, all shaking hands and answering to names like Raoul and Jean and Bernard, which sounded unconvincing. Some with accents, others completely English; one with a distinct Welsh lilt. She felt shy and excited. Someone gave her a gin and tonic and lit a cigarette for her. The conversation was forced. Questions about her journey; over hearty laughter about the state of the trains. She wanted to join up with Judy, but she was talking to Michaelson. She had been there before, so she would know the form.

‘Hallo.’ She found Philippe beside her. The young soldier she’d been talking to moved away.

‘You look anxious,’ he said. The amazing translucent eyes smiled at her. She found them disconcerting, and wanted to look away. ‘You needn’t worry,’ he said. ‘You’ll find everyone here helpful and friendly. They’re not encouraged to say too much when they first meet you. And I gather one of their best men has retired injured, so there’s a little cloud over them all tonight.’

‘You sound as if you’ve been here before too,’ Kate answered. ‘Judy has, she told me. I thought one only had to train once.’

‘For me it’s a refresher; for Judy,’ he shrugged, ‘I don’t know. I don’t know anything about her. Or about you. Except you are very new.’

‘I’m new,’ she agreed, ‘and I wish I wasn’t. How did this person get injured?’

‘He had an accident rock-climbing,’ Philippe answered. ‘They lost a girl two weeks ago. She put her foot in a rabbit hole and broke her ankle when they were out on an exercise. So you’ll have to be careful not to hurt yourself.’

He was being kind and reassuring. She wished she liked him. ‘I’m pretty tough,’ she said. ‘My PT instructor said so.’

‘I’m sure he did,’ was the answer, ‘but I think you’ll find this quite a lot harder than parade-ground PT. Would you like another drink? The first evening is relaxed, but they don’t serve alcohol normally. Just now and again.’

‘That won’t worry me,’ Kate said. ‘I don’t drink anything except wine.’ She pulled a face. ‘I don’t even like gin.’

‘Then you’ll have wine tonight,’ Philippe smiled. ‘Always on the first night, there is wine for dinner. There is the gong. Come, I’ll show you where we go.’ He guided her by a light touch on her arm. A gong. It was like something out of a Hollywood film. This imposing house with its evidence of class and privilege, but going back a very long time. The confident shabbiness of generations. The dining room was like a school refectory. One long table, orderlies in white coats to serve the food, an atmosphere like a school. The food was generous; quantities of vegetables and luxuries like fresh bread and butter. The wine was thin and sour, but she was thankful for it.

She didn’t try to talk; she found herself seated next to Captain Michaelson, who hardly spoke to her at all, and the strange men on either side were polite but disinterested. The new girl had nothing to contribute. They seemed preoccupied and exclusive. She felt miserable, which Michaelson noticed. Homesick on the first night, he thought. Nobody was making a fuss of her, though she was the best-looking girl they’d seen in a long time at Loch Gary. And she hadn’t flirted with Philippe, who had given her the opportunity. That was a good sign anyway. He wasn’t sorry for her. She had no right to expect his sympathy, if she felt like a lost soul, and wanted to turn round and go straight back to her Portsmouth Barracks and forget it all. She had only herself to blame for coming to Loch Gary, and for getting involved in the Service. Women shouldn’t be allowed, he protested silently, and again his hands trembled, remembering Lisette. Women shouldn’t be sent over.… By Christ, he was going to lean on this girl. And he’d see the instructors did the same. She’d hate his guts for it, but she might just live to thank him. Unlike Lisette, whom he’d sent out to her death only eight months ago.

Kate had never been so cold in her life. Her hands and feet were numb, a vicious wind whipped at her face, and the summit of the rock loomed overhead, slippery and smooth. It was the third rock-climbing exercise that her group had been set and the most difficult. Michaelson had supervised their preliminary training, under a grim-faced PT instructor; stiff and sore, Kate remembered Philippe’s warning the first day. ‘Don’t try too hard, let your body get accustomed, or you’ll hurt yourself.’ She hadn’t listened, determined to prove herself, and found out just what good advice that was. She hated heights, but never said a word. They climbed a modest outcrop and she felt more confident. And Michaelson watched her, silent when she did well and scathing about the least mistake. The evenings became more relaxed; people formed friendships, hoping they might end in the same team, but not knowing. The group who had been there when Kate arrived dispersed ten days later. No one knew who had passed or failed. The next morning they weren’t there. That was all. No questions were asked, no explanations offered. The discipline was accepted without demur because the penalty for breaking it was a taxi ride to Lossiemouth and a rail voucher out. After the rock-climb, there would be twenty-four hours’ rest, Michaelson had announced the night before. They would begin with a survival course in open country the following day. Next to Kate the airman muttered, ‘Christ,’ and pulled a face. ‘What’s he trying to do, kill us off?’

‘You made a comment?’ The chilly stare passed over Kate for once. The young man grinned; he was always cheerful, and Kate liked him. His name was Fred and he came from the Midlands.

‘Just a silent prayer, Sir.’

Michaelson said, ‘Next time, keep it more silent.’

The night before the climb Kate couldn’t sleep. The second climb had been a miserable ordeal, undertaken in sheets of icy rain, and she was trembling with fright and exhaustion when she reached the top. The instructor was there first, assessing each of them as they arrived and she felt he paid special attention to her.

‘Lovely view,’ he said, inviting them to stand up and take a look. She didn’t linger to admire it; there was no view in the driving rainstorm and he knew it.

