The Paris Apartment, page 16
“Madame and Monsieur Beaufort.” Sophie’s training suddenly made perfect sense.
“Yes. The cover that was given to you—that you’ve already established during your training—will be the cover you use in France. Shortly, you will meet the agent posing as your husband, who has established the same cover story. His code name is Tempo, and like you, he has been selected from amongst the recruits for his command of both French and German, the competency he has proven in his field training, and, most importantly, his familiarity with the Ritz Hotel. His mother was French and used to work as a chambermaid at the Ritz. He grew up in and around the hotel and is intimately familiar with it.”
Sophie considered that. “Is it possible that he may be recognized?”
“A valid question. We feel comfortable with the time that has elapsed. He was last there as an adolescent, though we’ve taken no chances. You’ll see for yourself shortly. The agent is currently with Colonel Buckmaster receiving his own instruction, and once they’re finished, they will join us so you can both be briefed on your shared mission.” She leaned forward, cigarette smoke curling around her head. “There are other matters to discuss before they arrive, however.”
“Which are?”
“Communication to your family and the matter of your pay.” Miss Atkins put up a hand before Sophie could speak. “I am aware of the circumstances surrounding your family. Normally, when I have an agent in the field, I send brief, periodic letters to that agent’s parents or relation, assuring them that their daughter is doing well in her supposed FANY service. To keep morale up at home, you understand.”
Sophie looked down and clasped her hands neatly in her lap. “Of course.”
“Is there anyone else to whom you might wish me to send correspondence? Extended family perhaps? A friend?”
There was the staff at Millbrook, Sophie supposed, but they believed her to be dead, and in truth, she hadn’t been back to Norfolk in almost a decade. There was a second—or was it third?—cousin somewhere in Hampshire and a childhood acquaintance Sophie hadn’t seen or heard from since she left for Poland. But Sophie didn’t even know if they were still alive, much less where they might be now. “No. There is no one who will be worried about me.”
“That’s not true. I will worry about you.”
Sophie looked up and met Miss Atkins’s gaze. She swallowed with some difficulty and nodded. She rather thought that the woman across the desk probably said the same thing to all of her agents, but still, the words made Sophie feel less alone somehow.
Miss Atkins abruptly crushed the cigarette that she had barely smoked into the ashtray. “And your pay? Where would you like that sent while you are in the field?”
“You can send it to Millbrook Manor. It’s in Norfolk.” Imogen, the housekeeper, could be counted on to keep any correspondence for Sophie, even if she was presumed dead. When this was all over, Sophie could return to Millbrook to fetch whatever was sent there. Maybe she would even stay.
Or maybe not.
“Very good. But I will need the address.” She slid a blank slip of paper and a pencil toward Sophie and watched as Sophie scribbled down Millbrook’s address. “I will also send whatever personal effects you have there.”
Sophie glanced down at the wedding ring on her finger.
“You will have to leave that behind,” Miss Atkins said quietly. “Even from where I sit, it looks like a family heirloom. Something that means a great deal, and given that you are still in possession of it after your escape from Poland, I think I am right. You will be given something less noticeable and more generic. Something that you will never hesitate to pawn or use as a bribe if you need to.”
Sophie twisted Piotr’s ring from her finger, the small ruby glowing with dark fire in the light. She held it in her palm, suddenly unwilling to let it go.
“I will send it safely to Millbrook also.”
Sophie nodded and handed the ring across the desk, looking away as deft hands slipped the ring into a large envelope. She knew that Miss Atkins spoke only good sense. She had known that she could not take this part of Piotr with her.
Yet she couldn’t bring herself to reach for the photos in her pocket.
Miss Atkins set the envelope on the desk and paused, as if choosing her next words carefully. “May I ask how he died?” she finally said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your husband. It says in your file only that he was a Polish cavalry officer killed in action.”
Sophie looked away, though she could still feel the weight of the woman’s sharp grey-blue eyes. “What does it matter?”
“It matters because I like to know the motivations of the women I send behind enemy lines. Some risk everything to fight for their country, some fight for their principles, others fight for those close to them. And there are always a few who simply fight because they are good at it.” She paused. “There are no right and wrong reasons for fighting, Celine. It is my job not to judge, but to understand, and make sure that those reasons do not become a liability. And your motives are still a mystery.”
Sophie gazed out the window. A sparrow had landed on the sill outside. “You think I am fighting for revenge?”
“Are you?”
“Maybe I am.”
“How did he die, Celine?”
“German guns.”
“How do you know?”
The old familiar feeling of loss and powerlessness made her muscles go rigid.
“I was there.” The sparrow startled and flew away. “And I am alive because he isn’t.”
Miss Atkins remained silent.
“And after he died and before I could make it home, German bombs killed my parents and German planes shot down my brother.” Sophie returned her gaze to the woman who remained motionless across from her. “All sacrifices that I will not let go unanswered. That will not be forgotten.”
Miss Atkins picked up another cigarette but made no move to light it. “I am told you almost killed the interrogator dressed as a Gestapo officer during training.”
“I thought it was part of the exercise. And he came nowhere close to dying. Trust me.”
