The Secret Agent

by Elisabeth Hobbes

Sylvie didn’t laugh and he grew serious again.

  ‘You can play whatever you want. I’m not in the business of informing anyone of anything,’ Sylvie sneered. She tried not to blush, conscious that was a lie. She lifted her chin and looked him straight in the eye. ‘And when it comes to endurance, I have more than you would expect.’

  Felix’s eyes widened, and he grinned wolfishly. ‘Do you now? Maybe I will look forward to finding out how true that is, mademoiselle.’

  Sylvie bit back the retort that sprang to her lips. She knew damn well he was not talking about dancing any longer. She glanced at his hands, now twisting the cigarette between long, elegant fingers. Musicians’ hands. An image filled her mind of them deftly teasing at her underwear, and a flicker of eagerness made her belly tighten.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said haughtily. She pushed herself from the wall and stalked past him. Her thigh brushed against his out-stuck knee, conjuring the sensation of heat that lingered even when she went into the dressing room. When she turned to close the door, Felix was still standing there, watching her. She glared at him, and he dropped his head, cupping the cigarette in his hand and lighting it.

  She sat on a chair in front of the mirror and gazed blankly into the glass. Felix may not have shown any interest while Sylvie had been dancing, but it appeared that Monsieur Julien was not the only man in the room who has been affected by her performance. She bit her fingernail and replayed the events of the afternoon.

  The pianist was dangerous. The music he had played, the way he had asked if she was a spy; Felix had been playing with her, trying to intimidate her. Or perhaps he was flirting, albeit badly. She didn’t like the way her body had decided it appreciated his interest in spite of her best intentions.

  She was relieved that despite Céline telling her everyone ate together, Felix did not appear at the dinner table in the room above the club, only appearing again at half past eight and settling himself straight at his piano.

  Sylvie had realised at a young age that she had a weakness for dark-haired men, but for more reasons than she could list, she was determined to steer clear of this one.

  Chapter Eight

  SOE Basic Training, Scottish Highlands

  1943

  ‘How would you defend yourself from attack?’

  ‘Shoot the attacker?’

  The voice from the back of the gymnasium made everyone laugh, though Sylvie noticed there was a nervous edge to the sound.

  Captain Walters, who was leading the day’s lessons, grinned amiably.

  ‘In certain situations, and always remember, fire two bullets. The Double Tap as we call it. but guns are useful only in the circumstance where there would be no cover story needed. If you are assaulted walking through the streets before curfew, you can’t pull out a pistol and see off your assailant – you would not be carrying a weapon in ordinary life.’

  Captain Walters thrust his hands behind his back, linking his fingers and stuck his chest out. Broad and tall, he looked to Sylvie as if his mere presence would see off any attackers.

  ‘Today, we will begin our training in close combat. This is designed to aid you when you have lost your weapon or in situations where weapons are inadvisable. Have you all read the syllabus?’

  The recruits nodded and looked about them at the fellow students who would soon become their opponents. Sylvie had memorised the list of sessions until they were seared on her brain.

  Body blows with various parts of the anatomy.

  How to release oneself from a restraining hold.

  Crowd fighting.

  Knife fighting.

  Disarming an opponent.

  Killing an opponent.

  The pile of straw-filled dummies did not give much cause for reassurance; the day would be long and hard and most probably involve pain.

  ‘The men among you will no doubt be familiar with the Queensberry Rules. You can forget them now. They have no place in war.’

  His voice rose, barking out the final word.

  ‘Ladies, you will be taught – and expected to carry out – exactly the same techniques as the men. No soft treatment. No special considerations.’

  A couple of the men began to look uncertain. Sylvie wondered if it had occurred to them that the women who sat alongside them at the dining tables and in lectures would be joining them in the gymnasium and they would have to train together.

  For the whole morning, they practised blocking blows and grappling with each other until they were starting to become proficient. When they resumed after lunch, they were allocated new partners.

  ‘You won’t always be fortunate enough to find yourself up against someone of the same build,’ Captain Walters explained.

