The Secret Agent

by Elisabeth Hobbes

  She left the rabbit wrapped up for someone else to deal with, the sight of the dull, black eyes making her feel melancholy, and put the trotters in the largest pan with cold water and salt. She looked forward to the prospect of a pork terrine in a day or two. As she finished, Felix appeared at the door to the kitchen.

  ‘Do you want something?’ she asked.

  He stood, arms folded in the doorway. ‘Marcel asks that you stay behind after the show tomorrow night when Tomas is here. He wants to know how your lunch with your target went.’

  He gave her a penetrating look that suggested Marcel wasn’t the only one keen to hear the details. Sylvie wished she had briefed Marcel the previous day when Felix would not be around to hear her report.

  ‘All right. Tell him I will.’

  She took the cast-iron pan by both handles, bracing her back to support the weight. She should have put it by the window before filling it with water because it was far too heavy now.

  ‘Let me do that,’ Felix said, coming fully into the room. He reached around her and put a hand on one handle, covering Sylvie’s. She felt a tremor of longing and slipped her fingers from beneath his. She could feel warmth rising from his body, acutely aware of how close he was standing.

  ‘I can’t lift it with you standing there,’ he murmured.

  True. If he reached for the second handle, he would be trapping her between the pot and his body. Her heart hammered; the sudden increase in rhythm making her lightheaded. It was constantly unnerving that his mere presence close to her had such an unsettling effect on her. Reluctantly she stepped aside, her waist brushing against his forearm.

  ‘That’s better,’ Felix said. ‘Where do you want this?’

  ‘By the window, please,’ she said. ‘The breeze will hopefully keep it cool. It’s very hot in here.’

  Felix lifted the pot, arms tensing and muscles thickening and straining beneath the cloth of his shirt sleeves. They’d feel like warm iron to touch. Sylvie tried to ignore the flicker of excitement that ignited in her belly at the thought. As he walked across the kitchen she stared at his back. Slender and straight, tapering slightly at his waist. She blew upwards to try unsticking the hairs that had stuck to her forehead and fanned herself with her hand. Felix looked round at the sound, forehead wrinkled in puzzlement.

  ‘The heat,’ Sylvie explained.

  He grinned and crossed back to where she stood. He brushed the hair back from his face, then reached out and straightened a tendril that still clung to Sylvie’s cheek.

  ‘You do look quite overheated. It will be cooler upstairs. When the skylights are open, there is a fine breeze. Would you like to join me for a glass of wine?’

  Her heart hammered. ‘In your room?’

  He gave a slight nod.

  ‘Just for wine?’ she asked, narrowing her eyes. If he answered something different, she might go anyway.

  He looked deep into her eyes, radiating sincerity. ‘Just for wine.’

  ‘Then yes, I’ll come.’

  ‘Good. I’ll go tell Marcel you will join us tomorrow. When you’ve finished what you are doing here, come find me upstairs.’

  Once he had gone, Sylvie scrubbed the countertop then rinsed her hands. She smoothed her hair back, securing a stray pin. Footsteps on the stairs told her Felix was heading upstairs. She rummaged in her bag for the silver compact. England and SOE training felt a very long time ago. She put a little powder on her nose and considered adding a touch of lipstick, but decided against it. After all, she was only going to share a drink with a colleague. Nothing more than that.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  While Sylvie had been occupied in the kitchen, Felix had pushed his table into the middle of the bedroom so they could sit at it and catch the breeze. He was right; the room was cooler than the rest of the club as the open skylights allowed a breeze to circulate.

  ‘Tell me about your lunch with the German,’ he suggested. ‘Was it as useful as you hoped?’

  ‘Why do you want to know?’

  He gave an offhand shrug. ‘Consider it a trial run for when you tell Marcel. There will be other men there who will want to know too and won’t want to waste their nights on talk of the menu.’

  While he found glasses and a half-bottle of white wine, Sylvie described in great detail the food they had eaten and told him of Dieter’s family background. If he was going to be silly, she would respond likewise.

