She hurried past, letting her tears fall now as she turned her back on her mother and fled. She entered the house in a hurry, eyes blurred, and dashed up the stairs. Voices called out to her, but she ignored them and hurried to her mother’s room. She allowed herself a moment to pause at the mirror, reaching for her mother’s perfume and spraying a quick mist on to her wrist. She’d smelt it all her life, would for ever be able to conjure that scent and think of her mother holding her close.
She shut her eyes, letting the aroma waft around her. She could still remember her mother singing, getting herself ready for the day and staring down at their grounds from her window. Sophia had often walked up beside her and pressed her forehead to the glass, looking down at birds bathing in a fountain at the entrance to their garden. She remembered thinking that from her mother’s window, everything seemed so normal still. In their home, the only thing that had changed was the portrait of Adolf Hitler hanging in the hallway, the Führer’s face staring solemnly at them when they passed.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as the memory of her mother faded, replaced with the sinister image of what she’d just witnessed. Sophia saw a handkerchief and stood, reaching for it and spraying her mother’s perfume all over it and then tucking it into her blouse for safekeeping. Then she rummaged in her mother’s jewellery case, taking her other rings and diamonds, pushing them into her pocket and hurriedly looking around. There was a scarf on the bed and she snatched it, then took her mother’s best warm coat from the closet. It wasn’t much, but it might be the only chance she would get to take what she needed. She couldn’t find any money, but the items she had would be enough if she needed something to sell at least.
She dug her nails into her palms as she fled the room, the weight of her mother’s rings her only comfort. Then she quietly walked down the stairs again, careful to behave sedately in case anyone saw her. Only once she’d disappeared out the front door and saw that no one was around did she start to walk faster. She hurried away, grabbing her bag from where she’d dropped it, until she was out on the road. She was carrying her mother’s coat, too hot and flustered to wear it now, and although she wanted to run she didn’t want to draw any attention to herself. She needed to get home and figure out what on earth she could do about Alex. If he was found because of her, she’d never forgive herself.
CHAPTER FIVE
HAZEL
LONDON, ENGLAND
1943
Hazel noticed the smile on Officer McLeod’s face the moment she saw him. He looked amused, or . . . She stared back at him. She wasn’t sure what – maybe it was a look of smugness – but whatever it was, she was about to find out because he was beckoning her over.
‘Is there a problem, sir?’ she asked.
It had been a week since her interview with Smith, and just under a week since she’d waved her fiancé off for the third time, and she hadn’t heard a thing since. But she’d thought about the meeting plenty, including who might have recommended her for the job other than the man standing in front of her.
‘Seems I was right about you,’ he said. ‘You have another interview. In two hours’ time.’
She tried to stop her jaw from dropping. ‘Today?’
‘Yes. They don’t muck around.’
Hazel nodded. She hadn’t even thought about the possibility of a second interview or what would happen next. She’d imagined she would have heard already if they wanted something more from her. ‘So does this mean . . . ,’ she started.
‘It means,’ her boss said, lowering his voice, ‘that they checked you out through MI5 and you were passed by the powers that be. It also means you were one of the few women to impress them in that first interview. I don’t put anyone forward lightly, but I’ve been watching you.’
‘Why?’ she asked, regretting the question the moment it had passed her lips.
‘I had a good feeling about you the moment I saw you plotting for the first time on your own, and the fact you speak fluent French is a huge advantage.’
Hazel felt her cheeks flush from his praise. ‘Well, thank you, sir. I’m honoured to be, well, to even be considered for this type of position.’ The truth was she still didn’t know what she was actually being considered for, but it was something secretive and important, and that meant it was something she needed to be doing. That is, if those in the know thought she was a suitable candidate.
‘You’re dismissed for the day to attend the meeting. If you don’t return, good luck and Godspeed with whatever it is you are assigned to.’
He dismissed her with a nod and a smile, and she walked away in a daze. She felt she was on the verge of something huge. Women in particular seemed to be in demand for this Resistance movement – perhaps because the higher-ups felt women could go more under the radar, so to speak, than men – and the very thought of being involved in something so covert, in the field, was enough to send her heart racing and her stomach swirling.
‘Thank you for seeing me again at such short notice,’ Smith said.
Hazel felt more nervous this time than she had the first. Maybe it was because she somewhat knew what to expect. Or maybe it was because she knew her life might be about to change for ever.
‘Are you able to tell me why I’m here now?’ she asked, proud that her voice sounded so strong.
His mouth tilted upwards slightly from its previously straight line. ‘What do you know of the SOE?’ He cleared his throat. ‘The Special Operations Executive.’
She stared back at him. What was she supposed to know about it? ‘Well, I know it’s a secret operation, that it’s part of this whole Resistance movement.’
‘In short, what you need to know is that the SOE is about getting close to the enemy,’ Smith said, sitting in the chair and looking more at ease than he had the other day. This time around felt less like an interrogation and she was relieved. ‘It also involves working in France.’
