The Secret Agent

by Elisabeth Hobbes

  He was clutching at straws, or trying to lash out, feeling wounded, but he couldn’t know how deeply his words hurt her while simultaneously causing her heart to skip a beat. He thought he’d seen love on Felix’s face. Admitting she loved Felix might be enough of an explanation for why she would not be with Dieter, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. If he turned violent, it might be Felix he took his resentment out on.

  ‘There’s no one else.’

  Thinking that he might be vindictive was enough to send rage bubbling up inside her. She fixed her eyes on him and folded her arms.

  ‘Last time we met you kissed me to hurt me, or impress me, or something I can’t even contemplate, but it was not to show me you love me. You scared me with your talk of revealing secrets and making life difficult for me. I’ve tried to ignore it because you can be gentle and kind. I tried to convince myself it didn’t matter that you are German, but whenever we speak, you say something that reminds me we are on opposite sides of a war and you will always choose your side over me. As I must choose mine over you. I won’t be one of those women dripping with furs who parade through Paris on the arm of a man who has killed her countrymen.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘I have killed no one. I work in an office.’

  ‘But what about your actions? The other day, you suggested sending workers to labour in your country so we could go on a holiday! How could I go to Paris with you, knowing what others have been forced to do in order to secure our trip?’

  He raised his brows. Clearly that was something that had not occurred to him. She carried on, speaking gently.

  ‘You can’t possibly understand what it is like for me. You talk of a great future for the Reich, while I have to stand at checkpoints and let men with guns rifle through my bag.’

  ‘But the future will be greater. Peace will come. Order will be restored.’ Dieter had the look of a man under a spell. His eyes shone with belief in the new world Hitler was creating.

  ‘Will it be greater for everyone?’ Sylvie’s voice rose. Now she had started, she couldn’t stop. The words tumbled out incautiously. She might be signing her death warrant but carried on regardless. It was the only way she could think to end things once and for all in a manner Dieter could never dispute. Part of her was overjoyed to use him as a proxy for all the checkpoints and hunger, the fear and hatred she felt towards the Nazis.

  ‘What about the people you send to labour in the fields in Germany? How will the lives of those men and women be better than before you came? How can anything be better for the men and women who have lost their lives fighting?’

  She was breathing hard and realised she had clenched her fists. She watched Dieter’s face change from surprise to fury, then incredulity. He swung round towards her, finger pointing at her face like a revolver.

  ‘That sort of talk is subversive. I could have you arrested.’

  Sylvie lifted her head. If he thought a threat like that would intimidate her, he was wrong.

  ‘Like the old women I told you about? You could. After all, I’m just as guilty of thinking what they did, even if I haven’t made any posters. But if you do, it would confirm why I am right to reject you. Remember what you told me about seeing the enemy soldiers on the streets of Saarland as a child? You are one of those men now!’

  He stepped back as if she had struck him, and his eyes creased. Sylvie clenched her fists in frustration. How could he not see the parallels?

  ‘Sylvie, I am not your enemy,’ he said, opening his arms. She took a step backward, out of his reach.

  ‘Aren’t you? The choice is yours to make. Decide what sort of man you are.’

  Now she had vented everything, she felt drained but elated. She picked up her bicycle, positioning it between them in case he decided to assault her with another kiss as he had done in the gardens.

  ‘Please don’t visit Mirabelle again. I think it would be bad for either of us.’

  ‘I think you are correct. And I think you had better leave now,’ Dieter said coldly. ‘You have to get ready to dance after all.’

  Sylvie nodded at him. She cycled away, shaking. So much for letting Dieter down gently. She was reasonably certain she had done enough to ensure he would not return to Mirabelle, and she had to hope she had not made an enemy for life.

  A few streets across, she got off her bicycle and sat on the edge of a fountain, clutching her stomach. She felt physically sick and was shaking. There was no way on earth she could dance tonight. She went home and climbed into bed. The sheets were still crumpled from making love with Felix earlier and she wrapped herself in them tightly, wishing he was at her side. She had to hope that Dieter would believe her when she said Felix was not involved.