The spymaster sat back and rolled her cigarette between her fingers. “I do.”
“So my answers do not change anything? My motives?”
“I think that they are what make you dangerous. And I think that they are what will make you successful. But remember this. From the moment you set foot in France, you are not fighting the Nazis. Your job is to find intelligence and information that will help all of us fight the Germans and bring it back. Do you understand the difference?”
Sophie blinked.
“You will need to befriend your enemy, earn their trust, learn their secrets. Only then will the sacrifices you speak of not be in vain. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Miss Atkins returned the unlit cigarette to the desk. “Do you have a will?” she asked briskly, and the abrupt change in topic momentarily threw Sophie.
“No.” She shook her head. “I own nothing of value other than that ring and whatever pay I earn.”
“Very well.”
“I have this though.” Sophie withdrew a small, sealed letter from her handbag and placed it on the desk.
“What is that?”
“A letter to my brother,” she said. “In case I don’t come back and he does.”
Miss Atkins only nodded, and for that, Sophie was grateful. She didn’t insist that Sophie would be fine, because she couldn’t know that. Nor did she try to gently temper Sophie’s expectations that her brother would ever return or that he might yet be alive. The woman across from Sophie said nothing. She simply picked up the letter and added it to the envelope with Sophie’s ring.
A sharp rap on the door made Sophie twist in her seat. Miss Atkins slid the envelope and the file with Sophie’s name into a desk drawer.
“Come in,” she called.
Colonel Buckmaster strode into the room, a man Sophie had never seen at his heels. The newcomer walked with a stoop and a pronounced limp and was perhaps fifty, his dark blond hair greying at the temples and heavily brilliantined away from his forehead. He had a fair complexion and brown eyes partially hidden behind a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles.
The colonel stopped and gestured toward his charge. “Sophie Beaufort, may I introduce Gerard Beaufort.”
Sophie had known that there would be no real names used but to be introduced by a different name brought the enormity and gravity of what she was about to do sharply into focus. Miss Atkins had referred to him as Tempo. From this moment, Sophie would think of him only as Gerard, her husband. Till death do them part.
Slowly, Sophie stood.
“Good God, you’re a bloody Amazon,” Gerard muttered, looking Sophie up and down.
Behind him, Buckmaster winced.
Sophie merely extended her hand. “Sophie Beaufort,” she said. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Gerard only grunted. He straightened as he strode forward to shake her hand, his shoulders broadening and his limp disappearing. Sophie rapidly revised her estimation of his age. Closer to forty, she guessed. He might lack tact, but one could not fault his ability to appear as something he wasn’t.
“Shall we get down to business?” Miss Atkins asked, her voice cutting through the space.
“Indeed,” Gerard declared. He waited for Sophie to resume her seat before taking the empty chair next to her. Buckmaster took up a position behind Miss Atkins, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed.
“Since you are both familiar with your cover stories, let’s not waste time,” Miss Atkins started. “You will be inserted into France southeast of Rouen, at a farm near Gasny, as soon as conditions allow. You will be met by a reception committee of Resistance agents who are expecting you. From there, you will travel to Paris, where you will make contact with a woman who will be able to provide you both with the social introductions you will require at the hotel.”
“She is part of the Resistance also?” Sophie asked curiously.
Buckmaster cleared his throat. “Yes. In a way.”
Sophie didn’t bother to ask Buckmaster for clarification.
“Your objective is to put yourselves into a position where you can confirm the existence of the cipher device at the Ritz Hotel,” Buckmaster said. “Once that is confirmed, you are to study the machine, photograph it at best, sketch it at worst. But, most importantly, you are to copy whatever tables or codebooks accompany it that detail the settings of the device. If the device settings of the ciphered message are known, I am told we have a hope of decoding it quickly enough to make a difference.”
“I’d prefer to steal the books,” Gerard said. “It would be faster. Copying sounds time consuming. Risky.”
“We do not want the Germans to know what we know,” Sophie said quietly. “Or they will change the rules again.”
“I beg your pardon?” Gerard was frowning at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that Madame Beaufort is correct,” Buckmaster said. “No matter what happens, your efforts cannot be discovered. You cannot be discovered. If it comes to it, destroy whatever evidence you’ve collected. We cannot afford to start over should the Germans fear we’ve penetrated their ciphers. Not now.”
Gerard crossed his arms.
“You will be provided with everything you need at the time of the drop. Weapons conducive to concealment—blades and the like, whatever you favour—though you will not carry firearms when you travel,” Miss Atkins continued. “The Nazis are very suspicious of anyone who is armed, and we do not want to give them a reason to look too closely. Tempo’s purported injury and age should prevent him from being an obvious target of roundups for German factories. There is paperwork and a supporting address in place in Marseille should the credentials of Enchanté Cosmetics be scrutinized. Your French identification papers are in order, and you’ll have train passes and ration books. You should get through inspections but, of course, we can offer no guarantees. I cannot stress enough that what you will be doing is extremely dangerous.”
Gerard uncrossed his arms and glanced at Sophie, still frowning fiercely.
