The Secret Agent

by Elisabeth Hobbes

  He took hold of her hand and she expected him to kiss it, but he merely shook it, then stood to attention and nodded at the men.

  ‘Tonight has been … instructive.’

  He left, closing the door quietly behind him.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  No one moved for what must have been five minutes, then Marcel and Tomas emerged from behind the curtain.

  ‘Well done, everyone,’ Marcel said. ‘Sylvie, that was quick thinking. So that’s Baumann? I see what you mean about the potential to turn him. He has a curiosity for our so-called decadent, degenerate lifestyle. You got us out of an immediate scrape, and hopefully we did enough to allay his suspicion. Keep working on him.’

  ‘She may have thought quickly but knowing that dog is prowling around because of her means Mirabelle is no longer safe. We can’t use it again,’ Tomas said. He jabbed a finger at Sylvie. ‘And we don’t need this woman.’

  Sylvie felt condemnation oozing from him.

  ‘Sylvie is an important part of our network,’ Marcel said. ‘All our female résistants play an equally vital part. I say if we need Sylvie, then she comes.’

  Sylvie shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter. The cause is more important than whether I am here for the meetings. I’ll do what I need to do, and there is no need for me to be present.’

  She felt a hand slip into hers, uncurling the fist she had unconsciously bunched.

  Felix.

  ‘Sylvie deserves her place at this table,’ he said. ‘She is risking everything, as we are.’

  ‘And who are you to say that?’ Tomas growled. ‘A man who has shied away from doing anything for the cause for so long.’

  ‘I’m here now, and that’s what matters,’ Felix snapped.

  ‘My friends, stop this,’ Monsieur Julien said. He reached for Sylvie’s other hand, and she gave it, slightly surprised. Then he took hold of his brother’s hand. Tomas gave it a little more reluctantly. Monsieur Julien looked from face to face. ‘We work together and we fight together. Mirabelle is at your disposal. Use it as you wish, but nobody who fights for France is unwelcome.’

  He waited a beat before adding, ‘And none of your other meeting places are so free with their wine.’

  It raised a laugh and the tension was broken. Sylvie yawned. The unexpected appearance of Dieter had meant the night ended much later than she had expected. Tomas and Marcel left, nodding silently to Sylvie and the two men. Then it was Sylvie’s turn.

  ‘Good night, my dear,’ Monsieur Julien said. Unexpectedly, he leaned forward and kissed Sylvie on both cheeks. ‘You did very well tonight. I bless the day you came to work for me. When all this is over and France is finally free, I would welcome you back with open arms. And please call me Antoine.’

  He disappeared behind the curtains with a backwards wave of his fingers, and Sylvie briefly imagined him leaving the stage, dressed in the furs and silks he had abandoned.

  Now she was left alone with Felix at her side.

  ‘I should go,’ she said, swinging her hands back and forth.

  ‘Yes. You should.’

  They stared at each other in silence. Neither of them moved. Then Felix leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Be careful out there, chérie.’

  His lips left a burning sensation. He drew back, as if surprised at himself. Sylvie drew the collar of her coat a little closer, turned the door handle and stepped outside. The street was silent and empty, but her nerves jangled and her hand shook as she turned to pull the door shut. She closed the door carefully, keeping eye contact with Felix through the gap until the door was fully closed.

  Her legs felt like rubber as she pulled her hat down and walked to the bottom of the road. Her heels sounded like gunfire in the night, and she stopped abruptly after a few steps.

  ‘Pull yourself together,’ she muttered angrily to herself.

  She surveyed the street. Every doorway looked menacing tonight. She couldn’t be sure Dieter had gone. She couldn’t be sure other eyes weren’t watching her. She had to relax and behave normally, not slink along looking suspicious. She moved closer to the wall, stepping carefully from each shadow to each sliver of light.

  A hand fell on her shoulder and she gave a small cry that sounded monstrously loud. Someone made shushing noises, and she clamped her hand over her mouth.

  ‘Sylvie, it’s me.’