  ‘Hold on, do you expect me to attack a woman?’ asked the heavily built blond man standing beside Sylvie. He looked down at her with uncertainty written all over his face.

  ‘I expect you to attack each other,’ Captain Walters replied. ‘Gentlemen, unfortunately you will have to overcome your qualms about striking a member of the fair sex. Ladies, you will have to learn how to escape from a man using force.’

  ‘I think most of us have done that once or twice already,’ interjected a statuesque woman from the back to general laughter. Sylvie joined in. Fortunately, she’d never been in the position of having to fight off a man; she’d made some inadvisable choices with regards to boyfriends, but the only injuries had been to her heart or ego.

  ‘Strength isn’t everything,’ Captain Walters reminded them. ‘Surprise can buy you an advantage. Now we will teach you how to maximise that.’

  He clapped his hands sharply and the room stood to attention.

  ‘Same drill as this morning. Take turns and begin.’

  Nantes, France

  1944

  The first night was a success. Sylvie danced for two of the numbers with the promise that the following evening she could join the girls for more when she had learned the routines. When she was not dancing, she served drinks at tables, a smile fixed on her face as she dodged roving hands and tried to listen out for snippets of conversation that might be useful. By the end of the evening, she was ready to drop, having been on her feet for most of the day. As she walked away from the club, she stifled a yawn. She was starting to see why Céline spent most of the morning in bed.

  ‘Wait a second, mademoiselle.’

  Sylvie hesitated. The voice had spoken in a confidential manner and sounded familiar. She turned slowly round, adjusting the bag tucked under her arm as she did so. The man who had called her name was silhouetted against the dim streetlight. He wore a familiar hat with the brim pulled down over his face, but there was enough light among the shadows for Sylvie to recognise him.

  ‘Felix?’

  The pianist took a step closer. His long Mackintosh coat was undone, and he put his hands into the pockets of his trousers. There was a slight swagger in his walk. Perhaps he hoped he resembled an American film star. Sylvie had seen him watching her as she danced with more open interest than when he had accompanied her audition. She disliked acknowledging that she was aware of the audience members during a performance so had tried not to make eye contact with him, but she had a vivid picture of the intense watchful gaze from his violet-blue eyes.

  ‘What do you want to talk to me about?’ she asked.

  ‘I wanted to congratulate you on your performance,’ he said. ‘I didn’t get a chance earlier.’

  He had found her interesting, she suspected; a new dancer might be a possible conquest, and now he was deciding to make his move. She took another step and let her eyes slide surreptitiously from side to side. The street wasn’t completely empty, but they were isolated enough that if the pianist decided not to take no for an answer, she might be in a sticky situation. He took another step closer. Voices from further down the street were coming a little closer. The sound of singing with a slight slur suggested patrons of other bars were making their way home.

  ‘You had a stran
ge way of showing it earlier in the day, accusing me of spying, and making innuendo.’

  He frowned, but Sylvie couldn’t tell whether that was because of her reference to innuendo or spying. Her nerves jangled. What if he was a spy? A member of the Abwehr or, worse, the Gestapo. A man of his age who was by all appearances perfectly healthy should be fighting for his country. There must be some reason he was not.

  ‘I should go,’ Sylvie said. ‘It’s almost curfew and I need to get home.’

  She continued walking, which brought her alongside the entrance to another alley. Felix sauntered alongside her as if he had no cares in the world. She felt his eyes on her and kept hers firmly on the darkened pavement.

  ‘Have you settled into your accommodation?’ Felix asked. ‘Do you have far to go?’

  ‘I’m not going to tell you that.’

  Sylvie felt a little of the tension in her shoulders melting away. She was more certain now that this was a clumsy attempt at seduction. Perhaps Felix didn’t often need to waste his time with conversation. He was good-looking and had a debonair air about him. Sylvie had already felt the tug of his charm. She didn’t doubt other women – women who weren’t as determined as she was to avoid letting any man break down her walls – would gladly slip into his arms and bed.

