Code Name Hélène

by Ariel Lawhon

  Where names, dates, details, and accounts of Nancy’s life differ in these biographies, I have deferred to her version. It was her life, and I believe that she knows what happened. For instance, in her autobiography, Nancy says that she parachuted into France on February 29, 1944 (a rather memorable day—and quite easy to confirm, given that it rolls around only once every four years), but FitzSimons describes her being dropped into France on or around April 28, 1944. It’s a small detail but maddening when you are trying to get your facts straight. So whenever choices had to be made about whose account to believe, I chose hers.

  When at all possible I used Nancy’s descriptions of events in her own words and have sprinkled them liberally throughout the book. Some of the dialogue and many of the descriptions of people and events are taken directly from her autobiography. But other details are taken from interviews, articles, and even obituaries in The New York Times and The Independent. I have also included details she gave to her biographers (both of whom were able to interview her at length before she died in 2011). A few such examples include the following:

  Nancy’s account of parachuting into France and describing the landing zone as though she were about to “descend into the rim-fires of Hell, complete with a control tower to guide us in,” as told to biographer Peter FitzSimons in his book Nancy Wake: A Biography of Our Greatest War Heroine (page 193).

  Nancy’s opinion that Henri’s wealth was “more pleasantly unimportant than if he had none” was found in Russell Braddon’s biography Nancy Wake: SOE’s Greatest Heroine (page 17).

  The details of Nancy’s job interview with Hearst and how she bluffed her way in by pretending to read and write Egyptian was found in Nancy Wake: A Biography of Our Greatest War Heroine by Peter FitzSimons (pages 44 and 45).

  I read about my subjects extensively and, in the drafts that I turn in to my publisher, footnote every single detail that I find. These footnotes obviously do not make it to the copy you hold in your hands. But they help me (not to mention my editors—my copyeditors, in particular) throughout the process. I set a personal record with Code Name Hélène. Of the 612 pages in the final draft pages, fifty were footnotes.

  Code Name Hélène is a work of fiction. It is not a biography. That bears repeating here because I have altered, condensed, and/or changed some details of Nancy’s life to fit my needs in this particular novel. If Nancy were still alive, I would beg her forgiveness. Instead, I must beg yours. As with any historical novel of this size and complexity, creative license had to be taken in a few places to ensure narrative drive. I never change the details of a person’s life flippantly. There is always a reason. And I believe that in the instances where I have done so here, I have, at the very least, remained true to the spirit of Nancy’s story. A few examples of the changes I have made include the following:

  Nancy’s initial trip to Vienna happened in 1934, but I bumped it up to 1936—the year she met Henri Fiocca—to condense the timeline. Nancy met Ian Garrow and Patrick O’Leary in 1941, but I have them meeting in 1940, under fictional circumstances. In real life she met them separately over several months, and in the company of her husband. However, Nancy did in fact bribe the guard at the Mauzac concentration camp, ensuring Garrow’s release. And he did recommend her for the SOE program in England. The rest, as they say, is history. Or, if you prefer, her story.

  Nancy’s escape from France actually took three months and seven attempts. She spent three additional months in Spain waiting for an exit visa to sail for England. And while she had any number of fascinating adventures during that time, I did not have room in this novel to include them. I recommend finding a copy of Nancy’s autobiography, The White Mouse (if you can; it’s currently out of print), or any of the biographies written about her, and reading them for yourself. I have taken the most exciting moments from those various attempts (the scabies and the three-day hike, for instance) and combined them into a single escape for the sake of narrative flow. Much of Nancy’s time was spent in the “hurry up and wait” category, and while that is far more accurate to covert activities, it’s also far less interesting to read. Please forgive me on that point.