  She was awakened by a hammering on the door. It was pitch black outside her skylight, so it must have been quite late. She froze. Possibilities tumbled through her mind. Dieter had discovered where she lived, or she had been connected with one of the attacks. Henri’s whereabouts had been discovered. Whatever had happened, there was nothing she could do now to evade the visitors.

  The knocking came again, more urgently.

  ‘Sylvie, are you in there?’

  She clutched the pillow to her face and laughed with relief. It was Céline, but why was she hammering so loudly?

  ‘Sylvie, let me in if you’re there.’ A second voice. Felix.

  Sylvie remembered she had not gone to the club. They must have wondered where she was and come after Mirabelle had closed. She opened the door, slightly conscious of her mannish blue-and-white-striped pyjamas. For the first time since that fake interrogation back at SOE training, she wished she had something more feminine. Felix and Céline looked relieved.

  ‘Where were you? Antoine was furious when you didn’t show up tonight,’ Céline exclaimed.

  ‘Then we all got worried,’ Felix added.

  He stared at Sylvie with an expression of such intensity that she went weak. He must have experienced some of the same terror she had on hearing about his disappearance.

  ‘I was sick. I don’t know if I ate something or if I am ill, but I started going to the club but had to stop and vomit at the side of the road.’ She put her hands on her stomach, which did indeed still feel fragile. ‘It was so embarrassing. I came straight home and went to bed. I’m sorry I didn’t let anybody know.’

  ‘There, I knew there would be a simple explanation,’ Céline said. ‘Felix was convinced some harm had befallen you. I am going to bed, now we know you’re safe.’

  She looked at Felix and raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t want to know whether you are going to let yourself out or stay here. It’s none of my business, but be careful Madame Giraud doesn’t find you.’

  She swayed off down the corridor. Felix came in and closed the door behind him.

  ‘What really happened?’

  Of course he had known she was not telling the truth. She slipped her arms around him.

  ‘I went to see Dieter. I’ve ended things with him completely. Marcel had orders from headquarters for me to do it.’

  She felt Felix tense. He drew her to the bed and sat beside her.

  ‘He took it badly? Did he hurt you?’

  She shook her head and explained what had passed between them, leaving out Dieter’s comment about seeing love in Felix’s eyes. Felix looked thunderous. He pushed himself to his feet and stormed around the room.

  ‘To go to him to say such things could have got you arrested! He could have shot you in the street and no one would have done a thing to stop him. Sylvie, how could you be so reckless?’

  Such condemnation broke her. ‘I was angry. He stood for every Nazi in France, and I hated everything about him. I didn’t care that I might hurt or offend him,’ she said. She felt tears brimming and wiped them away roughly. ‘Yes, I should’ve been more cautious, but it’s too late for that now. I wanted to ensure he would stay away from Mirabelle and the people I care about. Especially now Henri is there.’

  ‘I ho
pe it worked.’ He sat back down and took her hand. ‘You were right about Céline, by the way. When you did not show up, Adele and Emily came straight to me to ask if I knew where you were. We are the talk of the club. Any Gestapo or milice officer who asks questions will be met by half a dozen people who genuinely believe they saw us leaving together. You are a genius!’

  Sylvie leaned her head against him. For the first time since arriving, she felt Felix’s body relax into her. ‘As for Henri, tomorrow, if you are well enough to come to the club, you will see for yourself that he is safe for the time being.’

  He glanced at the door. ‘It’s late. I should go. Or would you like me to stay?’

  ‘You should know the answer to that,’ Sylvie said.

  ‘In that case I will.’

  He stripped down to his underpants and vest without any ceremony, switched the light off and clambered into bed beside Sylvie. She rested her head on his chest, and he put his arms around her.

  ‘If anything was going to give away your true identity as an Englishwoman it would be these detestable pyjamas,’ he whispered in her ear.