‘Don’t like heights?’ The question was sharp.

‘Not much,’ she said.

‘Didn’t think you did. You won’t fancy going up Corrib’s Peak. Right, take ten minutes’ breather and down we go.’

Corrib’s Peak. Everyone knew it was a major test and failing it meant ultimate failure on the course. Courage, fitness, agility and determination were the qualities needed. Philippe was not among the team. He tried to help her, giving advice on the finer points of the climb. He knew it well and there was nothing to worry about. He seemed to sense her fear. Concentration was the secret, to channel the mind in the direction of the next hand and toe hold, so that it couldn’t take a mental peep below. Regular breathing helped the supply of oxygen to the muscles and regulated the heartbeat. It also controlled the nervous impulses. She was grateful to him, wondering why he took so much trouble with her. He was a detached man, set apart from them by his field experience. The instructors treated him with respect and Michaelson talked to him as an equal. Even so, it was obvious that they didn’t like each other.

There were two very senior officers from F Section, who came and went from group to group. A charming Scotsman who introduced himself as Major McKay and a sour, abrasive Englishman called Taft. These two, Judy told her, were the final judges of who left to go on the second stage and who returned to their original units.

The morning of the climb came, and they set out just after daybreak. Corrib’s Peak! She didn’t look up when they arrived at the bottom. She held fast to the Frenchman’s advice, shuttering her mind against the pictures her imagination painted. They started up, roped together, five of them, with Judy in the middle and Fred behind Kate. He managed to make a joke as they started. There was no rain, only the bitter wind. Kate went on; hand hold, toe hold, hand hold, toe hold, inching up, following the back view of the one above her, numbed and beginning to ache with tiredness. Keeping her eyes fixed on the next place to grasp and heave upwards. She was not going to be sick. She was not going to listen to the devil at her ear that urged her to look down and see how far she’d come. She was going to get to the top, without slipping, or shouting up to the others to give her a minute to rest, or actually just losing hold and swinging out from that rope like a puppet on a string.… If you fail this, you might as well pack up and go home. Everyone knew that. She wasn’t going to fail. She didn’t realize when a hand reached down to haul her up; she clung on with her dead fingers and heaved and toed her way the last few feet to the plateau. She sat and gasped for breath and suddenly a sense of sheer well-being came over her. Adrenalin poured into her bloodstream and she wasn’t tired or nauseated any more. She’d done it. She’d made the climb and Corrib’s Peak was conquered. She saw Judy, who called out, ‘Well done!’

‘You too,’ was Kate’s reply.

The instructor crouched beside her. ‘Like to see the view?’

She started to get up and he put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Only a joke, Miss. You did well. Have a rest and a smoke anyone who wants.’

After a pause Kate said, ‘Where’s Fred?’

‘Down the bottom,’ came the answer. ‘Didn’t like it. Cut his line and stayed below.’

‘Oh, poor Fred, what a shame.’

There was a celebration that night. Philippe was the first to congratulate her.

‘It was thanks to you,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t have done it without all your advice.’

He smiled and for a moment the pale eyes reflected it. ‘You were a little frightened, I thought. Yes?’

Kate said, ‘I was absolutely terrified. I was having nightmares about going up there. Any height makes me sick.’

‘Then you must be specially pleased,’ he answered. She looked past him to Michaelson. He was sitting next to Judy. He hadn’t said a word to her, but she had heard him praise the others.

‘It doesn’t matter how hard I try,’ she said. ‘I can’t do right with him. He ignored me tonight. You’d think I’d chickened out, like poor Fred. I ought to go and talk to him, he looks so down. He’ll be sent home, won’t he?’

‘Maybe, maybe not. He has other skills. Not everyone has to have a head for heights,’ Philippe answered. ‘Don’t let the Captain worry you. He knows you did well.’

A party developed that went on way past midnight. Drinks were served after dinner and she settled down to comfort Fred.

‘I couldn’t bloody do it,’ he complained. ‘I thought it’d be just a piece of cake. But I got frozen up, Katie.’ He called her Katie, but no one else did. ‘Christ, I could’ve fallen and broken my bloody neck if I’d gone on. Well, I’d better start packing my gear for the morning trip to Lossiemouth.’

While the party went on in the hall downstairs Michael-son was in conference with the senior officers, McKay and Taft. They were discussing Fred.

‘He should go,’ Michaelson insisted. ‘He’s a good chap, but he showed a total loss of nerve today.’

McKay and Taft looked at each other. They echoed Philippe’s comment. ‘He’s got other skills, remember. They say he was one of the best safe men in the Midlands. You’ll get people who’ll get themselves up Corrib, but they won’t be able to open a German strong-room. I think you should forget about this morning, Michaelson.’

‘Then why did the others have to do it? Because if they’re pushed, and they have to use the escape route to Spain, they might have to make a climb like that! Or are you saying that Fred Gunn’s expendable, if things go wrong?’

Taft said acidly, ‘They’re all expendable and you know it. We train them, we equip them, and we send them out. What happens after that is not our business.’

‘Well,’ Michaelson got up. ‘I’m glad you can look at it like that.’

‘That’s how you should look at it too,’ McKay said quietly. ‘The Fitzgerald girl did well today.’

‘Yes,’ Michaelson said. ‘Unfortunately she did. But there’s a way to go yet. I’ll say good night. They’re having a bit of fun downstairs. I’ll tell Gunn he’s staying on. No point in spoiling his evening.’