Hazel smiled. ‘I see. Which is why you wanted to know about the depth of my language skills and understanding of more than just Paris.’
‘Before we go any further, I need you to know that if you want to be part of this, if we take you on and send you to France, there is a great risk you won’t make it back to London alive.’
She gulped, her heart starting to race though she tried to stay calm. ‘What are the odds?’ she forced herself to ask.
‘It’s a fifty-fifty chance,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to sugarcoat the probability of any of our field agents’ making it back safely.’
‘I see,’ she replied, not sure what else she possibly could say.
‘These are clandestine operations, and you would be in the thick of it, for the sake of a better description. Your language skills are what make you most attractive to us, and the fact that you have already spent time immersed in the culture. That indicates to us that you would fit in easily, that you wouldn’t be caught out simply for not being a Frenchwoman if you were undercover there.’
‘Am I being offered the position then?’ she asked, folding her hands tightly in her lap to avoid them shaking so obviously.
‘If we proceed, you will receive training, and then you will most likely be sent immediately to France on your first mission. We cannot discuss the work you will do until that time, but you must know that it will be dangerous work, and that your ability to converse in French, pass information along and work closely with other individuals will be imperative to the missions. My instinct is that you’ll be most useful to us as a radio operator in the field.’
Hazel understood. It would be risky, but it was also important work, and if she said no, then she was hardly doing the best by her country or those she loved.
‘I want to do whatever I can, no matter how dangerous the work is,’ she said, sounding far more confident than she felt. ‘I won’t let you down.’
‘If you are captured in France, the Germans will not treat you well for the mere fact you are a woman. I need you to understand that.’
Sh
e gulped. ‘I understand.’
‘You could be captured, tortured and killed,’ he said bluntly. ‘I’m not going to tell you otherwise, because we need men and women committed to the cause and prepared for anything. You are free to leave at any stage, which is why we don’t want you proceeding if you don’t understand from the outset what you’re putting yourself forward for. You must fully appreciate the dangers at play here.’
‘I understand,’ she managed, finding the words hard to get out.
‘Then take the night to sleep on it. Go home and rest, consider the position you would be putting yourself in,’ Smith said. ‘But this is a decision for you to make alone. No one is to know of this, of anything that we’ve discussed. Do you understand?’
She answered without hesitation. ‘I do.’
‘We will meet here again tomorrow at the same time. You must volunteer to work for us, and once you’ve done that, you’ll be recruited immediately.’
Hazel took a deep breath. ‘Thank you, sir. I appreciate your confidence in me and I won’t let you down.’
He nodded and rose, then opened the door and stood back. Just like that, their meeting was over and she was left to think about what she was supposed to do. She wanted to help, of course she did, and she hadn’t been lying about being prepared to do whatever she had to. So many men had given their lives already to this war, and if she could do something to make a difference, then didn’t she owe it to her country to do so?
Now, there was not a doubt in her mind that she would be volunteering for this position, one she wouldn’t even believe could have been offered to her if she hadn’t heard it with her own ears. She pushed away thoughts of her parents, or John or her mother-in-law. She didn’t need their permission to do this. Women were doing amazing things while their men were away, and she wasn’t married yet, which meant her decisions were her own to make. And what decision could be more important and selfless than one to help their allies? If she could put her French to good use, then she would. And she wasn’t going to let anyone stop her.
There was only one sentence that kept playing in her mind. Fifty-fifty. He’d said there was a fifty-fifty chance of not coming back. She gulped and steeled her jaw, head held high. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but having as much of a chance of coming home as not making it wasn’t something she’d ever truly thought about. Still, it didn’t change her mind. It couldn’t. Because they were at war. And war meant taking chances and facing the prospect of life never being the same again.
She turned back around and knocked firmly on the door. When Smith opened it, she smiled at him. ‘Turns out I don’t need the night to think about it. This is me volunteering,’ she said firmly.
He nodded, not looking at all surprised. ‘Welcome to the SOE.’
Hazel bit the inside of her mouth as she tried not to smile. Before the war, most of her family had expected nothing from her other than to become a good wife and be able to hold good conversations. It was why her mother had been so interested in sending her to France. Little did her parents know that one day they’d come to regret that decision, because she knew they wouldn’t approve at all of what she was offering to do.
‘So I’m in?’ she asked. ‘This is actually happening?’
He stood and offered her his hand. She stared at him for a moment before following his lead, placing her palm to his. ‘Yes, Hazel, you’re in. So long as you pass the training, which I’m confident you will, you’ll be putting your skills to use in the field.’
She could hardly believe it.
‘I wish you the best of luck,’ Smith said, releasing her hand. ‘You’re doing your country a great service, and once this war is over, your assistance will always be remembered.’
Hazel beamed. ‘You never told me what to tell my family.’ It was the only thing she was worried about, because she had to tell them something, couldn’t simply disappear in the dead of night, and she had to tell John’s family something, too.
‘To be honest, the less anyone close to you, including your immediate family, knows, the better. If they’re ever questioned it would be better for everyone involved if they didn’t know a thing.’