  Felix, of course. She wanted to sag against him, but he pulled her against the wall into the shadow of a doorway.

  ‘What’s wrong? Is someone there?’ His eyes were sharp, peering past her into the darkness. ‘You were moving so slowly.’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong, apart from you scaring me to death just now. Why are you following me?’

  He ran his hand through his hair.

  ‘You don’t seem yourself. You’re on edge. I watched you walking and you looked scared of your own shadow.’

  ‘Why were you watching me?’ His must have been the eyes she had felt.

  ‘You looked like you were about to pass out when you left. I regretted letting you leave.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she lied. ‘After tonight, I was just imagining figures behind every lamppost. I’m just being silly.’

  ‘I’m not sure I believe you.’

  ‘It’s your fault for telling me to be careful!’ she snapped. ‘If you hadn’t done that…’

  ‘My fault?’ His brows shot high.

  ‘Yes!’ She folded her arms defensively. ‘If you hadn’t kissed my cheek and called me chérie as if there was a reason to be concerned, I would have walked home without a care.’

  ‘If that’s the case, remind me not to kiss you again,’ he growled. ‘I’ll just wave you off into the night.’

  ‘Why not? That’s what you usually do,’ she retorted.

  She wasn’t being fair. Both of them were still tense after what had happened. It wasn’t like him to show such concern over her well-being, and it wasn’t like her to care how he behaved.

  Far in the distance, somewhere towards the edge of town, a door slammed. A female voice cried out and was cut off abruptly. Felix pulled her to his chest, his frame as tense as she felt. Their eyes met and Sylvie recognised the same questions in Felix’s. A raid, or just a domestic argument? He eased his grip a little but didn’t let her go.

  ‘Felix, give me your gun,’ Sylvie whispered.

  ‘What?’ His hand flew to his waist. ‘No!’

  ‘I don’t have one. I’d feel happier walking home if I knew I could defend myself.’

  ‘No!’ His brows came together. ‘I’m not giving you a weapon.’

  ‘I know how to use one,’ she hissed. ‘Don’t turn into Tomas and assume I don’t know what I’m doing.’

  He glared.

  ‘Don’t insult me by comparing me to that balourd. I’m sure you know how to use one, but if you were found with a weapon, that would be the end of you for certain. You’d be better taking your chances unarmed.’

  Sylvie brushed the hair from her brow, hating the way her hand trembled. She’d crawled on her hands and knees through darkened woods but never lost her nerve like this before. ‘You’re right. Tonight just shook my nerve. I’ll be fine going home.’

  She turned away, but Felix caught her by the hand. ‘There’s another option… You could stay at Mirabelle…’

  His thumb pressed into the base of her wrist, over her hammering pulse.

  ‘…With me.’

  His eyes were bright. Sylvie felt a tingle run through her. The sort of ecstasy she hadn’t experienced for so long. Every limb, every nerve screamed to accept.

  ‘When we kissed before, you told me to stop,’ she pointed out. ‘Why have you changed your mind?’

  ‘We risk our lives daily. None of us know how long we may live and life is too short to waste. When the German appeared tonight, I thought we were going to die, and I wished more than anything else I had kissed you properly. I regretted letting you go the second you walked out the door, and I’ve spent ev
ery moment since wishing I had done differently. I’m not going to let you go tonight.’

  ‘I shouldn’t.’ She didn’t move.

  ‘What’s stopping you?’ Felix asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  He stepped closer to her.

  ‘This is wartime. We might die tomorrow.’

  ‘We might have died tonight,’ Sylvie said, shivering a little.

  Felix’s lips quirked into a crooked smile. ‘The petite mort is all, I hope.’

  He took her hand and began to walk back to Mirabelle. She didn’t make any effort to object. He closed the door behind them and drew the bolt across, shutting out the world.

  ‘Watching you dancing with Baumann was a death in itself,’ he murmured, bringing his forehead down to touch Sylvie’s. He slipped one arm about her waist and began to move as if he could still hear the music that Sylvie had danced to before. ‘It took all my strength not to wrench him from you.’