She gazed back, wondering if the man was as disgruntled as he appeared or if his expression was merely one of concentration as he considered the details of the mission. It was difficult to tell.
“When do we leave?” Gerard demanded.
Buckmaster cleared his throat. “With luck, a fortnight. A bus will take you to Tempsford today. Major James Reed will be waiting for you there. We need a full moon and favourable weather conditions—let’s hope we get them and hope that ground conditions remain the same. The countryside is too often crawling with Gestapo and police. You should also be aware that the pilot may be required to abort the drop if the reception committee fears they’ve been compromised in any way.”
Miss Atkins slid the bottom drawer open and withdrew two thin folders. She handed one to each of them. “What we have on the current residents of the Ritz. Study the information, commit it to memory, and then destroy it. Clothes, money, and the cosmetics that you will need for your cover will be given to you just prior to departure. I would also suggest that you use this time to become familiar with each other and practice your stories. Review the details of your pasts. How you met, where you married, favourite colors, the things that a husband and a wife would know. Keep it simple but keep it consistent.” She glanced at Buckmaster. “Anything else?”
The colonel shook his head. “Not at this time. Major Reed will cover remaining details prior to deployment.”
Sophie wasn’t surprised. There would be no specific names, addresses, code phrases, or contact information given until their departure was imminent.
“Very good. Good luck to the both of you.” Miss Atkins brought the meeting to a close.
Sophie and Gerard both stood and exited the room, heading down the hall.
Sophie tipped the folder in her hand. “If it’s agreeable to you, I was thinking that perhaps we could photograph the pages of the code—”
“I do hope you understand your role in this mission,” Gerard cut her off.
“My role?”
“Like Colonel Buckmaster said, these will be very dangerous circumstances. I understand that I’ve been assigned a woman out of necessity—to avoid the suspicion that would normally fall on a male travelling alone through France. However, once we reach Paris, I think it’s best if you stay safely removed from any sort of danger.”
Sophie stopped in the middle of the hall. “I beg your pardon?”
Gerard also stopped and turned back toward her. “In Paris, I will make contact and take any necessary steps for the success of this mission. I cannot be worried about you and trying to find this bloody machine and its codebooks at the same time.”
“I see,” Sophie replied evenly. “Did you mention your concerns to Colonel Buckmaster?”
“I did.” Gerard removed his spectacles and scowled at her. “He has assured me that you are a capably trained agent and did not seem to share my concerns.” He shook his head. “And while I won’t deny that you look quite…capable, Madame Beaufort, war is a man’s domain. Thousands of years of history have taught us that, regardless of what Colonel Buckmaster says. As a woman, you cannot possibly begin to understand what it will be like facing the enemy on the front lines. The very fact that you are here is unnatural.”
Sophie stared at him, momentarily robbed of speech. That damn word again.
“Perhaps you believed that this might be more exciting than whatever mundane, domestic life you lived before but I must impress upon you the dangers of this undertaking. I’ve had extensive instruction in languages, weapons, and stealth and am fully prepared for the rigours of this mission. As such, I am confident that I will be able to use my considerable charm, ability, and intellect to put myself into a position that will guarantee success.”
“How reassuring,” Sophie remarked acidly despite her best intentions to remain unruffled.
“Indeed,” Gerard confirmed, seemingly oblivious to her sarcasm. “Now, there is a small chance that I may need you to act as a distraction at some point. Dressed in a pretty frock and red lipstick, you’ll most certainly draw a German officer’s eye away from my endeavors. But I doubt it will come to that.”
Sophie took a deep breath and forced herself to consider the man called Gerard Beaufort much the same way she had considered the fear she had felt tied to a chair in a Hampshire cellar. She reminded herself that he was not her enemy, no matter how arrogant he might be. The truth of the matter was that he was now her partner. Months of training and preparation had already gone into their cover and their mission, and to complain or protest not only served no purpose, it would undermine everything she had already accomplished as a female agent.
Gerard’s opinions were simply that. Opinions. No different from the matriarchs appalled at her extensive studies, the clerks resentful of her embassy position, the officers who didn’t believe she had a place at Bletchley, or the espionage instructors who had waited for her to fail.
The opinions of others had never stopped her before. She would simply focus on what mattered. Indignant outrage in the face of unpalatable sentiments served no purpose.
Sophie gripped the folder she held tightly. “During the course of your…extensive instruction, did you train alongside any female agents?”
“One,” he sneered. “And like most women, she was overly emotional and prone to hysterics. She lasted not even a week.”
“Hmm. That is unfortunate. And how many men washed out of that same training?”
Gerard sputtered. “That is not the point. I know what you’re trying to do here. But you also know that I am only speaking good sense.”
“Of course.”
“Of course?” Gerard narrowed his eyes. “What, no distraught protests?”
“Monsieur, one thing that you will come to learn about me is that I pick my battles very carefully. You are but a single man, and your opinion of me is not a battle worth waging. An argument in this hallway over my capabilities will waste both my time and energy, and I have no inclination to waste either. You may evaluate my capabilities at a later date. I’d suggest somewhere in France. Before we enter Paris would be my recommendation.”