  ‘In that case I should take them off,’ Sylvie said. She started to undo the buttons, but Felix moved her hands and took over. She lay back and let him work his way down from top to bottom. She had never felt less English, and now more than ever her adopted country felt alien to her. It was traitorous to want the war to continue, but once it was over, she would have to return, and she feared that when she did, her heart would break forever.

  Sylvie discovered what Felix meant when she arrived at Mirabelle the following afternoon and made her apologies to Antoine for her absence.

  He patted her hand. ‘Don’t worry, my child. Things have been rather busy here. I have had a visit from an old acquaintance who is staying with me. Perhaps you would like to meet her?’

  Smiling mysteriously, he led Sylvie upstairs to his private apartment. What she saw when she entered left her open-mouthed. A woman in a long silk dress sat by the window. She had an elaborate hairstyle of brown curls piled high and a perfectly made-up face with scarlet lips and soot-black eyes. It was only because Sylvie recognised the eyes that were twinkling at her that she recognised Henri.

  ‘I am pleased to meet you, madame,’ she said, trying not to smile.

  ‘I am charmed,’ Henri replied, holding out a perfectly manicured hand.

  Sylvie took it. ‘Hello, Grandmother, what long nails you have!’

  Henri gave her a mock severe look. ‘Mind your manners, young woman. You should know better than to taunt your elders.’

  He seemed in quite good humour considering how he was dressed.

  ‘But this is ridiculous,’ Sylvie said.

  ‘It’s not ridiculous. It’s very clever. I’m not going to ask why your employer has such a ready supply of female wigs and clothing, but the Germans will be searching for a young man with a moustache, not a middle-aged woman. Besides, I don’t intend to go out like this. I can’t parade up and down the boulevards with my leg in the state it is in.’

  ‘How is your leg?’ Sylvie asked.

  Henri winced. ‘Painful. You would not have wanted to be here yesterday when the doctor came and reset my kneecap. There was a lot of language that turned the air blue.’

  He lifted his skirt and displayed large bandages around both his knee and ankle. A revolver strapped to his thigh added a surreal touch.

  ‘I can hobble with a walking stick, but I am afraid cycling will be beyond me. I had a visit from your network chief, who has promised to get me out as quickly as possible by some other means. Until then, I’m afraid I’ll have to hope nobody comes looking here. Perhaps I should do a number on the stage. I believe I can remember some Gilbert and Sullivan from my university days.’

  ‘I’m not sure our clientele is ready for your “Little Buttercup”,’ Sylvie said with a grin.

  Henri barked a laugh.

  Sylvie’s smile faded. Ever since she had arrived at Mirabelle, she had been excited to perform each night, but tonight she dreaded it, in case Dieter ignored her request and came to the club. She was anxious all through the family meal and barely ate anything, which at least lent credence to the idea she had been struck down with a sickness.

  She was fussed around by the other dancers who showed concern over her illness. She was touched. Having people concerned for her was something new, and she liked it. She was amused when Céline took her to one side and whispered in her ear.

  ‘Is your sickness because you are with child? I know a woman who can fix that very easily. You wouldn’t even have to tell Felix. It would be awful if you had to leave like Marie-Elaine did.’

  Sylvie said nothing. It might be wise to let that rumour start in case she did have to vanish. She ate some bread, musing on what would happen if she did fall pregnant. They hadn’t always been as careful as they had the first time. Angelique had been left with a baby after her affair with Arthur, and she didn’t want Felix to ever feel bound to her by that obligation. They would have to be more sensible from now on.

  To Sylvie’s immense relief, Dieter didn’t come to watch, but she spotted Nikki and Tall Valter sitting at the table at the front. Valter seem to be enjoying himself and doing his best to catch Céline’s eye, but Nikki never took his gaze off Sylvie. He was clearly trying to intimidate her, and unfortunately, it was working.

  He was there the following evening as well, sitting in the same seat with a single glass of wine, arms folded as he watched the performances, and it took all Sylvie’s strength not to run off the stage. She plucked up the courage to approach him when the dancers took a break and the audience took to the floor, but as soon as he saw her winding her way through the crowd, he left.