  She laced her fingers through his and slipped her other hand to his lower back. He was an excellent partner, steering her confidently around the dancefloor, taking charge. Would he be the same in bed? Anticipation rippled through her.

  ‘I danced with you too,’ she reminded him.

  ‘You did, and it was magical. Do you realise that’s the first time we’ve danced together?’

  ‘No it isn’t.’ She rested her head against his chest as she had done when they danced. He started to move the palm of his hand in a slow figure of eight over her back; from shoulder blade to shoulder blade, down her spine and round above her buttocks and then back up. It felt delicious.

  ‘You’ve never danced with me,’ he said. ‘You danced to me when you performed that first afternoon, and even at me, as if you wanted to spite me, but tonight was the first time we danced together. And now I’ve danced with you, I don’t want to ever stop.’

  ‘Nor do I,’ Sylvie said.

  They moved slowly, bodies pressed close, listening to the memory of music inside them and around them. When Felix sought her lips with his, Sylvie moaned with longing and kissed him eagerly. The last vestiges of resistance burned away. She could be dead by the weekend. Arrested. Imprisoned. Interrogated. If Dieter had any suspicion they were lying, or even if he mentioned what he had done, everything could be lost. Or she could be sent back to England at any moment if SOE found a better use for her.

  If she made love with Felix, there would be no repercussions. Almost none.

  ‘I can’t have a baby,’ she cautioned him. ‘I don’t want one.’

  He gave a soft laugh against the top of her head. ‘What sort of Frenchman would I be if I was not prepared for that precaution. Don’t worry, Sylvie, chérie, the only things I intend to give you tonight are fond memories.’

  He kissed her again, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, burying herself in his warmth. He pulled her towards him, holding her tightly against his body. She felt again the hardness of his erection and tilted her hips towards it. He growled, put both arms round her waist and lifted her off her feet.

  ‘Come with me now or we will end up making love here on the stage and Antoine would take exception to that.’

  Sylvie laughed, lightheaded with exhilaration at the prospect of what was about to happen. Still kissing each other, they stumbled through the curtains and upstairs to Felix’s room, smothering giggles as they went past the door of Antoine’s apartment.

  Felix backed her into his room and they tumbled onto the bed, limbs tangling and bodies crushing. He began to unbutton the front of Sylvie’s dress while she pulled his shirt from his waistband and unbuttoned the flies. They continued kissing and undressing each other, moving in and out of the shadows and moonlight until they were both clad only in their underwear. She ran her hands from his chest down to his belly, feeling the sharp quickening of his breath as her fingers played at the waistband on his briefs.

  ‘Mon Dieu, you’re beautiful,’ Felix breathed. He put his hand on the flat of her belly, fingers spread teasingly wide. ‘Tell me how you want me to touch you?’

  ‘Tell you?’ Sylvie opened her eyes. Felix was looking at her with a furrowed brow.

  ‘Don’t you know? Please don’t tell me you’re a virgin.’

  ‘I’m not,’ Sylvie said. She pushed herself up onto her elbows. ‘It was just a bit of a surprise – no one has ever asked me that before.’

  The idea of speaking out loud and telling him where to touch her felt, not exactly shameful, but peculiar to her.

  ‘Then your lovers have all been selfish pigs or very bad,’ he said decisively.

  ‘That’s not fair. I’ve had some very good lovers,’ she retorted.

  Dennis has never asked her to do such a thing – she could not imagine him telling her to be so free – but he had made her happy in bed.

  ‘Do you remember Antoine saying that you were not performing from your heart? I think the same is true when you are in bed. I have seen what’s inside you coming to the surface, only to be snatched back under control at the last moment.’

  ‘Why does that take speaking?’ She asked. She trailed her hand down the length of Felix’s stomach until she reached the bulge between his legs, then squeezed gently. He growled and she smiled in triumph.

  ‘See, you didn’t need to say anything at all.’

  ‘Because I want to hear the words from your lips.’ He breathed heavily. ‘I have spent enough nights lying here imagining you were with me. Now you are, I’m not going to let it be anything other than unforgettable.’