When he had gone McKay lit a cigarette. The dour Taft didn’t smoke. ‘He’s got a real down on that girl; we’d better keep an eye on her.’

‘He should pack it in,’ Taft remarked. ‘He’s got a thing about women after Lisette. Personally I think we should put in a word with F Section and get him posted out of here.’

‘I agree with you,’ McKay said. ‘But not till he’s seen this lot through the first part of their course. You can’t upset them in the middle by changing. Then he goes. Now, nightcap?’

‘Good idea,’ Taft said. They gave themselves a generous helping of the precious whisky before they each went to their rooms.

Fred was the hero of the survival course. They were taken out on to the moors, given a meagre basic ration and a compass and told to report back to the main house by four p.m. the following day. They were sixty miles deep into wild countryside, without radio linkage or any knowledge of the terrain. They steered by compass. As if on signal, a tremendous storm broke. The sky blackened as if it was night. Rain swept like scythes, soaking through their waterproof clothes, blinding in its velocity. Thunder exploded and the lightning streaked viciously through inky clouds. There wasn’t an inch of shelter on the moors. Then to everyone’s surprise it was Fred, the urban dweller, who took command. He huddled them in groups of three, facing inwards against the wind, holding the tarpaulin over themselves as a shield. Their bodies helped to keep the supplies dry and to maintain some kind of warmth. He kept their spirits up by joking.

‘Bloody Walt Disney couldn’t do better than this lot – next thing we’ll see the Wicked Queen! How’s Snow White doing in the corner?’ That was to Judy, who was shivering with cold and flinching at the thunderclaps.

‘I’m okay. Sadistic bastards, they knew the weather was going to do this!’

‘I’ll bet they did,’ Fred shouted, above the yelling of the storm. ‘Warming their backsides by the fire and thinking of us!’

When the storm slackened, they began to walk, encouraged by Fred, who set a brisk pace. It would help to dry off, he said. If the clouds lifted, he might get a setting. But the general direction they should take was north east. How did he know, they demanded. Because he’d taken a fix when they left, and that was the rough compass reading. Come on, step it out, he roared, imitating their instructor’s buzz-saw voice. At intervals they stopped, rested, used some of their rations. But they walked throughout the night, guided by brief glimpses of the stars through broken clouds. Judy and Gerard, a young Frenchman, paired off, supporting each other. He had a severely blistered foot and she was chilled and exhausted. Kate had no partner. She was soaked and shivering, but otherwise in good heart.

How funny about the little airman. The rock had defeated him, but the vile terrain and blistering cold and darkness didn’t worry him at all. It was good to see the comradeship between the weaker and the strong. Judy and Gerard with his raw, bleeding heel … Fred helping another man, who’d complained of a feverish cold before they started out. He’d be lucky to escape pneumonia by the time they got back.

And get back they did, at exactly twenty-two minutes before four o’clock the next afternoon. Judy was in bed for three days, running a temperature. Fred’s companion got pleurisy and was taken to hospital. He didn’t return to the course. Kate and Fred suffered no ill effects. She could see that Michaelson was disappointed when she came down to breakfast the next morning.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Michaelson announced. ‘You’ve been here two and a half months. We’ve lost one of you through illness. Another redeemed himself after making a fair mess of an exercise.…’ Fred turned to Kate and grinned. ‘The rest have done well in some areas of training and badly or fairly in others. We’re coming now to the last two weeks of this particular course, and I’m going to hand you over to Mr Finch. Mr Finch will teach all of you the basic principles of unarmed combat, and from there he will show you how to switch from defence to attack. Some of you – Philippe and Judy – have done this before, so you can occupy yourselves by assessing the others and helping Mr Finch with demonstrations. If you feel you need smartening up, he’ll put you into a class. I must warn those of you who have no experience of this, that you can get hurt.’

‘He’s looking straight at me,’ Kate murmured.

‘Miss Fitzgerald, if you have any comment to make, why don’t you let us all have the benefit? I’m sure we will all learn something.’

A month ago, Kate thought, I would have sunk through the floor. But not now. I’ve had enough of your bullying. ‘I said you were looking straight at me, Captain.’

‘How very presumptuous of you.’ There was complete silence. Michaelson let it continue and then said abruptly, ‘Now, perhaps we can get on.’

Kate stepped forward, brushing aside Judy’s restraining hand on her arm. ‘Captain Michaelson, if you don’t think I’m suitable for this course, I wish you’d say so.’

She was surprised to see a red colour creep into his face.

‘I will, at the right time. Which isn’t in the middle of my briefing. If you have anything to say, then come and see me in my office at six o’clock.’

‘Thank you,’ Kate answered. ‘I’ll be glad to.’ She turned and went back to her group. She saw a very odd expression on Philippe’s face.

Mr Finch appeared later that morning. He was small and slight and unprepossessing, with a broad Yorkshire accent. Track-suited, wearing gym shoes, they were lined up in a row. He looked them over carefully, taking his time. He nodded to Philippe and frowned when he saw Judy. He actually snorted when he came to Fred, who looked painfully skinny out of uniform.

‘I’m here,’ he announced, ‘to teach you how to take care of yourselves. And so as I can do it, I’m not going to take care of you, if you see my meaning. Now, let’s play a little game, ladies and gents. Let’s imagine we’re in a dark street with houses either side and nobody about. Right? Right. You, Sir, Mr Gerard, is it? Right, you’re walking down this street, minding your own business and someone’s laying for you.… Right? Right, come along then, walk past me – you don’t see me ’cos I’m hidden in a doorway, right? Right.’ The young Frenchman walked past the instructor. Finch moved up and threw an arm lock on him.