  I greatly condensed Nancy’s SOE training. The details of those months she spent in Scotland are lengthy and fascinating. (I could write an entire novel about that time in her life.) But in this particular book, I wanted her time with the Maquis to take center stage. There were many female spies in World War II, but there were only a handful of female military leaders. It was her time with the Maquis that made Nancy one of the most decorated women of that war, and I wanted you, the reader, to understand why. Her path to recognition was a bit rocky, however. After the war she was recommended for numerous medals in Australia but was turned down because she did not officially fight for the Australian army. Many years later the government apologized and offered to give her the medals, but she refused and is famously quoted as saying, “The last time there was a suggestion of that I told the government they could stick their medals where the monkey stuck his nuts. The thing is, if they gave me a medal now, it wouldn’t be for love, so I don’t want anything from them.” In the end, however, she was properly honored and by the time of her death was appointed a chevalier of the Legion of Honor by France, and later promoted to officer of the Legion of Honor; she was made a companion of the Order of Australia; and she was awarded the RSA Badge in Gold, the Royal New Zealand Returned and Services’ Association’s highest recognition. Other honors include the George Medal (United Kingdom), the 1939–1945 Star (United Kingdom), the France and Germany Star (United Kingdom), the Deference Medal (United Kingdom), the War Medal 1939–1945 (United Kingdom), the Croix de Guerre (France), the Medal of Freedom (United States), and the Médaille de la Résistance (France). All of Nancy’s medals are currently on display at the Australian War Memorial.

  A few other miscellaneous notes:

  About Picon: yes, he’s real. (Nancy called him the great love of her life.) And yes, he survived! My readers are consistently worried about the animals in my novels, and I am delighted to report that, in this case, our sweet little pup had a happy ending. He lived for another seven years after the war, and when he eventually passed, of natural causes, Nancy wept for days. As she told Russell Braddon in an interview, “If you love dogs you’ll know the reason [why she cried]. The other part is that when Picon died, the last of my youth died too” (Braddon, pages 15 and 16).

  About the men: with the exception of Louis, they are all real. Hubert. Denis Rake. Ian Garrow. Patrick O’Leary. Tardivat. Anselm. Fournier. Jacques. Every one of them lived and fought like bears to free France from German occupation. Gaspard and Judex were also real. And very flawed.

  About Nancy’s dream: yes, it really happened. She woke up in a cold sweat in the early morning hours of October 16, 1943, and she knew. In her autobiography, The White Mouse, Nancy says, “In the middle of October I had a terrible nightmare and woke up convinced that Henri was dead…it was foolish to allow a nightmare to upset me in this manner but the doubt I had in my mind continued for days, until at last I thought I was being unrealistic” (pages 101 and 102). As it turns out, she wasn’t. And that, my friends, was one of the hardest parts of this novel to write.

  About the profanity: yes, I know, there’s a lot. And there’s a huge debate among readers and writers about how much is too much. When it’s overkill. When it’s vulgar—and which words are unforgivable. But here is what you need to know: Nancy Wake used profanity. Liberally. Unapologetically. And with flair. It was one of her greatest weapons in gaining dominance and respect with the maquisards of the French Resistance. If she was to lead those men, she could not appear weak, delicate, or easily offended. And there is no honest way to write the character of Nancy Wake without the use of profanity. If anything, I toned it down.

  About the drinking: yes, I know there is a lot of that, too. So. Much. Brandy. It is important to note that all negotiations with th
e Maquis for supplies and arms were done over a bottle of brandy. They meant to use this tactic to take advantage of Nancy, but she repeatedly turned the technique against them. As John Farmer, a.k.a. “Hubert,” noted in an interview many years later, “It was absolutely incredible. I had never seen anyone drink like that ever, and I don’t think the Maquis had either. We just couldn’t figure out where it all went, and how she could stay conscious! In my long life, it remains one of the most extraordinary things I have seen” (FitzSimons, page 211).

  About the red lipstick: yes, she wore it, often, and as a badge of honor. It’s a small, frivolous detail. But somehow that one thing has come to characterize Nancy for me. She was a devoted fan of Elizabeth Arden cosmetics, and I am certain—though I cannot prove it—that she wore Victory Red, the shade commissioned by the U.S. military for female service members.