  ‘My room is very pleasant, thank you.’ She tucked her coat a little tighter around herself and left her arms folded across her chest. ‘Although I am far from ready for visitors, before you ask.’

  Felix gave a deep chuckle. He had an appealing laugh and the sound made Sylvie want to smile in response; it went well with his well-shaped mouth. Annoyed that she had even noticed that detail, she shifted the weight of her bag under her arm to make the opening more accessible and began to rummage inside. If the pianist had any bold ideas, then the heavy brass rings that she could slip onto her hand would soon change his mind. In other circumstances it would have amused her to think she might conceivably take him by surprise and do him serious injury, but now she was tired and wanted to get to bed.

  ‘Nicely evaded, mademoiselle,’ Felix said. ‘Don’t worry, I’m going home myself now. I wasn’t presuming to invite myself up for an apéritif.’

  Sylvie narrowed her eyes. ‘Surely an apéritif is what you have at the start of the evening. This one is almost over.’

  He laughed again and leaned against the wall with his hands in his trouser pockets, pushing his unbuttoned overcoat back. ‘I know that. In my view, it doesn’t matter how late the evening starts if it shows promise.’

  ‘Well, this one doesn’t,’ Sylvie said firmly as she began to walk away. ‘I’m tired. I don’t have time for fooling about.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ Felix said, following her. ‘I merely thought I would introduce myself properly and see how you are finding Nantes. Have you seen the Loire by moonlight, for example?’

  The hairs on the back of Sylvie’s neck stood on end. Her footstep faltered and she slowed as a band of iron around her chest seemed to cut off her breath. That was the start of the code phrase that would allow her to confirm the identity of her contact. She had memorised the reply she had to give and what the counter reply to that should be. She let go of the knuckleduster and closed her bag.

  She knew Marcel was English, well-built and with blond hair. Hair colour could be changed, but Felix was too lean. Moreover, unless he was the best actor in France, the dark-haired man who was standing before her with such an infuriating expression on his face was definitely French.

  It could just be a coincidence that he had asked that question. Or worse, it was a trap. Marcel hadn’t appeared, and Sylvie still had no explanation why. If Felix knew the code, then he either knew Marcel or where he might be. The question was whether he was an ally or the man responsible for the agent’s disappearance.

  There was the sound of a door creaking open and then voices in German wishing someone good night. A female voice answered and then the door slammed. On their way to Céline’s apartment the night before, the singer had pointed out the discreetly painted black door with a bouquet of dried roses hanging in the window three doors down from the club. She had explained it was a brothel for the sole use of the German officers.

  ‘Singing for them is not so bad considering what we could be doing,’ she had remarked. Sylvie had agreed, imagining the lives of the unfortunate women forced into prostitution for the occupying forces. She had heard rumours. Been warned.

  Footsteps were heading their way.

  The pianist growled and stepped smoothly round in front of Sylvie. ‘I don’t have time to fool around either, mademoiselle. Tell me: have you seen the Loire by moonlight?’

  It was unmistakable now. He had used the same question twice. Whether or not it was a trap, Sylvie had little choice but to respond or run, with all the complications that would entail. She had waited two days without contact. This was not the way she was supposed to meet Marcel, but perhaps it was the only way her contact could safely get in touch.

  ‘I couldn’t see it clearly because of the fog,’ she answered in a low voice, giving the phrase she had memorised.

  ‘What is going on there?’ came a voice speaking in French but heavily accented with German.

  ‘You should be careful you don’t fall in,’ the pianist answered. The counter response.

  ‘Who is that?’ the German shouted. ‘Stay where you are!’

  Sylvie looked at the pianist in panic. It was too appalling to think that she would be discovered at the same moment she had finally made contact.

  She tensed, expecting him to seize her by the wrist and hand her over. She braced herself to run. Felix’s lips were set in a firm line, and his stance had become alert.