‘What do you do now, eh? How do you break this hold – come on, come on, don’t be bashful – I’m a German, right? Making an arrest.’

Gerard, a rather taciturn man, who prided himself on his fitness, made a quick and violent movement. Finch changed his stance and threw him very hard indeed on to the stone floor. ‘I can see you’ve got a lot to learn, Sir, but never mind. I’m here to teach you, right? Anyone else want to try?’

Nobody volunteered. Satisfied, Finch nodded. ‘Right,’ he repeated yet again. ‘We’ll start with the basics. Mr Philippe, will you step forward and show the ladies and gents how it’s done?’

After a hot bath, Kate lay on her bed, lit a cigarette and closed her eyes. She’d learned a lot by watching. Finch had taught her a few simple rules, and she felt she’d mastered them. How to break a stranglehold; how to knee an attacker without knocking him in the thigh instead of the crutch. It was done gently and slowly as part of a general demonstration of technique. She felt he was only waiting for an opportunity to throw someone like the unfortunate Gerard. Judy knocked on the door and came in. ‘The bathroom’s free,’ she said. ‘I’ve had mine.’

Kate held out the cigarettes. Judy took one and sat on the edge of the bed. She looked tired, Kate thought, and on edge.

‘Got a light?’ She mimicked the maddening voice that had gone through their heads all afternoon.

‘Right? Right! I thought if he said it again I’d go mad and start screaming!’

‘He’s a nasty little brute,’ Judy murmured. ‘I remember him from my first time. He used a hold on me that nearly broke my bloody arm. He’s a right little sadist. You watch out for him.’

‘I will,’ Kate said. ‘And talking of sadists, I’m going to have it out with Michaelson tonight.’

‘You made quite a stir this morning.’ Judy puffed rapidly at the cigarette.

There’s something the matter with her, Kate decided. Maybe it’s this little horror, Finch. I’ll ask her later. ‘I suppose it was a silly thing to do,’ she admitted, ‘but I’ve had enough of him picking on me for everything. Do you realize he’s never said a single word of encouragement from the moment I got here? All he’s done is snipe at me, made me feel a perfect fool whenever possible, and try to undermine my confidence. I’m going to ask him why.’

Judy said slowly, ‘He never gives explanations. He has picked on you, Kate, it’s been very noticeable. But he doesn’t exactly like me either. Trouble is, he can’t flunk me, because I’m only on a refresher course. But he’d like to. I think the whole thing has got on top of him. Ever noticed his hands? He shakes like a leaf. My God, it’s nearly six – you’ll be late.’

‘Oh no, I won’t,’ Kate promised her. ‘I’m going to be outside that damned door at exactly 1800 hours! Wish me luck. The way I feel I may get thrown out on my ear.’

‘Come in.’ Michaelson was sitting at his desk. There were a lot of stubs in the ashtray in front of him. He scowled at her. Kate walked over to the desk and said, ‘I won’t keep you long, Captain.’

‘You won’t indeed,’ he said. ‘I’m very busy.’

‘And very rude.’

He jerked upright, stared at her, and was about to say something. Kate didn’t flinch or look away. Suddenly he made a gesture; it was almost despairing.

‘I’m sorry. It’s a waste of time your coming here, but you might as well say your piece and get it over.’

‘It’s not a very long piece,’ she said quietly. ‘Just one question really. What have you got against me?’

‘Against you? You in particular? You must be a very conceited young woman to ask a question like that.’

‘If I’m conceited,’ Kate answered, ‘it’s no thanks to you. I’ve never done anything right, so far as you’re concerned. So why haven’t you chucked me out?’

He leaned back in his chair, tipping it slightly. He made his expression as unpleasant as possible. ‘You’ll know that at the end of the course.’

‘I want to know the reason; I’ll take my chance on the result. You’ve taken a personal dislike to me, Captain Michaelson, and you’ve done your best to make my life hell since I came here. Either you stop it and give me a fair chance with the rest of the group, or …’

‘Or you walk out,’ he finished for her. ‘I don’t know how we’ll win the war without you!’ He lit a cigarette; she saw that he could hardly hold the lighter steady long enough to light it.

‘I’m not walking out,’ she said quietly. ‘I wasn’t going to say that. That was wishful thinking on your part. I’m going to get through and go to Europe and unless I make a mess of it, you’re not going to bully me out of the chance.’

‘Bully you?’ The chair came back on its feet with a bump. He pushed it away and got up. He walked a few paces and then turned round to face her. ‘Bully? My God, you bloody silly little idiot, you don’t know what bullying means.’

Kate didn’t answer. The sight of those trembling hands kept her quiet. There were lines of deep strain on a face that should have been young.

‘Sit down,’ he said. ‘You smoke, don’t you – here, have a cigarette, help yourself.’ He tossed the lighter to her. ‘You say I’ve given you hell. Well, that’s my job. To make life tough and difficult so we can weed out the people who won’t last the pace when they go overseas. But not tough and difficult enough! They send in girls like you, puffed up with a lot of nonsense about damaging the Germans in Europe and helping our gallant Allies to resist – did they give you all that cock-and-bull at the interview? Yes, of course they did. Told you you mustn’t rush into it, oulined all the risks; not too many gory details, of course, and then said you were indispensable … but you must think it over very carefully and ring up some charming army chap – did he take you out to lunch by any chance? By God he did, I can see by your face! What a lot of shits they are!’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Kate said slowly. ‘It happened, but not like you put it. I do think I’ve got an important job to do. And why do you help them, if you think it’s nonsense and they’re playing some kind of dirty trick on people like me?’