  About Marceline: no, she is not real. Her character, as written in the novel, did not exist in real life. She is a composite of the women Henri so famously dated prior to meeting Nancy and the woman Nancy sent before the firing squad. Those faces merged in my mind and became Marceline, the living embodiment of French collaborationists who threw their lot in with the Germans.

  This is a novel about marriage. Yes, of course it’s also about war and friendship and bravery and tragedy and one of the most important conflicts of the twentieth century. Yes, to all of that. Particularly the friendship. But to me, at its heart, this is a novel about a woman and her husband and the sacrifices made by both in the midst of extraordinary circumstances. Marriage is a subject I am perennially fascinated with—particularly good, healthy, lifelong marriages. I wish there were more good marriages portrayed in print. And I believe that all good marriages have one thing in common: sacrificial love. Which brings me to Henri. Yes, reader, he was killed for refusing to turn Nancy over to the enemy. The details of his father coming to the prison and begging him to give Nancy up are true. In real life it was a Gestapo agent who pulled the trigger. I am so sad. For Henri. For Nancy. And for myself. (I so badly wanted them to have a happy ending!) I will be heartbroken for a good long time, I think. But I am also inspired by their courage, and I want to live that kind of love. My holy book says, “Greater love has no man than this, that he would lay his life down for his friends.” I believe that Henri Fiocca displayed the greatest love possible.

  Honestly, I could spend the rest of my career writing about Nancy Wake. I could write about her life after the war. Her political aspirations in Australia. Her wistful return to England and how Prince Philip (yes, that Prince Philip!) numbered among her admirers and supporters. The thing is, books are never really done. They are only due.

  Acknowledgments

  To give thanks in solitude is enough. Thanksgiving has wings and goes where it must go. Your prayer knows much more about it than you do.

  —VICTOR HUGO

  To give thanks in solitude might be enough, but (no offense to Victor Hugo) I think it is better to give thanks in public. And I have many people to thank for helping me bring this book into the world. So bear with me for a moment while I try to properly express my gratitude.

  My agent, Elisabeth Weed, has, for eight years, made this writing dream come true. I don’t know how she does it, but I am grateful that she continues to work her particular brand of magic. In addition to being an advocate, she is also a friend, confidant, and, on occasion, therapist. She has untangled the knots in my mind—and in my manuscripts—more times than I can count. Everyone at The Book Group is a delight to know and work with. Each and every woman there has encouraged me and made this industry a better place to work. Hallie Shaeffer, in particular, has stopped me from letting countless things fall through the cracks—all while sounding chipper as a jaybird. Faye Bender, Julie Barer, Brettne Bloom, and Dana Murphy all deserve a round of applause as well. If you know them, you know what I mean.

  My editor, Margo Shickmanter, has the patience of a saint (I might have had her watching the clock a few times throughout the writing of this book) and the editorial eye of Maxwell Perkins. She is really good at what she does, and I am fortunate to work with her. Hélène is a much better novel for having been set beneath her red pen.

  Marybeth Whalen is the kind of friend every woman needs. She celebrates with me, but she also listens to me bleat when things go wrong—in life or in work. We’ve been friends for over a decade, and I can’t imagine what I would do without her snarky texts or constant prayers. She keeps me sane, and she makes me laugh. And occasionally we get to run off and have crazy adventures. You’re the best, MB.

  Blake Leyers is like a weighted blanket for the writing process. And—bonus!—she’s also a great friend with excellent taste in literature and margaritas.

  JT Ellison and Paige Crutcher have a knack for inviting me out to “lunch” (by which I mean vats of queso, because cheese is my love language) at exactly the moment I’m about to shred my current work in progress and turn it into cat litter. I am so grateful for their friendship. For their faith in me. For that chance meeting seven years ago.

  Lisa Patton always appreciates the fact that I suffer from Inappropriate Laughter Syndrome. Sometimes she’s the cause of it.

  Kristee Mays is my oldest friend, and I don’t deserve her. She’s never once given up on me, even when I go dark or get overwhelmed or forget to respond to a text. I don’t know what I’d do without her.

