The Secret Agent

‘You had a strange way of showing it earlier in the day, accusing me of spying, and making innuendo.’

He frowned, but Sylvie couldn’t tell whether that was because of her reference to innuendo or spying. Her nerves jangled. What if he was a spy? A member of the Abwehr or, worse, the Gestapo. A man of his age who was by all appearances perfectly healthy should be fighting for his country. There must be some reason he was not.

‘I should go,’ Sylvie said. ‘It’s almost curfew and I need to get home.’

She continued walking, which brought her alongside the entrance to another alley. Felix sauntered alongside her as if he had no cares in the world. She felt his eyes on her and kept hers firmly on the darkened pavement.

‘Have you settled into your accommodation?’ Felix asked. ‘Do you have far to go?’

‘I’m not going to tell you that.’

Sylvie felt a little of the tension in her shoulders melting away. She was more certain now that this was a clumsy attempt at seduction. Perhaps Felix didn’t often need to waste his time with conversation. He was good-looking and had a debonair air about him. Sylvie had already felt the tug of his charm. She didn’t doubt other women – women who weren’t as determined as she was to avoid letting any man break down her walls – would gladly slip into his arms and bed.

‘My room is very pleasant, thank you.’ She tucked her coat a little tighter around herself and left her arms folded across her chest. ‘Although I am far from ready for visitors, before you ask.’

Felix gave a deep chuckle. He had an appealing laugh and the sound made Sylvie want to smile in response; it went well with his well-shaped mouth. Annoyed that she had even noticed that detail, she shifted the weight of her bag under her arm to make the opening more accessible and began to rummage inside. If the pianist had any bold ideas, then the heavy brass rings that she could slip onto her hand would soon change his mind. In other circumstances it would have amused her to think she might conceivably take him by surprise and do him serious injury, but now she was tired and wanted to get to bed.

‘Nicely evaded, mademoiselle,’ Felix said. ‘Don’t worry, I’m going home myself now. I wasn’t presuming to invite myself up for an apéritif.’

Sylvie narrowed her eyes. ‘Surely an apéritif is what you have at the start of the evening. This one is almost over.’

He laughed again and leaned against the wall with his hands in his trouser pockets, pushing his unbuttoned overcoat back. ‘I know that. In my view, it doesn’t matter how late the evening starts if it shows promise.’

‘Well, this one doesn’t,’ Sylvie said firmly as she began to walk away. ‘I’m tired. I don’t have time for fooling about.’

‘Neither do I,’ Felix said, following her. ‘I merely thought I would introduce myself properly and see how you are finding Nantes. Have you seen the Loire by moonlight, for example?’

The hairs on the back of Sylvie’s neck stood on end. Her footstep faltered and she slowed as a band of iron around her chest seemed to cut off her breath. That was the start of the code phrase that would allow her to confirm the identity of her contact. She had memorised the reply she had to give and what the counter reply to that should be. She let go of the knuckleduster and closed her bag.

She knew Marcel was English, well-built and with blond hair. Hair colour could be changed, but Felix was too lean. Moreover, unless he was the best actor in France, the dark-haired man who was standing before her with such an infuriating expression on his face was definitely French.

It could just be a coincidence that he had asked that question. Or worse, it was a trap. Marcel hadn’t appeared, and Sylvie still had no explanation why. If Felix knew the code, then he either knew Marcel or where he might be. The question was whether he was an ally or the man responsible for the agent’s disappearance.

There was the sound of a door creaking open and then voices in German wishing someone good night. A female voice answered and then the door slammed. On their way to Céline’s apartment the night before, the singer had pointed out the discreetly painted black door with a bouquet of dried roses hanging in the window three doors down from the club. She had explained it was a brothel for the sole use of the German officers.

‘Singing for them is not so bad considering what we could be doing,’ she had remarked. Sylvie had agreed, imagining the lives of the unfortunate women forced into prostitution for the occupying forces. She had heard rumours. Been warned.

Footsteps were heading their way.

The pianist growled and stepped smoothly round in front of Sylvie. ‘I don’t have time to fool around either, mademoiselle. Tell me: have you seen the Loire by moonlight?’

It was unmistakable now. He had used the same question twice. Whether or not it was a trap, Sylvie had little choice but to respond or run, with all the complications that would entail. She had waited two days without contact. This was not the way she was supposed to meet Marcel, but perhaps it was the only way her contact could safely get in touch.

‘I couldn’t see it clearly because of the fog,’ she answered in a low voice, giving the phrase she had memorised.

‘What is going on there?’ came a voice speaking in French but heavily accented with German.

‘You should be careful you don’t fall in,’ the pianist answered. The counter response.

‘Who is that?’ the German shouted. ‘Stay where you are!’

Sylvie looked at the pianist in panic. It was too appalling to think that she would be discovered at the same moment she had finally made contact.