He didn’t answer her directly. ‘It’s not the men I mind.’ He was speaking low, as if he was talking to himself. ‘Men can take care of themselves. You can train them to be tough, to kill. To die fighting, or take the L pill. But it’s madness for women! Criminal bloody madness to pretend they’re men and send them out there!’ He sat on the edge of the desk. ‘You’re very sure of yourself; you think it’s going to be a bit of an adventure. I saw your attitude the first morning when you stepped off the train. I said to myself then, Oh Christ! You wouldn’t listen to me, I suppose? All right, I haven’t been nice to you or fair, but just try and listen to me this once. You’re no coward, and you’re far from stupid. I’d say that in some ways you’re better equipped for this sort of thing than most of the girls I’ve trained here. But that doesn’t make you remotely suitable to go into Europe and take on the most highly trained and ruthless counter-intelligence service in the world. And that’s what this is all about. Not tramping over the moors or climbing rocks, or having Finch throw you about and getting a few bruises. I’m talking about the Gestapo!’ He grabbed another cigarette. Kate held the lighter for him. ‘Not to mention the Abwehr. They’re the army, but they’re not exactly gentlemen when it comes to women. You’re not listening, are you? No, of course you’re not. I’ve been a sod to you, and you wouldn’t take in anything I said.’

For a moment they looked at each other. It was as if she was seeing him for the first time. There was no sarcasm, no arrogance about him; the professional mask was dropped and a man racked with some private anguish was pleading with her not to make it worse. She came and held out her hand to him.

‘I have listened to you. And I understand the risks now. Maybe I didn’t before, but you’ve made them a lot clearer to me. I will think about it, I promise you. And I’m sorry you feel like this. It must be awful for you, doing this job.’

He took her hand and turned it over, studying the palm for a moment.

‘You have a long life-line, anyway,’ he said. ‘That’s something. My mother believed in it. One other thing.’ He let her hand go.

‘Yes?’

‘Have a drink with me tonight. Because tomorrow, I’m going to make sure Finch gives you hell all over again.’

Kate smiled. ‘I’ll meet you in the hall then. Half an hour? I’ll look forward to it.’

She went out and he sighed. Then he clenched his fist and banged it down hard on the top of the desk. He had told himself he hated her before. Now that he liked her, it was even worse.

The evening drink with Michaelson became a joke among the group. At the end of a gruelling day, nursing their bumps and bruises, cursing the insufferable Finch who was obviously enjoying their humiliation, they waited for Captain Michaelson to go up to Kate and single her out.

‘He fancies you,’ Fred insisted. ‘I’ve heard the gossip from the lads in the ranks here. He never bought a drink for anyone except some French girl, and now you. They said he was cracked on her, too.’

Kate nudged him lightly in his sore ribs and he groaned. ‘Shut up,’ she said. ‘Or I’ll tell Finch you want to be guinea pig tomorrow!’ Then later, when they were drinking coffee in the hall after dinner, ‘What French girl?’

‘Don’t listen to him,’ Gerard interrupted. ‘He has a dirty little English mind. There was someone he liked; I’ve heard talk, but that’s all.’

‘What happened to her?’ Kate asked. Nobody knew. Nothing changed during the day. Michaelson encouraged Finch to drive his pupils harder every session. Kate knew what was coming, and got her share of lumps and bumps, but she was a quick pupil and she wasn’t frightened. It was obvious that Judy was. Whenever possible she made an excuse not to try and exercise with Finch. Finally one day, with Michaelson in the background watching, he cornered her.

‘Now Miss,’ he said, ‘we’re going to have a special demonstration for the class. You’re a young lady doing something naughty with a suitcase. Taking something somewhere which the Huns mustn’t find, right? Right. I’m a nasty Nazi and I stop you and pull a gun. Right? Now here’s the case, all ready for you. Good weight inside it. You take it, Miss, right-handed aren’t you – right? Carry it in your right then.’

‘Why right?’ someone called out. ‘If you were right-handed you’d carry a bag in the other hand.’

Finch grimaced, pretending to smile. ‘Now why don’t you wait and see, right? There’s method in my madness, ladies and gents. Always a reason. Take the case, Miss.’

Judy was very pale. She moved forward, lifted the heavy suitcase and stood awkwardly.

‘You’re walking out of a railway station,’ Finch announced. ‘You’re clear so far. Then up comes the nasty Nazi, which is me. So start walking towards me, if you please, right? Right!’ It was obvious that Judy was uneasy. Finch sprang in front of her, pulled a dummy gun out of his pocket and yelled at her in German. Judy froze. He yelled again. She swung the suitcase, but the move was hesitant. Instead of knocking the gun out of Finch’s hand, he sidestepped her easily. She dropped the case and backed away from him. She shouted, ‘No, you keep off! You’re not going to hurt me like that again!’ It was such a shock that nobody moved or spoke. They faced each other, Judy glaring at him, the instructor grinning as if he had proved a point.

Michaelson called out, ‘Try someone else, Finch. Judy’s a bit sore after last time.’

