Page 65 of Summer of Fire
The silence loomed.
His tone was clipped when he resumed speaking. ‘It must have been a test of some kind. Aside from the fact that if I were to take someone to the Ritz before we even met, that wouldn’t be any of your business.’
The words stung Lizzie like a slap in the face, and the minute he said them, she saw the remorse in his eyes.
‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound harsh. Ask me whatever you want. I have no personal life to hide, so it will be an extremely short interview. No one at SOE has a personal life. Didn’t you notice that yet?’
Lizzie stared into space, not sure what to say.
‘No more questions, Lizzie Beaumont?’ he prodded. ‘We can’t work together like this. You may as well get it all off your chest whilst we’re at it. I can’t say I enjoy being interrogated, but if that’s what it takes to make things right between us, then I’m ready to answer anything you want to know. Fire away.’
The way he talked about having no personal life caused her to doubt herself further. She took a deep breath, her heart pounding as she raised her eyes to his. ‘What about you and Hannah?’
There. She had said it. The question sounded pitiful to her own ears. The heat spread up her neck to her face, and her skin prickled with embarrassment.
All the breath went out of her like a pierced balloon, and she wished she could crawl into a hole where he couldn’t stare at her like that.
‘What about me and Hannah?’
CHAPTER 31
The position was only for three days to fill in for the permanent secretary. Lizzie wore a skirt and blouse and completed the look with her lucky scarf.
When she arrived at the base on the bicycle, a soldier checked her papersand looked her up and down.
Lizzie smiled her most charming smile. The entire operation depended on her being admitted as the replacement secretary. ‘I was told my name would be on the list,’ she said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
There was no room for error, and she had to keep her nerve as he ran his finger down the page on his clipboard.
‘Here we are. Marie LeClair. Straight ahead and turn right for the office, mademoiselle,’ he said in broken French before taking one last look at her and waving her through.
Lizzie felt sick. She drew in several deep breaths and calmed herself as she walked towards the office. She’d passed the first check, but now she was going into the lion’s den. There was no turning back.
A middle-aged woman with spectacles stood near a desk as Lizzie entered the small makeshift building.
‘Bonjour. I’m Marie LeClair, the temporary secretary.’
The woman’s lips stretched into a tight smile, and she instructed her to follow her. She explained Herr General would be in later. In the meantime, she had some important documents for her to type.
‘What kind of documents?’ Lizzie asked, glancing around, and taking in the layout of the offices and the view of the airfield and aircraft from the window.
‘Did you go through security clearance?’ the woman asked, squinting.
‘I was evaluated for the job before it was assigned to me,’ Lizzie said, unfaltering. ‘I have my papers here if you want to see them, but the guard already checked them at the entrance.’
‘No, that will do,’ the woman said. ‘The general organises the bombing raids on London that are destroying the enemy from here. Every day there is a list of targets for the pilots to collect before they set off.’
Lizzie could barely believe her luck. Right in the door and she was hearing about the bombing raids. Jack would be amazed.
Lizzie could tell the woman was French by the nuance of her speech and by the way she wore her scarf. German women didn’t dress like this, and besides, the Nazis left their wives at home in Germany.
They drew their local administrative staff from eager collaborators in the countries they occupied. The realisation that this French woman was cooperating so enthusiastically with the enemy turned Lizzie’s stomach. She had to school her face to maintain a pleasant expression and not betray her disgust.
How could French people support this horrific regime? What the Nazis were doing to innocent people was no secret.
‘You can sit here and work,’ the woman said in a surgical tone. ‘You must type each page with no mistakes, or they’ll have your head on a block.’
Lizzie said, ‘These words are German. I was told the job was for a French secretary.’
