Page 12 of Shadows In Paris
‘Do I have to inhale like that?’ she said, narrowing her eyes.
‘Only if you want people to believe you’re a real smoker,’ he said.
Lizzie followed his example and spluttered and coughed after her first puff.
‘It takes a bit of practice.’
‘But it tastes like old socks! Why would people do this to themselves?’
‘Tasted many old socks, have you?’ Jack teased.
‘You know what I mean,’ she said, dissolving into laughter.
‘I do. Like I say, it takes a bit of practice and it’s also something of an acquired taste, but no self-respecting secret agent doesn’t know how to smoke!’
‘I’m not a real secret agent like you, though.’
‘Yes, you are, Seagrove, and it’s about time you got used to the idea.’
Lizzie tried another puff and spluttered again, flapping her hand in front of her face to waft the curtain of smoke away.
‘This is really awful,’ she said, and her expression made Jack laugh out loud again.
‘Let’s give it another go tomorrow, shall we?’
Lizzie nodded. ‘I think I’ve had enough for one day. I’m not sure I’m a natural born smoker.’
‘I’ll give you some tips tomorrow. Now would you like a coffee?’
‘Yes, please. I need something to get rid of that dreadful taste in my mouth. It’s quite foul!’
When Jack returned with their cups of coffee, they started planning her cover story.
‘I’ve had an idea,’ he said. ‘How about we say your translation services are needed to support French veterans? There are lots of the poor buggers stuck here after Dunkirk. They were evacuated with our boys and many of them are in aterrible way from what I hear. Lost limbs and will never walk again, but even worse is their mental state. They’re suffering from what used to be called shell shock. They call it battle fatigue now. The wounded soldiers are distraught, in poor health and many don’t know what’s become of their families in France since they surrendered. They’re all alone here.’
‘Oh, my goodness, that’s so sad,’ Lizzie said. ‘I didn’t know, but of course they wouldn’t go back to France now even if they were physically able.’
‘They’d be deported to a camp in Germany, or worse. And unless they fully recover, they won’t fight again.’
‘It sounds awful. Poor men. They must feel utterly lost.’
‘It’s just one of the horrendous outcomes of this war. There are displaced people all over Europe.’
‘Where are these French veterans?’
‘It would make sense to say you’re working in a nursing home. It would be in a country house somewhere. It must be far enough away that your family won’t pop over to see you, but feasible in that the veterans wouldn’t be housed in the flight path of the bombing raids.’
‘What would I translate?’
‘Some soldiers have a poor grasp of English, and they need support in French for rehabilitation. Filling in papers, making sure they understand what they’re doing and what’s happening with their health, that kind of thing.’
Lizzie nodded, her eyes brimming with tears.
‘What did I say?’
‘It’s not you. It sounds silly, but I actually want to go and help them. For a minute, I forgot this is only a fake job.’
Jack put his arms around Lizzie. ‘You are quite the loveliest. It’s not silly at all.’