Kate waited, knowing he was going to pick her. And he did. She knocked the gun out of his hand before he’d finished shouting and heaved the case at his legs. He didn’t fall because he knew the movement, but an ordinary soldier would have been disarmed and knocked off his feet, while she escaped.

There was a little burst of clapping from the class. She went back, scarlet-faced, and put her arm round Judy.

‘Kick him in the balls next time,’ she whispered.

After the session Finch made his report. Michaelson listened, made notes, added his own assessment and paused before leaving.

‘You didn’t let Fitzgerald catch you out, by any chance? I’ve known you play tricks like that to make them overconfident.’

Finch said, ‘No, Sir. She got the timing right. She’s not bad, that girl. Very quick reactions and she’s not scared of a rough and tumble. Whereas the other one …’

‘Yes,’ Michaelson said. ‘There is a problem there. See you tomorrow. Good night.’

‘What does he talk about?’ They all asked her the same question. Half an hour spent with Michaelson before dinner, sitting apart from the rest. What did he say? What did they have in common? Not shop. That was the unwritten rule among the staff. Off duty they never discussed the day’s events with their pupils.

Kate shrugged. ‘Nothing special. He likes cricket.’

They all laughed. ‘Come on, Kate, don’t give us that!’

The French were scathing. ‘Cricket! Only an Englishman would talk about a cricket game to a pretty girl.’

It was true, though they didn’t believe her. He talked about the cricket matches played on the village green in his Hampshire home. He talked about his parents, and a younger sister who was getting married to the son of family friends. He talked endlessly about civilian life and his memories of growing up in a secure and peaceful countryside. And Kate listened. He wasn’t in love with her, or emotionally involved as her friends supposed. He wanted someone he could talk to and she had shown him friendship that night in his office. He was a sadly isolated man, doing a job he hated and didn’t believe was worthwhile. He took refuge from it for half an hour each night with Kate Fitzgerald for the price of two gin and tonics.

Nobody would believe that explanation, so she joked about it and let them think what they liked. Judy was on the defensive for some days after the incident with Finch. She brushed Kate’s sympathy aside.

‘I don’t care what they put in the report,’ Judy declared. ‘I’m not going to be knocked about by that little beast. He likes it; he likes showing off at a woman’s expense, especially if he thinks she’s from a different class! I had it before and I’m not standing for it again!’

Kate said, ‘Oh come on, Judy, that’s a bit far-fetched. He’s a little bully, but you’re reading too much into it. All right, you’re not going to let him hurt you. That’s fair enough. Tell him you’re not going to work with him.’

‘And I’m not,’ Judy blazed. ‘I won’t have a dirty little man like that putting his hands on me.’

Afterwards Philippe said, ‘She thinks Michaelson couldn’t fail her, but that’s not so. He could send a very damaging report to Baker Street if he thinks she’s afraid of physical pain. She must realize that.’

‘I will support her,’ Gerard spoke up sharply in Judy’s defence. ‘She’s right. Right, right – Bah! That little pig with his gramophone record – he goes too far. It isn’t necessary.’

Philippe turned away. He never argued when he had made a point. If it wasn’t accepted, that was that. So nothing was said, but Finch never asked Judy to demonstrate with him again.

The last part of the course was teaching them how to kill without weapons. And Kate did not come out of it well. She was excellent at defensive work, but unable to approach an unsuspecting victim and break his neck with a trained blow. Finch shouted at her, lost his temper, knocked her flying on two occasions as a lesson not to pull back at the crucial moment, but she didn’t do well.

‘You wait, Miss,’ Finch threatened her. ‘You wait till they’ve got your best friend by the short and curlies, and you see one of ’em. You’ll use what I’ve taught you and be glad of it!’

It was Christmas week when they ended the course at Loch Gary. Gerard opted out. He had thought very carefully and decided that he was not the right type to work underground in Europe. He didn’t trust himself to withstand physical torture and for religious reasons he would not agree to take the famous L pill and commit suicide if arrested. This made him a danger to others and he had decided to return to his RAF base. He said goodbye and wished them all luck. Everyone else in Kate’s group passed and there was no query about Judy. Everyone, staff, instructors and McKay and Taft, joined in the party the night before they left for a brief Christmas leave. Michaelson didn’t stay long. He congratulated them in turn and she noticed he was especially nice to Judy. He said goodbye to Kate last.

‘Well done,’ he said. ‘You really did well. But it doesn’t alter what I told you. You will think about it, won’t you?’

‘I will,’ she promised. ‘Have a nice Christmas; are you going home?’

‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘Thank God. Are you?’

She nodded, happy at the prospect. ‘I can’t wait,’ she said. ‘I must remember not to swear when I get home. My family’d have a fit if they heard me.’

He smiled too, the wintry smile that had no joy in it. ‘I’ll see you in Hampshire,’ he said. But it was over forty years before they met again.

‘I remember my Christmas leave,’ Katharine said. It was darkening outside, the sun had set and there was a faint chill in the garden that sent them indoors. Paul Roulier poured them both a drink. The terrier jumped on her knee and made itself comfortable. It watched the Frenchman with bright, inquisitive eyes, and then went to sleep.