  ‘Is that all you managed to accomplish with your afternoon?’ Felix said sarcastically, leaning over her to put the glasses in the middle of the table. She could tell his patience was beginning to wear thin.

  His arm brushed hers and the rising tide of excitement ebbed and flowed again. He filled the glasses and took the chair beside her, stretching his legs beneath the table. They brushed against Sylvie’s, and once again she felt a frisson of excitement and a quiver, this time leading upwards, the vigorous throb between her legs taking her by surprise.

  ‘I also learned the submarine pens at Saint Nazaire are more heavily guarded than we thought,’ she said. ‘Verwaltungs-Sekretar Baumann believes they are so well built from concrete that they are indestructible.’

  ‘Well done. I don’t think we would ever have learned that the military sites would be more heavily guarded than a town without you to beguile the enemy.’

  He’d been good humoured, even flirtatious, outside and in the kitchen. Now his irritation took her aback.

  ‘It was more useful than spending it lying in bed with a bottle and an accordion,’ Sylvie retorted. They glared at each other.

  ‘He won’t spill secrets just like that,’ Sylvie said. ‘Not during a walk in the gardens.’

  ‘You took him to the gardens?’

  Felix clinked his glass down roughly, knocking it against Sylvie’s. They both reached out at the same time to prevent it falling, and their fingers clashed. Sparks of electricity shot up Sylvie’s arm as if she’d stuck her fingers into a socket. Felix moved his fingers lower to grip around the stem. Sylvie wondered if he had felt the same rush of excitement at contact that she had. She withdrew her hand thoughtfully and put it in her lap, rubbing her thumb over the forefinger.

  ‘Yes, he wanted to visit them.’ She snatched up her glass of wine and took a long drink, emptying it. ‘Is there a reason I shouldn’t have taken him? Are they particularly sensitive to operations?’

  ‘No reason that would affect the course of the war.’

  The atmosphere was intimate. The street outside was quiet and despite the breeze, the room was warm. She wanted to undo the top button on her blouse and let the breeze cool her neck, but that would send a signal she was not yet certain she wanted to broadcast. They made eye contact, and Felix quickly turned his face to the window. He gave a soft laugh and looked back at her.

  ‘Another glass of wine?’

  ‘If you can manage to be civil and not grill me over my afternoon with Verwaltungs-Sekretar Baumann, I will.’

  ‘If you don’t describe your lunch with Baumann any more, I might manage it,’ he replied.

  Sylvie refrained from pointing out he had asked her to. ‘That bothered you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Sylvie held her glass out to him. ‘Why? Because you disapprove of those methods of getting information?’

  ‘Because I dislike thinking of him with you.’

  The frankness of his answer was unnerving. And attractive.

  ‘Why did you become involved in the raid for food stamps?’ she asked. ‘I thought Marcel said you didn’t do that sort of thing.’

  His jaw tightened. Shoulders set.

  ‘It’s none of my business. You don’t have to tell me,’ she said.

  He took another drink and leaned back in his chair, staring at nothing. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and he still didn’t meet her eye.

  ‘I used to take part but haven’t for a long time. When the occupation first happened, I was filled with fire. Then I become despairing and angry. I was con
tent to carry messages, but I refused to become involved.’

  ‘Emily once told me that you were always sullen. You seem a little less so now.’

  Felix made a sound in his throat that was somewhere between irritation and amusement. ‘Emily told you that? Do you discuss my character often? Am I the talk of the dressing room?’

  Sylvie flushed, remembering some of the intimate details Céline had shared. Her eyes slid to his lap, and she forced them back to his face, appalled at herself.

  ‘Not all the time. Did you really tell Marcel I’m a good dancer?’ Sylvie asked, seizing on something to change the subject.

  Felix shrugged and looked a little embarrassed. ‘It’s true. You are good. You should be leading the troupe, not Estelle. You’ve also changed since you have arrived, you know. You’ve become different somehow. I’ve seen it.’

  Sylvie banged her glass down in alarm.

