The next morning, Noor put a call through to the Balachowskys’ home. The housekeeper answered.
‘Non, mademoiselle,’ she said, her voice muffled. ‘The Professor’s not here.’ She began to sob.
‘What’s wrong? What’s happened?’
The housekeeper blew her nose. It was a minute or two before she could speak.
As soon as Noor put the receiver down, she hurried outside to find Antelme. He was sitting at a table going through a pile of documents.
‘The Professor’s been arrested. The Gestapo,’ Noor said, panting. ‘Taken him.’
Antelme jumped to his feet. ‘Do you think he’ll talk?’ he asked. ‘Stupid question, I’m sorry. Who wouldn’t?’
‘He and I – together we buried Norman’s radio in the garden. We were in such a panic, we buried his security codes, too. If the Germans get hold of them – ’ Noor didn’t need to spell out the danger.
‘OK. This is the plan. Please send a message to London: tell them about the arrests and the collapse of the circuit. Ask them to organise a flight back to England for me as soon as possible. The Germans know about me, I need to get out. Use Dowlen’s set.’
Dowlen brought his radio set round that evening. He and Noor left the light and warmth of the kitchen and made their way into the grounds. The sky was clear of clouds; a few stars pierced the indigo sky. Noor breathed in the sharp scent of pine sap and damp soil. It reminded her of their garden at Fazal Manzil, when the night perfumes would tiptoe in through her open bedroom window.
An owl hooted, and a sneaky breeze rattled through the leaves, making Noor jump. Dowlen set up the aerial, looping it in the branches of a tree, while Noor stretched her hands over the keys of the radio set.
What if her fingers were stiff, or she’d forgotten how to do it?
She needn’t have worried. Before long, she was tapping out her transmission as though she’d been doing it all her life. She remembered with some pride that she’d been the fastest operator during her training days. She relayed the bad news of all the arrests, and asked London to organise a flight back for Anselme as soon as possible.
As soon as she’d finished, she helped Dowlen pack the set away.
‘OK?’ Dowlen asked. ‘Shall we go back inside? I feel like a cup of something hot.’
Noor rubbed her arms. It was a bit chilly, but she wanted to stay outside a little longer, on her own. ‘I’ll be along in a minute. I like the fresh air,’ she said with a smile. She needed to think things through.
Dowlen patted her hand, picked up the suitcase, and made his way back inside.
Noor stepped on to the path that circled the house. The moonlight gave it a strange blue-white glow.
One by one the circuits were breaking down. Had someone spoken of her to the Nazis? Probably. Shivering, she looked up at the sky.
Should she call it a day and take the plane back to England with Antelme, before they got her too?
As if carried on the breeze, she heard Abba’s voice: ‘Babuli, remember the words of the Hindu poem, the Bhagavad Gita.’ She could almost see the way his beard moved as he spoke, and the gleam of the heavy chain he wore round his neck. ‘It is better to act than not to act, and better always to act selflessly.’
The SOE had trusted her to do her job. Hitler had occupied her beloved France, and was threatening England, the country which had given her and her family shelter. She owed Britain a duty, one she took seriously.
Noor made her way back inside. Her earlier agitation had disappeared, and calm had taken its place. She’d made her decision.
Back in the kitchen, she slipped into the chair beside Antelme.
‘You seem – ’ he looked closely at her ‘ – serene.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to retrieve my own radio, and operate from Paris. It’s where I can be most useful.’
Early the next morning, after breakfast, she said her goodbyes. One of the women wrapped some potatoes and tomatoes in newspaper, and popped them into Noor’s bag.
‘Come back soon,’ she said, giving Noor a hug. ‘And look after yourself.’
‘Yes, be careful,’ Antelme said. ‘Chances are the Gestapo know about you. They’ll be watching out for your transmissions.’ He walked with her to Benoist’s car. ‘You sure about this? You don’t have to go back to Paris. You can stay here. Help the girls. Safer for you.’
Noor threw her arms around him. ‘It’s so sweet of you to worry about me. But I’ll be fine. Who knows, I may even be safer in Paris than here. It’s easier to hide there.’ She climbed into the car, and he shut the door. ‘I’ll let you know when your flight will be.’
Benoist put his foot down and the car roared down the drive. It wasn’t long before they’d reached the station.
‘Just telephone me when you want to come back,’ Benoist called out as she made her way to the ticket office. He blew her a kiss and drove off, followed by a billowing of dust.