‘It was a lovely leave,’ she went on. ‘I told my father and mother a pack of lies about my job as a translator. Funnily enough I felt my brother didn’t quite believe it. He looked at me in an odd way and I was terrified he’d say something when we were alone. But he didn’t and I never knew if he suspected the truth because he was killed in Normandy. Only twenty-three. What a bloody waste.’ She lit a cigarette. ‘Anyway we had a marvellous Christmas and I talked French non-stop, which made Maman very happy. And then I packed up and went to Hampshire. Beaulieu – you wouldn’t know it, but it’s a beautiful place in the heart of the New Forest. We stayed at a very grand manor house, and that was the second stage in the training. It was very varied, and much more technical than Loch Gary. They taught us simple coding and wireless transmission, how to leave messages – Don’t they call it dead-letter boxes now? – German aircraft recognition, and a sight recognition of all the German ranks and uniforms. I remember I found that bit very confusing, but I liked using the radio. They said I had a flair for transmitting.’

‘You didn’t find it exciting?’ Roulier questioned.

She said, ‘No, more interesting than exciting. I had to exercise my soft little brain instead of my body. But we had a devil of a PT instructor who made us work out for an hour a day, to keep our fitness up. What was nice about it was Judy being there, and Fred. Fred made us all laugh and drove the technical instructors up the wall. I said to him one night when we were playing cards after dinner, “How the hell do you know so much about blowing open doors and picking locks?” I’ll never forget the way he said it. Solemn as a judge. “It’s my living, Katie. I’m a burglar in civilian life.”

‘And he was. We were a nice group, but Judy and Fred and I stuck together. I never saw any of the others afterwards so I won’t bother you with them. They were all decent types, several girls this time. Couriers, wireless operators, a couple of real French tarts dressed up in uniform. We had fun guessing what they were going to do when they got there.’

‘So you passed out of the course, all three of you? What about Philippe? Did you see him again?’

‘Oh yes,’ Katharine said. ‘I did indeed. I’ll tell you about the final assessment. I was so thrilled at getting through I didn’t think about it at the time, but afterwards, going over it in my mind, there was something wrong from start to finish.’

She was surprised to see Captain Alfurd among the panel of officers. Each candidate came in alone and was asked a set of questions, followed by a brief conversation in their special language. The senior officer was a brigadier, a most un-soldierly type, with thick glasses and a donnish way of speaking. He praised her work at Loch Gary and at Beaulieu. She had impressed her instructors and the conducting officer with her determination and courage. It had been decided to pair her with an experienced woman agent.

Kate said, ‘Is it Judy, Sir?’

The Brigadier smiled. ‘You’re not supposed to ask, but you’re quite right. She will complement you. A little tougher and bolder, but then she is older and has been overseas before. You’ll make a good team.’

‘Thank you, Sir,’ Kate answered.

Robert Alfurd nodded at her, smiling encouragement. She felt elated and proud. She had done well; they said so. Determined and brave. Who would have imagined that the over-eager girl who maddened Michaelson at first sight should end up with a report from him like that. Philippe had been wrong about Judy. There was no mark against her because she was frightened of unarmed combat. A little tougher and bolder! Well done, Judy. She saluted, shook hands with everyone, and felt a warm squeeze from the young Captain. Outside the door she found Philippe waiting.

‘You passed? Of course. Congratulations.’ He put his arms round her and kissed her cheek. The hold was a little too tight and the kiss lasted too long. She broke away.

‘Where’s Judy? She’s going too.’

‘Well, that’s wonderful,’ he said. ‘She will be pleased.’

‘What about you?’ Kate asked him. ‘Are you next?’

He shook his head. ‘No. I am already chosen. I was waiting for you. It’s a pity we’re not allowed out. I could have taken you to dinner to celebrate.’

‘What a pity,’ Kate agreed. I wouldn’t have gone, she thought, wondering what it was about him that disturbed her. She didn’t like that kiss and the firm hold on her body.

‘I have a lot of things to do,’ she excused herself. ‘Packing and tidying up. We’re going straight on tomorrow for our final briefing and embarkation. I was hoping to see my family before I went.’

Philippe said, ‘Your first trip won’t be a long one. You’ll be working with me. I asked for you especially.’

‘Oh?’ She managed to sound pleased. ‘That is flattering. Did you ask for Judy too?’

He didn’t hesitate. ‘No. Only for you. I’d better get packed too. See you before dinner. If I remember, they give us champagne tonight.’

It was a haze in her memory, that last evening at Beaulieu. The successful candidates were noisy and elated. There was an upright piano in the room where they served coffee; one of the girls sat down and began to play popular songs. Everyone joined in, clapping and banging table tops. She ended with the sentimental hit of the year, ‘We’ll Meet Again’. Vera Lynn’s poignant love song of two lovers parted by the war brought tears to Kate’s eyes. She had teamed up with Judy and Fred. He was brimming with wine and emotion, singing at the top of his voice.

Judy nudged her. ‘He’s got more to be happy about than most of us. If he hadn’t passed, he’d have gone back to jail!’ Her laugh was full of affection. Kate saw Fred grin and reach out to her. For a moment they held hands. Kate thought in amazement, Good Lord, they’re fond of each other. And I never noticed it before. She thought wistfully, I wish I had someone, instead of Philippe following me with those chilly cat’s eyes. I wish I had a man to sing to tonight. Maybe she had let her imagination run away, thinking there was anything but shipboard friendship between Fred and Judy. The professional safe-breaker and the daughter of a London surgeon, who was known to be a snob. Kate dismissed the idea as fancy. Later, Captain Alfurd came and joined her.

‘I must say, you came through with flying colours,’ he said. The pianist was playing dance tunes and some couples were inching their way round a corner of the room where there was a little space.

