Page 17 of The Last Library of Paris

And then, two days later, the new vice-consul arrived.

I knew he’d arrived because all the girls in the office abandoned their desks so they could hang out of the window and gawp at him. I wasn’t sure how they had known he was on his way, but someone said something to someone else and soon all the typewriters were quiet as everyone huddled beside the windows.

Curious, I joined the throng, elbowing Penny out of the way so I could get a good view, just as the newcomer pulled up in a dark-red sports car.

With a growl of the engine, he drove up to the door of the embassy and parked it – very badly – right outside the entrance. He got out of the driver’s seat and all the typists sighed in satisfaction.

‘Handsome,’ said Penny approvingly.

I peered down at the man who was bounding up the steps. He was younger than I’d thought he’d be – in his late thirties or early forties perhaps? Not very much older than I was. He was wearing a well-cut suit, his hair was slicked back and he had a trim moustache. As I looked, he glanced up and smiled and the typists all giggled. I rolled my eyes.

Obviously, the office was full of chatter about the new vice-consul’s arrival. It was unbearable. I hated not knowing anything about him, nor why he had really come to the British Embassy in Lisbon. I sat silently with a pile of folders ready to file, while the other women speculated endlessly about what he’d be doing.

‘He might need an assistant,’ said Marge, preening. ‘Someone with good typing skills.’

‘Won’t be you then,’ joked Helen.

Marge stuck her tongue out at her and sat down at her desk.

‘He might need a translator,’ Penny said, nudging me. ‘I’ve heard he’s fluent in French and Spanish, but not so good at Portuguese.’

‘Interesting choice for a consul in Lisbon,’ I said, raising an eyebrow while inwardly I was marvelling at Penny’s talent for knowing everything.

‘I speak Portuguese,’ Marge said.

‘I know.’ Most of the women I worked with spoke passable Portuguese. We did all live in Lisbon, after all.

But I also spoke French, Spanish and German. I could fire a gun, I knew how to operate radios, read maps, use Morse code …

I just wasn’t allowed to use those skills for at least another eleven days.

‘I could work for Mr Valentine.’ Marge looked a little disgruntled.

‘You could.’ I picked up a folder and then dropped it on top of the pile again.

‘I’m just popping out,’ I said.

Penny looked at me through narrowed eyes. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Loo.’

‘Are you going to have a look at the new chap?’

‘No,’ I lied.

She snorted. ‘Come back and tell us what he’s like.’

Lord she was sharp. ‘No idea what you’re talking about,’ I said.

Penny sighed. ‘He looks like a dream.’

‘More like a nightmare,’ I muttered as I hurried along the corridor and down the stairs to where I knew the office that had been cleared for the new arrival was.

The door was firmly shut, but I could hear voices. I lingered outside for a moment, reluctant to go in. I even turned to walk away. And then I changed my mind, and before I could change it back again, I marched up to the door, knocked loudly and went straight in.

Inside the office were Digby and the new vice-consul, along with the consul – a sweet man called Bernard Bingham – and an earnest younger man who was taking notes.

Digby was sitting at a desk, Mr Bingham standing by the window, and the newcomer was lounging on a chair with his feet up on the desk where the younger man sat, notepad in front of him.