  ‘Oh, no! Don’t worry.’ Felix captured her hand and held it, running his thumb over the palm in smooth circles. Her heart thumped, breath coming faster at his touch. ‘I don’t mean that your secret is obvious to anyone, but something has become free inside you. I’ve noticed in the way you move. In the way you dance.’

  He dropped her hand and walked to the furthest wall to stand below the skylight in the breeze. He leaned against the wall and folded his arms, giving her an appraising look.

  ‘From the first time I saw you dance, I knew that you had the capacity to be seductive and sensual, but it was hidden. Now you hide it less well.’

  His lips curved into a smile. Seductive and sensual. Did he realise how well that description applied to him now? Sylvie looked into his eyes. They filled her vision, deep, questioning, and promising. She licked her lips and swallowed nervously.

  ‘If you could have seen me a year or two, even six months ago, you would not recognise the prim and proper English woman. I had become the girl my father wanted me to be. When I came to France, I remembered who I had once been and who I wanted to be again.’

  ‘Would that Sylvie have punched me?’ he asked, grinning.

  ‘She might have,’ Sylvie replied. She stood and walked towards him, aware that by making that move she was sending a clear signal. ‘If you pushed her against a wall and kissed her without permission.’

  ‘And what would the Sylvie now do if I asked permission?’

  Sylvie smiled. She tilted her head back a little. ‘If you asked?’ She smiled. ‘Are you asking?’

  He stepped towards her. ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘Then yes,’ she replied. ‘You may.’

  Felix put his forefinger beneath her chin and tilted her head back. He didn’t push her against the wall, but very slowly he leaned forward and pressed his mouth against hers. His lips were gentle. Hesitant. Exploratory. Nothing like the frantic aggression with which he had pushed himself against her in the alleyway. This time she gave no resistance but welcomed his touch.

  Their bodies brushed as he moved closer to slip his arm around her back, finally lighting the fires that had been building within her. Delicious friction sent pulses of pleasure through her limbs, sensations that she had become a stranger to. Each small contact was enough to send a thrill stamping throughout Sylvie’s body, radiating from whichever place they touched but always, without fail, culminating with a pulsating sensation between her thighs. She sighed, lifting her hands and burying her fingers in his hair, cleaving to him as their mouths danced a slow tango.

  All too soon, Felix pulled away. After teasing and tempting for weeks, was that all he was going to give her? She wanted more, but maybe it was up to her to take it. She pushed closer to him, letting their bodies brush fully against each other and wrapping her arms around his neck. She felt the hardness in his groin jutting against her hip bone. Knowing he was hard for her excited her more than she expected. It made her breathless. The longing for someone to touch her, the pent-up lust that she had not really been aware she was housing begged to be allowed to the surface. Felix grunted. He removed her hands from around his neck and held them to her side.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘You’re dangerous for me, Sylvie. I don’t want to stop at kissing you, and if I take you to bed, I won’t want to let you go,’ he murmured. ‘I shouldn’t have even done that.’

  ‘But you wanted to. So did I.’ The sudden refusal left her desperate for more. She twisted her wrists, still held loosely within his hands, and ran her fingernails along the underside of his forearms.

  ‘We don’t have to go to bed together. We can stop at any point.’

  He tightened his grip and brought her hands up between them both, holding her eye sternly.

  ‘I think it will be harder to stop than you realise. Go downstairs, Sylvie. Talk to Antoine or practise your dances for tomorrow night. If you stay here, we’ll do something we regret.’

  To come so close and now to be thwarted was unbearable. The libido that had been so long dormant has awakened and was more than she could bear. She put her hand on his chest, feeling the muscles tense.

  ‘Why would we regret it?’

  ‘I said no.’ He took her hand from his arm and held it against her waist. ‘It isn’t that I don’t want to – believe me, I want you more than any woman I’ve kissed for quite a long time.’

  ‘What then?’ She folded her arms across her chest, staring him down. ‘You teased me and flirted until I wanted it too. Now you back away because you’re scared of what might happen?’

  ‘Yes, I’m scared,’ he admitted. His eyes burned into her. ‘Aren’t you?’

