Jackdaws

There were a lot of files, but few suitable candidates. By the time Percy and Paul had eliminated all the men, and the women whose language was something other than French, they were left with only three names.

Paul was disheartened. They had run into a major obstacle when they had hardly begun. “Four is the minimum number we need, even assuming that Flick recruits the woman she has gone to see this morning.”

“Diana Colefield.”

“And none of these is either an explosives expert or a telephone engineer!”

Percy was more optimistic. “They weren’t when SOE interviewed them, but they might be now. Women have learned to do all sorts of things.”

“Well, let’s find out.”

It took a while to track the three down. A further disappointment was that one was dead. The other two were in London. Ruby Romain, unfortunately, was in His Majesty’s Prison for Women at Holloway, three miles north of Baker Street, awaiting trial for murder. And Maude Valentine, whose file said simply “psychologically unsuitable,” was a driver with the FANYs.

“Down to two!” Paul said despondently.

“It’s not the numbers but the quality that bothers me,” Percy said.

“We knew from the start we’d be looking at rejects.” Percy’s tone became angry. “But we can’t risk Flick’s life with people like these!”

Percy was desperate to protect Flick, Paul realized. The older man had been willing to hand over control of the operation but was not able to give up his role as Flick’s guardian angel.

Their argument was interrupted by a phone call. It was Simon Fortescue, the pinstriped spook from MI6 who had blamed SOE for the failure at Sainte-Cécile.

“What can I do for you?” Paul said guardedly. Fortescue was not a man to trust.

“I think I may be able to do something for you,” Fortescue said. “I know you’re going ahead with Major Clairet’s plan.”

“Who told you?” Paul asked suspiciously. It was supposed to be a secret.

“Let’s not go into that. I naturally wish you success with your mission, even though I was against it, and I’d like to help.”

Paul was angry that the mission was being talked about, but there was no point in pursuing that. “Do you know a female telephone engineer who speaks perfect French?” he asked.

“Not quite. But there’s someone you should see. Her name is Lady Denise Bowyer. Terribly nice girl, her father was the Marquess of Inverlocky.”

Paul was not interested in her pedigree. “How did she learn French?”

“Brought up by her French stepmother, Lord Inverlocky’s second wife. She’s ever so keen to do her bit.”

Paul was suspicious of Fortescue, but he was desperate for suitable recruits. “Where do I find her?”

“She’s with the RAF at Hendon.” The word “Hen-don” meant nothing to Paul, but Fortescue explained. “It’s an airfield in the north London suburbs.”

“Thank you.”

“Let me know how she gets on.” Fortescue hung up. Paul explained the call to Percy, who said, “Fortescue wants a spy in our camp.”

“We can’t afford to turn her down for that reason.”

“Quite.”

They saw Maude Valentine first. Percy arranged for them to meet her at the Fenchurch Hotel, around the corner from SOE headquarters. Strangers were never brought to number sixty-four, he explained. “If we reject her, she may guess that she’s been considered for secret work, but she won’t know the name of the organization that interviewed her nor where its office is, so even if she blabs she can’t do much harm.”

“Very good.”

“What’s your mother’s maiden name?”

Paul was mildly startled and had to think for a moment. “Thomas. She was Edith Thomas.”

“So, you’ll be Major Thomas and I’ll be Colonel Cox. No point in giving our real names.”

Percy was not such a duffer, Paul reflected.

He met Maude in the hotel lobby. She piqued his interest right away. She was a pretty girl with a flirtatious manner. Her uniform blouse was tight across the chest, and she wore her cap at a jaunty angle. Paul spoke to her in French. “My colleague is waiting in a private room.”

She gave him an arch look and replied in the same language. “I don’t usually go to hotel rooms with strange men,” she said pertly. “But in your case, Major, I’ll make an exception.”

He blushed. “It’s a meeting room, with a table and so on, not a bedroom.”

“Oh, well, that’s all right, then,” she said, mocking him. He decided to change the subject. He had noticed that she spoke with a south of France accent, so he said, “Where are you from?”

“I was born in Marseilles.”

“And what do you do in the FANYs?”

“I drive Monty.”

“Do you?” Paul was not supposed to give any information about himself, but he could not help saying, “I worked for Monty for a while, but I don’t recall seeing you.”

“Oh, it’s not always Monty. I drive all the top generals.”

“Ah. Well, come this way, please.”

He took her to the room and poured her a cup of tea.