The Paris Assignment: A Novel by Rhys Bowen

Author:Rhys Bowen [Bowen, Rhys]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lake Union Publishing
Published: 2023-08-07T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 27

It was a time of waiting, holding breath. Madeleine had finished her training and was wondering what would happen next. Some of the men had already left, apparently heading for France, but the women stayed. It seemed there was a hold-up in their plans—members of Parliament objecting to using women in the field as operatives. Winston Churchill was all for it, so it was likely to pass, but in the meantime hers was not an unpleasant life. They stayed at Beaulieu, speaking French, practicing skills, keeping fit, but also enjoying good meals by wartime standards and taking long walks around the grounds. The weather, in late July, was glorious, and they sunbathed on the lawns until they were hauled in and scolded.

“Would Minette Giron sunbathe with few clothes on? I don’t think so. It’s fine to have a tanned face and arms, but don’t risk the rest of you.” The trainer looked at the group with sympathy. “Remember, it’s often one small slip that gives someone away. A local person saying, ‘Wait. That doesn’t make sense. She can’t be from here.’ And then you’re done for.”

“Do you think we should look on local people as the enemy?” Portia said. “Will they not be on our side?”

“By and large, yes,” the trainer agreed. “But there are those who would sell their grandmother for a shilling, also those who would like to stay on the good side of the Germans in return for being allowed to do business, those who are really hungry and would do more for extra food . . .” He put his hands together. “In times of war, people do not behave according to a normal code of conduct. Some will display extraordinary bravery, beyond what you’d expect of them. Others extraordinary greed, or cowardice or depravity. The war brings out the best or the worst in all of us.”

They were permitted to write a final letter. Madeleine wrote hers to her father and Eleanor, telling them absolutely nothing about what she had done but hoping they were well and assuring them she was still healthy and physically fit. She tried to feel remorse that she might never see her father again, but she realized he was one of those upper-class English boys who go to boarding school at an early age and learn to shut off all emotions. He had cared for her, she knew that, but he had never really loved her in the way she wanted to be loved—the way her mother had loved her, and Giles and Olivier. Dear little Olivier, who would hug her fiercely and say, “I love you, Maman.”

She paused, thinking of Giles now, her heart quickening with excitement. Was it possible he was still alive, in hiding, and she might see him one day?

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