  She shook her head, mystified. He put his hand in the small of her back and guided her to the door, shutting it firmly behind her. She didn’t go downstairs immediately, but sat and stared at the rows of abandoned costumes from Monsieur Julien’s former life. What did Felix have to be scared of?

  She was not expecting him to marry her; assuming she survived detection, she’d be going back to England at some point in the future anyway. Another throb in her belly made her reel. Not desire this time, but sadness at the idea of giving up everything here.

  She heard his door open and looked round, guiltily.

  ‘You’re still here?’

  His voice was tense.

  ‘I was looking at these,’ she said, gesturing to the costumes. ‘I wasn’t waiting to tempt you again.’

  She stormed downstairs, not looking back. It wasn’t that she particularly cared about Felix, she told herself, but the assurances felt hollow. Their kiss had been so good, and she had felt closer to him than ever before.

  It was closeness she craved, she told herself, and she had been stupid to even let her guard down that much. Now all she was left with was a feeling of her own stupidity and a well of frustration that somehow she needed to get rid of and no way of doing it.

  Maybe that was something to be scared of after all.

  That evening she avoided his eye. It was difficult because he seemed determined to do his best to catch hers. Monsieur Julien had agreed to her new ideas for numbers, which seemed to be well received by the crowd. She had devised a solo Monsieur Julien had allowed her to include towards the start of the second set that required a theatrical beginning, including a duet with Felix; he on piano, her dancing in response to the rhythm of his melody. It reminded her of the first day she had danced and the way she had tried to prove that she was capable of passion.

  Knowing that they wanted each other added an extra spice to the dance. Once, Sylvie would have drawn her instincts inwards and controlled herself, but now she gave her desire free rein, pouring her longing into the movements. Felix never took his eyes from her, his hands finding the keys from memory. And from the applause, it appeared the audience were equally swept away. Afterwards, Sylvie accepted the generous congratulations of the other dancers.

  Mirabelle closed an hour earlier on Wednesday nights as the number of patrons midweek was too low to justify staying open longer. The dancers changed and left. Marcel had been sitting
at a table towards the back and now came forward. Almost as soon as the door had closed, there was a knock and Tomas Julien entered, accompanied by another man with deep auburn hair and a bushy moustache who he introduced as Bernard.

  There were six of them altogether. They sat in the back room in Monsieur Julien’s office on bar stools and chairs brought in to fill the room. They huddled together by the light of a small table lamp. Monsieur Julien closed the door and took a seat. Marcel stood at the head of the table.

  ‘Gentlemen … and lady, let’s get started. First, I would like to hear from Sylvie about what she has discovered. She had been spending time with a German officer in the hope of finding something out.’

  She repeated her account, leaving out the details of the walk in the garden and the lunch that she had told Felix in order to plague him.

  Marcel looked unimpressed. ‘Is that all you found out? Perhaps you should pick a higher-ranking target or work a little harder to get him to spill more secrets.’

  ‘Perhaps Sylvie is not as good a seductress as she believes,’ Felix said. The comment was directed to Marcel, but his eyes met hers.

  ‘I wasn’t trying to be a seductress,’ she said tightly, with an eye roll added to show her disdain.

  ‘It is demeaning for a Frenchwoman to be lowering herself to this,’ Tomas said. ‘I have names for women who behave in such a way.’

  ‘So do I,’ Felix said sharply. ‘I call them brave patriots. She isn’t doing it for her own pleasure.’

  Sylvie shot him a look of surprise. She wondered if he had forgotten that he had made the same accusations when they had walked in the gardens. Felix frowned, which emphasised the bruise on his face.

  ‘What did you do to your face?’ Bernard asked.

  ‘I’ve been meaning to ask too,’ Marcel said. ‘It was not in your report to me.’

  ‘Perhaps Felix has been trying to seduce a German frau and wasn’t as good as he thought he was,’ Sylvie scoffed.

  Felix put his fingers to the bruise. ‘I had to leave my lookout point in a hurry and was not looking where I was running. I collided with a couple of drunks in the dark. One took exception and threw a punch.’