The bollard at the end of the alley where Sylvie had laid the explosive charge had been replaced and the damage from the bomb blast had been plastered over. The sign that hung above the doorway to Mirabelle was new, but the painting of the dancer modelled on Sylvie on the blacked-out window looked weather-beaten and a little worse for wear.
A bit like Sylvie herself.
The front door of Mirabelle was propped open. Music filled the air; the familiar piano now accompanied by a trumpet and a soft, rhythmic drum beat.
Jazz.
Sylvie took a deep breath and walked inside.
There had been subtle changes since she had last been there. The small circular tables now had softly flickering candles in the centres, and the chairs were covered with velvet, adding a sumptuous air. A large gilt-edged mirror hung behind the stage, reflecting the dancers’ shapely rear view and the audience back to themselves. Where Felix’s piano had once stood alone, there were now three musicians. A tall black man playing a trumpet, a very pale-skinned man with a pencil moustache, and the familiar figure of Felix at the piano with his back to the door. Adele and Estelle were performing a dance while Emily flirted with a customer at the bar, drink in hand.
It was early in the evening, but the air was already hazy with smoke. Colognes and perfumes added another layer, and beneath that were the smells of warm bodies and alcohol. The audience was young and seemed to be mainly couples. The atmosphere was intimate and alluring. No one noticed her, so she stood in the doorway and let the familiar scents and sounds wrap around her like a comforting blanket.
After a few moments, Monsieur Julien appeared, dressed in an immaculate white tuxedo jacket. He surveyed the scene as he walked around the tables, chatting to customers, topping up glasses from the bottles. His eyes fell on Sylvie, and he stopped walking, staring at her as if he wasn’t sure she was real. She gave him a little wave, slightly hesitant. She had been responsible for bringing trouble to his club, and it suddenly struck her that she might not be welcome. But her fears were unfounded because he walked across the floor with a smile and enveloped her in a hug.
‘Hello, monsieur,’ Sylvie said when he released her.
‘Beautiful Sylvie!’ he exclaimed.
He was being generous. Long hours nursing had given her eyes lines and dark circles that never seemed to fade.
‘We’ve missed your dancing. Are you returning to me?’ Antoine asked.
‘I’m not sure. It depends on a lot of things, but I’d like to. For a little while at least.’
‘You can stay for as long as you want, my dear!’ he answered, beaming. His voice carried over the low chatter, causing heads to turn. Emily spotted Sylvie first, turning on her bar stool and almost spilling her martini as she shrieked Sylvie’s name in excitement. Her high-pitched voice did what Antoine’s had failed to do and drew everyone’s attention to Sylvie’s presence.
Estelle and Adele stopped mid-dance, then jumped off the stage and pushed through the tables to hug and kiss Sylvie. The audience appeared to think this was some sort of floor show and began applauding wildly. Felix stopped playing, leaving the trumpet and drums to continue for a few more bars before uncertainly tailing off. He turned slowly around and their eyes met. He mouthed her name. She nodded, eyes saying more than lips could. Why wasn’t he rushing to meet her too?
Doubt began to creep into her heart. Too long had passed since the frantic declaration of love they had exchanged on that terrible night.
But then Felix bent down and picked up a pair of crutches from beside his stool. Slowly, oh so slowly, he made his way towards her, walking with difficulty.
‘They broke his leg in two places,’ Antoine murmured beside her. ‘Crushed his foot.’
Felix stopped in front of Sylvie, leaning on the crutches for support. His left foot was twisted outwards. His hair had grey in among the black at the temples, and there was a furrowed scar on the side of his face between his ear and cheek that looked like a long burn.
Marcel had said Felix was changed but hadn’t warned her about this.
‘They did this to you?’
She reached out a hand to touch his cheek. He closed his eyes, wincing, and she withdrew her hand hastily.
‘This was my fault.’ Her voice stuck in her throat.
He drew a breath and looked at her.
‘No.’
His eyes were deeply lined at the corners, but the flash of passion in them almost knocked Sylvie off her feet. The audience was growing restless, realising this was not part of the evening’s entertainment after all. Emily, Adele and Estelle were still crowding around Sylvie and Felix. She had made a mistake arriving at Mirabelle now. Not by coming at all, but she should have waited until the club was closed and they could talk in privacy. Now was the wrong time.
‘I should have waited until tomorrow,’ she said. ‘We can’t talk now.’
‘Are you staying long?’ he asked.
‘I think so. For now, at least. England, it isn’t the place for me. There’s nowhere else I want to be.’
She felt a moment to a pang of uncertainty. ‘Are you staying with Céline again?’ Felix asked.