  The publishing wizards at Doubleday are the best in the business. I couldn’t be more fortunate to work with Todd Doughty, or more grateful to call him friend (blankets up!). Judy Jacoby is a marketing maestro. Bill Thomas and Suzanne Herz have been longtime champions, and I am so deeply thankful for their support. Emily Mahon (jacket designer), Nora Reichard (production editor), Lorraine Hyland (production manager), and Pei Koay (text designer) all bring immense talent to the very real and laborious process of turning a Word document into a tangible book. Thanks for all you do! And I would be remiss if I did not thank the Penguin Random House sales team for their unrelenting enthusiasm and support of my novels. Because of them, you can, quite literally, find my books wherever books are sold. Special thanks go to Jessica Pearson, Valerie Walley, Christine Weag, Ann Kingman, Emily Bates, Lynn Kovach, Beth Koehler, Beth Meister, Mallory Conder, Chris Dufault, Ruth Liebman, David Weller, Annie Schatz, Jason Gobble, Nicholas LaRousse, and Stacey Carlini (even though she’s moved on, I still adore her).

  Thanks to every single independent bookstore that has hosted me over the years. Thank you for inviting me in, for introducing me to your beloved customers, and for hand-selling my novels. I would not be able to do this job without you. I am particularly grateful for Parnassus Books, Page & Palette, Foxtale Book Shoppe, Watermark Books, Books & Company, Northshire Books, Square Books, Interabang Books, An Unlikely Story, Novel Bookstore, Murder by the Book, Excelsior Bay Books, Valley Bookseller, The Little Bookshop, and Litchfield Books. I know that I’ve forgotten some. (Please forgive me!) And I know there are other, incredible stores that I haven’t had the chance to visit (I’m trying to get there as fast as I can). Thank you so, so much!

  My friends and family are the foundation of all I do. The real people in my real world care for me, support me, lead me, pray for me, mentor me, challenge me, and make me a better human. There are not enough pages in this book to express how much I love Josh and Abby Belbeck (we’re in this together, come rain or shine), Emily Allison (you’re the best, Mom), Tayler Storrs (I’m so freaking happy for you!!!), Dian Belbeck (I’m trying to be better than I am, Gigi), Jerry and Kay Lawhon (thank you for always making me feel welcome), Blake and Tracy Lawhon (I love you guys), Andy and Nicole Kreiling (can’t wait for the beach!), Jannell Barefoot (man, have you saved my bacon on more than one occasion!), Michael Easley (thanks for the wise words, Doc), Kayle Storrs (please move back), Chris Wilson (we did it!!!), Traci Keel (you could totally fix it), and Christine Flott (I’m sorry they eat you out of house and home,
but thank you for loving my kids!).

  The great thing about this job is that, eventually, your friends in publishing become your friends in real life as well. In particular, I adore Patti Henry, Karen Abbott, Denise Kiernan, Laura Benedict, Deanna Raybourn, Greer McAllister, Helen Ellis, Anne Bogel, Joy Calloway, Joy Jordan-Lake, River Jordan, and Niki Coffman.

  My husband, Ashley, is, and always will be, the best thing that has ever happened to me. He makes me laugh every single day. He is the person I miss most when I travel (sorry, kids). He is my best friend, my biggest champion, my coffee maker, my green-eyed Texan, my wine buyer, my baby daddy, my laundry folder, my dinner date, my morning person, my handholder, my joyful singer, my music maker, my partner in crime, and my project finisher. Mine, mine, mine. He is MINE. And of all women, I am most fortunate.

  Together, Ashley and I have brought four amazing boys into the world. We usually refer to them as the Wild Rumpus (unless they’re misbehaving, in which case we call them the Barbarian Horde). The moniker fits. They are loud, boisterous, strong-willed, intelligent, compassionate, independent thinkers who will—eventually—take the world by storm. I am so proud to be your mom. London, Parker, Marshall, and Riggs, I love you with my whole heart.