She tensed, expecting him to seize her by the wrist and hand her over. She braced herself to run. Felix’s lips were set in a firm line, and his stance had become alert.

‘Friend not foe,’ he muttered as he tucked Sylvie’s arm under his. He moved swiftly, pulling her down the alley into the darkness. Sylvie gasped in surprise, followed by a yelp as she skidded on something she had to hope was mud. Felix pulled her upright, lifting her easily with his hands beneath her armpit, and backed her against the wall.

‘Forgive me for what I am about to do, mademoiselle,’ he whispered.

He pushed his body up against Sylvie’s, one hand at her waist and the other over her breasts. His fingers fumbled with the buttons on her blouse and deftly slipped beneath the silk. She gasped in shock as his fingers brushed against the mound of her breast and something scratched the delicate skin.

Felix removed his hands. He put them either side of Sylvie’s head, holding her firmly, and kissed her. She didn’t have time to protest as his lips frantically moved against hers. The scent of vanilla and lavender from his cologne mingled with the taste of tobacco. Rich and seductive.

The burst of pleasure that shot through her as their tongues tangled was jarringly good, but she was damned if she was going to kiss him back. She squeezed her hands between their bodies and dug her nails into his shirt front. As Felix pulled away from Sylvie, she bunched her fist and delivered a punch to his jaw. His head jerked, then he straightened back up. Their eyes met and she just had time to see the anger boiling in his before a burst of light blinded her and made her screw her eyes tight shut.

‘What is going on down here? There are ten minutes until curfew.’

They both looked, blinking, to the end of the alley where a figure stood in silhouette holding a torch raised to shoulder height.

‘We are just having a bit of fun,’ Felix said. ‘No harm in it.’

He rubbed his palm across his jaw and glared at Sylvie.

‘Is he telling the truth, fräulein?’ The German marched into the alleyway. ‘I take a dim view of rape.’

Sylvie shook her head. She slipped out from between Felix and the wall. ‘It was not my idea of fun but I don’t need help.’

‘I wasn’t going to rape her,’ Felix exclaimed. ‘We’re just making friends. We work together.’

‘You are both from the club.’ The German flashed his torch across both their faces. ‘I saw you playing tonight. And you danced. Is he telling the truth or should I arrest him?’

‘No!’ Sylvie exclaimed. This was a dreadful tangle. An enemy officer was threatening to arrest her contact. The pianist had not endeared himself to her, but she knew which side she was on. ‘I mean, don’t arrest him. He misunderstood what I said and thought I agreed to something I didn’t.’

‘Then either he should pay more attention or you should make yourself clearer,’ the German said. ‘You! Get home,’ he barked at Felix.

Felix slid his eyes towards Sylvie and raised his brows. She gave the smallest nod she could. He adjusted his hat and nodded his head stiffly to the officer, then walked away. He paused at the end of the alley to look back one final time before disappearing. Sylvie looked properly at the German officer.

‘I recognise you. You were at the club tonight. On the table at the back.’

‘That’s right.’ He nodded seriously.

He was a blushing young man who had sat in the corner of his group looking as if he would have preferred to be anywhere else while his companions applauded and drank. He’d been one of the party who she had encountered in the street on the first night she had arrived.

‘You didn’t enjoy yourself?’

The officer looked down at his hands. ‘I enjoyed the music. Some of it is very new to me.’

‘But not the dancing?’ Sylvie asked.

He looked at her with his head on one side. ‘Oh no, fräulein. The dancers were very good too. Very pretty.’

There was an earnest air about him that Sylvie found oddly endearing. But he was a German, so what was she doing practically flirting with him? True, she had agreed to use any opportunity to find out secrets, but this young man hardly seemed the best use of her time.

‘Where do you live, fräulein? Do you need someone to take you home?’

‘No.’ The last thing Sylvie needed was to call attention to herself or give a member of the German army knowledge of where she lived. ‘That is, no, thank you. It is very close and I am fine.’ To emphasise her words, she straightened her hat and coat. She sighed. ‘The only damage is to my stockings. One of them has a run in it.’

The German’s eyes dropped to her legs. He was young. A year or two older than Sylvie at most.

‘I’ll be fine, but thank you.’

She walked past him, holding her breath until she reached the street. A shadowy figure in the recess of the brothel doorway caught her attention as she stepped out. She craned her head and the shadow receded deeper into the doorway. Despite being told to leave, Felix had lingered to see if she was safe. She nodded and he slipped away silently. Impulsively, Sylvie looked back at her unlikely German knight in armour. He was adjusting the torch and pistol at his belt and looked at her with narrowed eyes.

‘Perhaps I will see you at the club another night.’

‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘Go safely now. Good night, fräulein.’

Sylvie walked to the end of the road in what she hoped was a casual manner. She pulled her coat around herself and tightened the belt, although the night was warm. When she had crossed the street and rounded another corner, she began to stride out, determined to lose the German if he happened to be following her.

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