‘I didn’t expect to,’ she said. ‘My conducting officer in Scotland did his best to get me chucked out.’ And to persuade me not to go at all, she remembered suddenly, but she didn’t say it.

‘That’s his job,’ Alfurd countered. ‘You’d be surprised how many people give up under pressure.’

‘I suppose so,’ Kate agreed. ‘It only made me more determined.’

‘So we noticed,’ he said, and laughed. ‘Come and dance.’

He’s very nice, she thought, drifting in his arms to the piano music. I don’t mind him holding me at all. She settled her cheek against his and gave in to the subtle pressure in the small of her back to bend closer in to him still.

When she went upstairs he came with her. She turned at the door and said, ‘Good night.’

‘Does it have to be?’ He bent and kissed her on the mouth. Kate was tempted. So tempted that she was surprised at herself. She kissed him, liking the probing intimacy. Then she pushed him away.

‘Good night,’ she said. ‘I’ve got an early start in the morning.’

He didn’t try to argue. ‘I’ll get in touch when you come back. Will you have dinner with me?’

‘I’d love to.’

‘Take care,’ he told her.

‘I will,’ Kate promised and went inside. She fell asleep immediately. The next morning they were taken by motor-bus to a house three miles from Lineham airport. There, under the strictest security, they were given their assignments. Their destination was the South of France. There they would join the famous Dulac network. Judy was to act as courier and liaise between Dulac and the neighbouring network south of Nice. Kate was to be the wireless operator and Fred was to hold himself in reserve for a specific task at Dulac’s command. The purpose of the two major networks in the South of France was to prepare the local French Resistance and the civilian sympathizers for the coming Invasion of Europe.

Paul Roulier hadn’t interrupted her; memory, especially when long suppressed, can easily be sidetracked. She was talking fluently, once or twice correcting herself. Under the lamplight in the sitting room, Katharine Alfurd seemed to be shedding the years. The past was overtaking her; her voice belonged to the young girl sitting it out in Wimborne Manor, waiting for the flight to Gibraltar and the start of her dangerous enterprise. To prepare the French people for the Invasion. What a word-picture she painted of the excitement and the comradeship between the little group, mewed up in their last stopping place in England.

‘We were there for a week,’ she said. ‘The weather closed in and there was no flying. We were completely cut off from the outside. Once you knew your assignment and your team, you weren’t allowed to telephone, write a letter or leave the grounds. It was a bit like a prison, with soldiers patrolling, and no communication. We heard that someone broke out once before leaving on a mission, just for the hell of it, and they caught him and put him in Parkhurst prison till the war was over. He knew too much to be let out. There was a separate group from the Free French. We palled up with them, and it made the time pass. They had their conducting officer with them. He’d been right through their courses and he was holding their hands up to the last minute. I remember them commenting on the fact that ours hadn’t come with us. It was unheard of to separate the trainees from their conducting officer half-way through the course. They couldn’t understand it.’

‘Naturally you wouldn’t see anything sinister in it,’ Roulier remarked. ‘You weren’t experienced. But what about Philippe and Judy? Didn’t they think it peculiar?’

‘Philippe brushed it aside,’ Kate answered. ‘You couldn’t tell what he was thinking anyway. Judy just complained to the French; she was in a funny sort of mood those last few days. Everything SOE did was wrong and the Gaullists had it right. Fred was like a lost soul when he wasn’t with her. He didn’t speak a word of any language and that was where Michaelson would have been a godsend. I thought to myself, how on earth are we going to keep him hidden when we get over. If he opens his mouth to sneeze, he’ll be caught. But you put those thoughts away damned quickly when you’re waiting to go. If you start worrying, it’s hopeless. We’d been taught to be positive, aggressive. I said to myself, Fred’ll be all right. They know what they’re doing. And of course I was thrilled to be working in the Dulac network. It really was an SOE legend. Again and again they’d made fools of the Germans. There were several hundred of them in that area and they’d done marvellous work in collecting information and sabotaging communications throughout the Midi. I kept wondering, what is Jean Dulac going to be like? Philippe wouldn’t be drawn. “You’ll meet him and you can judge for yourself,” was all he’d say. It could have meant anything.’

She paused to light a cigarette. ‘I’ve smoked like a chimney,’ she said. ‘Good Lord, look at the time. You must be starving. I forgot about food.’

Roulier said, ‘This has been quite an ordeal for you, Madame. Let me go into your kitchen and see what I can find. I would be happy with a sandwich.’

‘Oh, there’s plenty to eat, I was expecting my grandsons for lunch yesterday. There’s some Sauternes in the fridge. Are you sure you don’t mind?’

He smiled. ‘You know Frenchmen are quite at home in a kitchen. We’re not like the English. I’m sorry about your grandsons. But then we wouldn’t have been able to talk, would we?’

He had to admire the organization. He wondered how they’d managed to re-arrange the plan and get her family out of the way. Katharine Alfurd heard him moving round the small kitchen. He was right, of course. In all the years they’d been married, Robert had never cooked a meal. It was clever of the young man not to break her concentration. A very quiet, professional sort of person. He knew when to prompt, and when to stay silent. There was a sympathy between them, in spite of the age difference.

It was all becoming so real; memories were becoming thoughts and feelings, projecting her out of the present into the past. She had her dates right; the distant past was clearer than the events of a week ago. When he came into the room with a tray she said suddenly, ‘Do you realize, the very time we were at Wimborne Manor, Christian Eilenburg was on his way to take up his post at Gestapo Headquarters in Nice?’