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The morning saw scattered rain showers, but now that the sun has pushed past the clouds, the afternoon promises to be warm. The ground is already dry as I duck into a flower shop, taking the usual precautions to ensure I’m not being followed.
Élise is inspecting a bouquet of fresh cut tulips, and I walk over to her as if I hadn’t known she would be here. We kiss like the friends we’ve become and chat about nothing in particular. The light conversation of two companions who haven’t seen each other in a few weeks.
“I’m meeting my husband at Parc Montsouris,” she says, smiling as though she can’t believe we bumped into each other. “You must come. He would love to see you again.”
“Yes, I would love that.”
We walk arm in arm to the park where I am supposed to meet Allaire. It’s a dangerous game he and Élise are playing. If one of them is caught by the Gestapo or Milice, they both will pay with their lives.
And if I’m with them, my life will also be forfeited.
Allaire is standing next to the large pond, looking out at the water. His expression is contemplative. If I didn’t know better, I would say he is lost in his own world. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. He’s an SOE agent. He’s well aware of his surroundings and the people coming and going.
But there is something else in his expression beyond the exhaustion and wariness that wrenches at our seams. Wrenches at the seams of all who live under German rule.
He greets his wife and kisses my cheeks like the cousins he and I are supposed to be. Élise and I loop our arms with Allaire, and the three of us stroll along the sidewalk encircling the pond. We’re smiling, three friends trying to escape the war weighing down on Europe. Or at least trying to escape it for a few precious moments.
“Your message said you have important information about an upcoming attack the Germans have planned.” Allaire’s voice is low so only I can hear him.
“That’s correct.” I relay everything Major Müller and the other officers discussed on Friday night. Élise can’t overhear what I am telling her husband, but she pretends she can, laughing as if I’m telling a joke. But the few times I catch her eye, I see the fear buried deep in them.
“Is it possible they might suspect you understand German?” Allaire asks.
“I’ve been very careful not to give The Wolf or the other officers a reason to believe I speak a language other than French.” The Wolf being code for Captain Schmidt.
“All right. I’ll warn the resistance circuit leader in the area about what you told me. They must be careful with how they act on the news. We don’t want to alert your new houseguest that you know more than he realises. If the captain or his fellow officers remain soblaséin your presence, they might inadvertently provide Baker Street with intelligence Germany would rather we didn’t know.” Allaire levels a smile at me. The smile of a cat about to pounce on a fattened canary.
“Your job description has just changed, Carmen. If you can still locate safe houses and be part of the reception committees, that is good. But while your houseguest is around, make the most of the situation and see what else you can learn from The Wolf and his comrades about Germany’s plans. Gain his trust. Get close to him and form a relationship with him.”
I laugh at the joke that Allaire didn’t just share with Élise and me. “You want me to do whatever it takes to get him to reveal what he knows?” It’s clear from my innuendo what I mean.
“I won’t suggest that. Baker Street has rules about what we should and shouldn’t do here, especially when it comes to the opposite sex. It’s up to you on how you want to proceed. I trust you’ll do what is right for you.”
His words reassure me. The SOE’s training covered plenty of topics, but seducing secrets from the enemy was not part of the curriculum.
“Excusez-moi.” Élise hurries off to meet a woman heading in our direction.
Allaire stops walking, causing me to do the same.
The woman is in her late forties and is wearing a blue silk dress that was the height of fashion prior to the war. She is of money, that much is obvious. At her feet are a pair of white Pomeranians.
“That’s Madame Marchand,” Allaire explains with a hint of frustration in his tone. “We believe she’s possibly collaborating with the Germans. Or she’s on our side and reports to someone else. Sometimes it’s so hard to tell which is which. I have a meeting with Christian soon, but I know she’ll expect me to converse with her for a minimum of ten minutes before I can slip away.”
“How is Christian doing?” I’m eager for any news that maybe the war is ending soon, but I don’t expect Allaire to tell me anything of significance. He can’t for the sake of theCashmerenetwork’s security.
The frustration from Allaire’s tone slips into the sigh that escapes his lips.
“What is it?” I prompt.
“It’s nothing really. Christian is leaning towards letting a group of communists be part of the network.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” The Allies are working with the Soviets to end the war, so it makes sense for Christian to recruit communists to help us.
“Normally, yes. But I believe this particular group entertains a strong antisemitic rhetoric. I am trying to persuade him to not permit them to join us, but so far, he doesn’t agree with me. I’ve managed to stall their inclusion, but that won’t last much longer.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m leaving for London next week and will see what Baker Street advises.”