  ‘Friend not foe,’ he muttered as he tucked Sylvie’s arm under his. He moved swiftly, pulling her down the alley into the darkness. Sylvie gasped in surprise, followed by a yelp as she skidded on something she had to hope was mud. Felix pulled her upright, lifting her easily with his hands beneath her armpit, and backed her against the wall.

  ‘Forgive me for what I am about to do, mademoiselle,’ he whispered.

  He pushed his body up against Sylvie’s, one hand at her waist and the other over her breasts. His fingers fumbled with the buttons on her blouse and deftly slipped beneath the silk. She gasped in shock as his fingers brushed against the mound of her breast and something scratched the delicate skin.

  Felix removed his hands. He put them either side of Sylvie’s head, holding her firmly, and kissed her. She didn’t have time to protest as his lips frantically moved against hers. The scent of vanilla and lavender from his cologne mingled with the taste of tobacco. Rich and seductive.

  The burst of pleasure that shot through her as their tongues tangled was jarringly good, but she was damned if she was going to kiss him back. She squeezed her hands between their bodies and dug her nails into his shirt front. As Felix pulled away from Sylvie, she bunched her fist and delivered a punch to his jaw. His head jerked, then he straightened back up. Their eyes met and she just had time to see the anger boiling in his before a burst of light blinded her and made her screw her eyes tight shut.

  ‘What is going on down here? There are ten minutes until curfew.’

  They both looked, blinking, to the end of the alley where a figure stood in silhouette holding a torch raised to shoulder height.

  ‘We are just having a bit of fun,’ Felix said. ‘No harm in it.’

  He rubbed his palm across his jaw and glared at Sylvie.

  ‘Is he telling the truth, fräulein?’ The German marched into the alleyway. ‘I take a dim view of rape.’

  Sylvie shook her head. She slipped out from between Felix and the wall. ‘It was not my idea of fun but I don’t need help.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to rape her,’ Felix exclaimed. ‘We’re just making friends. We work together.’

  ‘You are both from the club.’ The German flashed his torch across both their faces. ‘I saw you playing tonight. And you danced. Is he telling
the truth or should I arrest him?’

  ‘No!’ Sylvie exclaimed. This was a dreadful tangle. An enemy officer was threatening to arrest her contact. The pianist had not endeared himself to her, but she knew which side she was on. ‘I mean, don’t arrest him. He misunderstood what I said and thought I agreed to something I didn’t.’

  ‘Then either he should pay more attention or you should make yourself clearer,’ the German said. ‘You! Get home,’ he barked at Felix.

  Felix slid his eyes towards Sylvie and raised his brows. She gave the smallest nod she could. He adjusted his hat and nodded his head stiffly to the officer, then walked away. He paused at the end of the alley to look back one final time before disappearing. Sylvie looked properly at the German officer.

  ‘I recognise you. You were at the club tonight. On the table at the back.’

  ‘That’s right.’ He nodded seriously.

  He was a blushing young man who had sat in the corner of his group looking as if he would have preferred to be anywhere else while his companions applauded and drank. He’d been one of the party who she had encountered in the street on the first night she had arrived.

  ‘You didn’t enjoy yourself?’

  The officer looked down at his hands. ‘I enjoyed the music. Some of it is very new to me.’

  ‘But not the dancing?’ Sylvie asked.

  He looked at her with his head on one side. ‘Oh no, fräulein. The dancers were very good too. Very pretty.’

  There was an earnest air about him that Sylvie found oddly endearing. But he was a German, so what was she doing practically flirting with him? True, she had agreed to use any opportunity to find out secrets, but this young man hardly seemed the best use of her time.

  ‘Where do you live, fräulein? Do you need someone to take you home?’

  ‘No.’ The last thing Sylvie needed was to call attention to herself or give a member of the German army knowledge of where she lived. ‘That is, no, thank you. It is very close and I am fine.’ To emphasise her words, she straightened her hat and coat. She sighed. ‘The only damage is to my stockings. One of them has a run in it.’