  ‘I’ve blown everything,’ she told Marcel when she visited him the morning after the second visit. She dropped her head into her hands. ‘I feel like I’m constantly waiting for arrest or a bullet in the back of my head. I don’t think it would take much for him to have a reason. I don’t know whether Baumann has sent him or if he’s come of his own accord.’

  Marcel poured her a small glass of pastis. ‘I’ve had word on the Henri situation. We’re meeting above Café Napoleon on Rue Versailles at four tomorrow. Henri should be able to walk that far. If he can’t, then our plans will have to change again, so it will be a good test. Let me give your predicament some thought and see what I can do to take the heat off you. Bring Felix with you.’

  She left feeling a little brighter, but still unsure what could be done.

  She discovered the answer the following day. She and Felix strolled to Café Napoleon arm in arm. They slipped through the door behind the bar and upstairs into a shuttered room where Marcel was waiting. Presently Antoine arrived, accompanied by Henri, still dressed as a woman and now sporting a hat with a short veil. He was limping and supported himself with a stick and seemed glad to sit down. Marcel eyed him appraisingly.

  ‘You can manage this far?’

  ‘I can.’

  ‘Good. We’re received word from England. The networks have arranged a route. We are getting Henri out tomorrow night, and Sylvie is going with him.’

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Felix reached for her hand and squeezed it tightly. She couldn’t look at him, but from the corner of her eye, she saw he was staring intently at his wine glass.

  ‘I don’t want to leave. There is still work for me to do here,’ she said.

  Marcel smiled. ‘I don’t mean permanently – though I am not discounting that if it becomes necessary. Henri can walk a short distance as we see, but he can’t manage alone. You’ll go as far as Angoulême with him. You’ll be away for two or three nights, but it means you won’t be fretting over what Nikki might do. You agree with me, don’t you, Felix?’

  Felix gripped Sylvie’s hand tighter.

  ‘It doesn’t matter what I think. Sylvie can make her own decisions.’ He looked at her. ‘But Henri needs someone to take him to safety and you’re the best perso
n to do it.’

  ‘I don’t want Sylvie risking her life for me,’ Henri said.

  ‘I risk my life every day,’ she pointed out. Her initial dismay had subsided now she realised her absence would be temporary. She leaned across the table, looking Marcel in the eye. ‘What is the plan?’

  ‘Tomorrow night, you begin your performance as usual. Henri will be waiting in the apartment upstairs. After your solo dance in the second half, Henri will join you downstairs. Leave by the door from the dressing room to the alley.’

  ‘I’ll make sure the rubbish is cleared from the door,’ Antoine said.

  ‘Go along to the road behind Mirabelle,’ Marcel continued. ‘At the crossroads at the top of the hill, there is a row of buildings that was destroyed in the bombing last year. There will be a lorry loaded with building materials waiting to drive you overnight. You’ll have to hide among the building materials, so I’m afraid your night won’t be very comfortable.’

  ‘Henri, will your leg stand it?’ Sylvie asked, thinking of how he had limped into the café.

  ‘I’ll crawl on my hands and knees if I have to,’ Henri replied.

  ‘Will Henri be dressed like that?’ Felix asked.

  ‘I think it best not,’ Marcel said, casting an eye over him. ‘Your own clothes and the identification papers you were given before. Sylvie, you will need whatever change of clothes you think is appropriate.’

  She nodded. Underwear for two days could be rolled small, a sturdy pair of shoes to change into when she came offstage. A sweater for warmth and thick socks for walking.

  ‘Blue pyjamas,’ Felix whispered.

  She stifled a giggle and glared at him. ‘Behave yourself. We’re trying to be serious, and everyone is watching.’

  She remembered Nikki staring at her at the checkpoint, like a tomcat intent on catching a mouse, and shivered.

  ‘Won’t it be suspicious if I don’t go back onstage? We have regular patrons who know the dancers always finish the night together.’