Hazel gulped. The weight of her decision was suddenly heavy on her shoulders. He still hadn’t told her what to say; instead he’d told her what not to say.
‘I understand,’ she replied, her confidence slowly draining out of her.
‘Good. I’ll be in touch with more information, but you’ll most likely spend a couple of weeks training and going through the recruitment phase. Then you’ll head to Scotland for your paramilitary training should you pass the first level.’
She fought the urge to wrap her arms around herself as she listened to him speak. Paramilitary training? The idea of it made her head spin, but then she had no idea what she’d been expecting. Of course she needed training! It wasn’t like she was going to be tucked safely in a room deciphering and translating messages. This was war.
‘Godspeed,’ Smith said, dismissing her.
Hazel swallowed and summoned her courage back, standing straight and taking a deep breath. ‘And to you, sir. Thank you for your time.’
Hazel had never been so nervous in all her life. From the moment she’d told Smith she was officially volunteering two weeks earlier, to finding out what was required of her, it had been a whirlwind of activity. She was half expecting to wake from a dream, it was so surreal. Now, she was arriving at a house in the countryside that looked so peaceful from where she was standing, but was home to the SOE training and recruitment. The fact she was doing work that had previously been reserved strictly for men sent a hum of anticipation through her, adrenaline urging her on. And Smith’s final words to her were still playing through her mind days later.
‘We need to set Europe ablaze. And women like you will be the ones doing this, because you can blend in and no one will suspect a thing unless you’re caught.’
‘This is Wanborough Manor?’
She glanced beside her at the man who’d spoken. They’d travelled together on the train and he was pleasant enough, but Hazel had been so worried that it was a test that she hadn’t known what to say to him. Was she supposed to let on what she was doing, discuss anything with him about their training? Or was he already undercover, travelling with her to see how easy it was to get her to talk? She’d already been given her undercover story, which they called their legend, and she wasn’t stupid enough to let someone fool her before she’d even begun.
‘I suppose it is,’ she replied carefully. ‘Shall we go in?’
They’d come to a quiet, peaceful area of Surrey, and an Elizabethan house loomed before them. She had no idea what to expect, but she did know that she’d be doing things here she’d never in her lifetime imagined.
There were two men outside the house and she approached them cautiously.
‘We’ve been expecting you,’ one of them said.
‘I’m Hazel.’ She gave her real name because she hadn’t been told not to, although she chose not to reveal her surname to make her identity somewhat harder to verify.
‘I know,’ he said drily. ‘This way.’ Her travelling companion was speaking to the other man as Hazel was led away.
She guessed the beautiful manor had been requisitioned, as many had during the war, and she was sad to see how dusty and unkempt it was, even though it still looked so regal from the outside. She could imagine how it would have looked before the war, no doubt full of servants and with everything inside gleaming.
There was little time to look around, though, as she followed the man through the house, clutching her bag in one hand and her coat in the other. She played through her story in her head, something she’d been doing constantly for the past two days: she was a French student, loved art history and had friends in England.
‘Sit.’
She looked up. The man she’d been following was pointing to a chair. She expected him to leave and for someone else to arrive, but instead he s
at down.
‘What is your name?’ he asked in French.
Hazel gave a coy smile, ready to play her role. She was a Frenchwoman, so of course she wouldn’t hesitate to answer in French.
‘Hazel,’ she said. ‘And yours? Tell me, what is it you’re doing here?’
‘Ralph,’ he said. ‘Well done.’ He was speaking in English now.
‘If you want to check I have my story straight, I won’t disappoint you,’ she assured him. ‘What I don’t know is how to stay alive in the field. That’s what I need help with.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ he said. ‘Just stay out of the cooler and you’ll make it through.’
Hazel’s eyebrows shot up and she cursed the fact that she’d reacted at all. ‘The cooler?’
‘It’s where we send the failed recruits to cool off,’ he explained. ‘Build rapport with those around you, show us that you’re capable of being in uncomfortable situations or meeting new people. Then we’ll move on to training you.’
‘Thank you for the advice,’ she replied.
‘Oh, and don’t forget you can change your mind at any stage. This is dangerous work and we only want people in the field, man or woman, who have volunteered to be there.’
Hazel understood that. She was surprised at how often it had been said, though, especially when all of their men had been sent off without any concern for whether or not they wanted to be soldiers. But then she supposed the type of work she’d put herself forward for needed the person to be absolutely focused on the task. It was something she’d tried not to overthink for fear of changing her mind.
‘Help yourself to a drink while you’re waiting.’ He stood, turned and pointed to a bottle of liquor and two glasses.
She stared at him, wondering if it was a trick. ‘Excuse me?’
‘It’s more of an order. Enjoy.’ And with that he left the room.
Hazel felt as if she was in some sort of dream world. She’d hardly ever had anything alcoholic to drink in her life, and she wasn’t sure what to do. It wasn’t that she wouldn’t drink, but it seemed like a test to her.
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