‘No. I have a room in a hotel.’
He took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers.
‘Or you can stay here with me. For tonight.’
If she had harboured any doubts that coming back was the right thing to do, the moment he touched her hand they vanished.
‘I’d like that,’ she murmured.
She wrapped her arms around him, holding tight. Tears start to roll uncontrollably down her face.
Felix leaned against her for support as they kissed, lips burning and bruising with his ferocity. Sylvie became dimly aware that Antoine flapping his hands at the dancers, ushering them back to the stage and giving them a small degree of privacy.
‘I didn’t know if you had made it to England,’ Felix said when he drew away. ‘When we had no word, I gave up hope of ever hearing from you. I didn’t even know your real name.’
‘I should have come back sooner,’ Sylvie replied.
He kissed her again, this time softly and slowly. She tasted salt. Her tears or his? She wasn’t sure, and it didn’t matter. They were tears of happiness and sadness, pain and release.
Céline emerged from behind the curtain. She caught sight of Sylvie and tossed her hair back gracefully, then walked across the room arm in arm with the trumpet player. He was still carrying his instrument and looked confused by the uproar.
‘Hello, Sylvie,’ Céline said, kissing Sylvie on one cheek then the other as if she had been gone less than a day. She pouted in mock severity. ‘You and I are going to have a long talk very soon about keeping secrets from friends! For now, let me introduce you to Eugene Wilkins. He was in the US army but not any more. We’re getting married next month.’
Sylvie hugged Céline close. In a changed world, Céline’s uncomplicated attitude was reassuring. ‘Many congratulations to the both of you.’
‘Pleased to meet you, ma’am,’ Eugene said in a slow, lyrical drawl. ‘I don’t think I caught your name but I guess everyone here knows you.’
Sylvie smiled up at Felix. Later, she would sit with him and they would talk and share the stories of what has happened since they had parted. Sob, laugh, and make love.
They would talk of the past, and maybe the future.
Were the few frantic nights they had spent together in a whirl of passion and danger enough to hold them together after the war had ended? She had no idea if what they had endured was enough to build a life together, but she was willing to take the chance and find out.
If not, her suitcase would be waiting and there would be other rooms.
She shook Eugene’s hand and there was no hesitation in her voice when she replied.
‘My name is Sylvie Duchene, and I am a dancer.’
Author’s Note
When I started researching this book I only had a vague sense of the work of SOE – the Sp
ecial Operations Executive – and a few of the better-known figures such as Noor Inayat Khan, Violette Szabo and Odette Sansom. It has been a pleasure (if such a word can be applied to the circumstances of their frequently bleak lives and deaths in the course of their work) to learn more about the other women (and men), their training and the parts they played in helping to being about an end to the war in Europe. To head into unknown danger under assumed names requires a degree of courage I can’t begin to contemplate. I hope readers will judge Sylvie a worthy tribute to their work and memories. Some of the situations Sylvie finds herself in were inspired by real life incidents reported by members of SOE. Any inaccuracies in the described training or work methods are entirely my fault.
I sent Sylvie to carry out her work in Nantes for two reasons. Firstly because there was no SOE cell based there so I could have free reign with creating mine, and secondly because it is one of my favourite cities to visit. I encourage everyone to get there if possible. The locations mentioned such as the Jardin des Plantes, Passage Pommeraye and Chateau des Ducs de Bretagne still exist, along with the more recent addition of a giant, mechanical, rideable elephant at the Machines de L’Ile which now stands on the site of old factories and shipyards.
I’d like to give particular thanks to: Shell Cunliffe from The Unlaced Historical Romance Group on Facebook for suggesting Librarian as the name of Sylvie’s cell.
My editor Charlotte for receiving my drafts with such enthusiasm and being so supportive. My editor Julia at Mills & Boon for introducing me to Charlotte in the first place.
My son, A1, for telling me which type of aeroplane Sylvie might have flown in (and not showing his exasperation too openly when I asked for the fifth time).
Thank You for Reading…
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Happy reading!
Elisabeth’s writing career began when she finished third in Harlequin’s So You Think You Can Write contest in 2013 and she hasn’t looked back. She teaches primary school but would rather write full-time because, unlike her five-year-olds, her characters generally do what she tells them. She spends most of her spare time reading and is a pro at cooking one-handed while holding a book.
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She lives in Cheshire because the car broke down there in 1999 and she never left.
elisabethhobbes.co.uk
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Author’s Note
Thank You for Reading…
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About the Author
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About the Publisher
The Secret Agent Page 32