  He knelt with his legs either side of Sylvie, gazing down at her. He hooked his thumbs under the elastic of her brassiere straps and stroked the sides of her breasts with his fingertips. ‘Lighter or firmer?’

  Sylvie pushed herself further forward, arching her back so that her whole breast was in the palm of his hand. ‘Firmer,’ she whispered.

  Felix’s eyes gleamed. He eased the fabric down until Sylvie’s breasts were bare and stroked her nipples. The sensation was electrifying.

  ‘Lighter!’

  ‘Good. Now I’m going to kiss you again. Then I’ll show you how I like to be touched. We’ll take it from there, and you’re going to show me with your body exactly what you want and exactly what you want me to do.’

  ‘I can do that,’ Sylvie said, pulling him down towards her. ‘With complete pleasure.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The sky was turning mauve when they finally both conceded that they had exhausted each other and needed to rest. Felix lay on his back and pulled Sylvie into the crook of his arms. She let her limbs flop and grow heavy against him. He had been an energetic and creative lover, and the night breeze across her sweat-slicked skin made her shiver. He tucked the blanket over her shoulders snugly and dropped a slow kiss onto her lips.

  ‘You are a wonder, Sylvie. I know this can never be anything more than an affair, but while you are here, if you want me, as long as you want me, I am yours.’

  Her heart ached. Her entire body ached with longing. Could she stay forever? It was impossible, surely? She has false papers and at any time could be discovered. But still the prospect of staying was enticing, like a length of wool dangled before a kitten.

  ‘What about all the other women?’ she asked. ‘What about Céline?’

  ‘What about her? She’s a flirtation and nothing more. It looks good for the club and gets the patrons in the mood if there are couples looking like they adore each other.’

  She snuggled her head next to Felix’s neck and kissed his shoulder blade.

  ‘Well, she told me you were a good lover and she was right.’

  ‘She did?’ Felix rolled over and looked at Sylvie in horror. ‘You women share secrets men never would! When did she tell you that?’

  Sylvie recounted the conversation where Céline had asked her to find a friend of Dieter’s to go to dinner with.

  ‘I wanted to make sure you would not be upset if she went for dinner with someone else.’

&nb
sp; ‘How considerate you are,’ Felix said. He put his hands behind his head and looked over at her with a wry smile.

  ‘You cared enough about my feelings to hesitate before finding her a date, yet you thought nothing of how going out with Baumann yourself might make me feel, and I cared much more about that than anything Céline might do.’

  ‘You know anything I might get up to with Dieter is purely for any information I might get out of him,’ Sylvie protested. She got out of bed, dragging the top sheet with her like a toga, and poured herself a glass of water. She didn’t want to be thinking about Dieter. Until she had spoken to him and reassured herself he had believed the story of the illicit jazz club, she would not rest easy. There was also the matter of what he had wanted to speak to her about.

  ‘I wish you didn’t get up to anything with him,’ Felix muttered. ‘You haven’t done this, have you?’

  ‘No, and I wouldn’t. Flirting is one thing, but making love to him is another.’

  ‘Are we making love?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  The interview with Max and Miss Atkins played inside her head like a film reel. How blasé she had been about seducing men in the cause of the war. How cold Sylvia Crichton must have been.

  ‘Have you ever made love? With someone you loved?’ Felix asked. He climbed out of bed, strolling across the room as if his nakedness was nothing.

  ‘I thought so, but I think in the end I was making love to him while he wasn’t making love to me. The man I was with before I came here…’

  She felt a lump of fury in her throat at the memory of the last, unpleasant exchange with Dennis. It took her by surprise. She barely thought of him any more, and certainly not with regret. If things hadn’t ended, would she have returned to France? She wouldn’t have met Felix, that was certain.

  Felix put his finger to her lips and pouted. ‘I’m not sure I’m ready to hear about your other lovers, chérie.’

  She bit the tip of his finger lightly, and he made the same breathy, growling noise in the back of his throat that he had let slip in a moment she had been caressing him particularly intimately.