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T here was only one vacant table outside the café, and it was partially bathed in the sun.

‘Where do you want to sit?’ Jack asked, poised to whisk out the chair of Lizzie’s choice.

‘I’ll sit in the sunshine for a bit, unless you want to. It was such a long winter; I think I’ll enjoy the sun on my face.’

Jack slid into the chair opposite her in the shade, which suited him because he had a perfect view of the plaza.

‘What can I get for you today?’ asked the rebellious waitress with an enthusiastic smile for Lizzie and Jack.

‘Don’t tell me, I remember you had rhyming names …

’ She clasped her hand to her head for a second and grimaced as though it was painful to extract the information.

Then she dropped her hand and beamed at them. ‘Michel and Isabelle! Am I right?’

‘You are,’ Jack said. ‘Impressive memory. That must be useful in your line of work.’

The waitress looked momentarily startled but quickly recovered her composure.

‘Now you know our names. It’s only fair we know yours,’ he said.

The waitress’s thick, dark hair was rolled into the same elegant hairstyle, and she was dressed in a simple black-and-white uniform, like the other staff. Ordinarily she might blend in, but something about her stood out.

‘That seems fair. My name is Marguerite.’

Jack had hoped they would see her today. She had showed all the signs of someone who could lead them to other disgruntled Toulousians, some of whom might already be actively resisting the Vichy regime.

Jack ordered coffee and Lizzie raised her face to the sun and relaxed against the chair, her sun hat shading her pale forehead.

They sat in a companionable silence, and Jack reflected on his good fortune.

He found himself doing this frequently and couldn’t imagine his life without Lizzie.

Sometimes, they would sit together without having to fill the space with idle chatter, which in his experience was a rare gift.

They talked a lot, but they were equally at ease with each other in silence, and this was one of those times.

Jack gazed up at the cerulean, blue sky as white candy floss shaped clouds floated by.

He reminded himself he was here to build a Resistance network and orchestrate chaos, not relax like a tourist on his annual holiday.

He was full of gratitude as he scanned the square, studying the eclectic mix of passers-by.

The waitress returned with their steaming coffee and placed two cups on the small circular table.

‘Thank you,’ Jack said. ‘You may recall we mentioned we are new in town. We’re visiting a relative up at the Chateau de Saint-Clair. Are you familiar with it?’

Like Jack had hoped, the mention of the chateau caught the waitress’s attention, and she paused.

‘Of course. Who isn’t? I went grape picking there as a child.’

They all agreed the chateau was idyllic and made polite chit-chat until a grumpy man clicked his fingers at her from another table.

‘Duty calls,’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘Perhaps I’ll have a moment to continue our conversation later, if you’re not in a rush.’

Lizzie smiled warmly at Marguerite and said that would be lovely. ‘We’re feeling rather isolated, missing our friends in Brittany and not knowing anyone our age in Toulouse. It would be lovely to meet some like-minded people.’

Jack noted how cleverly Lizzie emphasised like-minded .

Marguerite lingered. ‘A few of us sometimes meet at Café de Paris and talk about what we’ll do when this damn war is over.’

‘Sounds good. Maybe we’ll drop in and see you there. Would that be alright?’ Lizzie asked.

The impatient customer, dressed in French military uniform, was now puce-faced and clicking his fingers furiously at Marguerite.

‘I must go, before he gives himself a heart attack,’ she said under her breath. ‘But yes, come along around six this evening if you can make it and I’ll introduce you to some interesting people.’

Marguerite hurried away, and Jack and Lizzie’s eyes locked in jubilant victory. They didn’t need words to know exactly what the other was thinking.

Jack lit a cigarette and continued surveying the area casually, as if he was a man of means who didn’t need to be anywhere other than enjoying his morning coffee in the square with his beautiful wife seated opposite him.

Jack laid his hand on Lizzie’s. ‘You’re far too beautiful to go unnoticed. We must take this into account, unless you disguise yourself as a frump, Hannah style?’

Lizzie smiled at the memory of Hannah’s multiple disguises and how she loved to outwit her enemies.

‘Whilst I’m happy you think so, it’s unlikely you’d be married to a frump, so unless you disguise yourself too, it won’t make sense. We’re upper-class relatives of Luc’s, after all.’

‘That’s a good point,’ Jack said, taking another puff of his cigarette and narrowing his eyes.

Lizzie said, ‘I don’t think it’s possible for you to make yourself blend in, even if you tried. Your height, build and looks are too eye-catching, so we’d better use your looks to our advantage.’

‘Is this your way of saying your husband is the most handsome man you’ve ever seen?’ The rich timbre of his voice was playful.

‘You’ve got me. That’s exactly what I meant,’ she said, and they were lost in each other as though there were no one else in the world.

That’s how it was for them. Jack knew their being together undercover was their greatest strength, but also their greatest liability.

It wasn’t without good reason, intelligence agencies frowned upon agents becoming romantically involved.

It made them vulnerable. Lizzie was Jack’s Achilles’ heel, and he knew it, for better or worse.

A man sat at a café across the square, his eyes occasionally straying to the beautiful couple. He rose from his chair and limped past their table without looking at them.

Jack wasn’t as alert as he might be, but he still noticed the man with a pronounced limp. It was nothing unusual though—there were wounded veterans everywhere, so he thought no more about it.

That evening, they excused themselves from joining Luc for dinner, saying they had to go back into town.

After a simple meal in their room, they were back in the car, cruising down the hill at breakneck speed.

Jack drove and Lizzie enjoyed the refreshing coolness on her skin as she looked out the window at the countryside streaming by.

‘Is that the lavender field we can see from the chateau?’ Lizzie asked, pointing to the swaying purple stems in the distance.

‘Yes, it’s a lavender farm, if I recall correctly. Perhaps we can have a closer look one day, if you’d like. Most of the lavender farms are in Provence, so it’s special to have one here.’

‘I’d love that,’ Lizzie said. ‘It’s mesmerizing.’

The sun was slowly setting over the city, and the surface of the river sparkled, and the stone bridge glittered beneath the glow of fading rays.

Before they exited the car, Jack said, ‘Remember, share only the minimum about us to create rapport and focus on gathering as much intelligence as possible, alerting no one to your special interest in their activities. We can split up if it seems appropriate and work the room separately. That will probably be much more efficient.’

‘Yes, sir,’ she said, giving him a mock salute. ‘I will obey your orders, Captain.’

Jack belly laughed. ‘Well, that will be a first! I look forward to experiencing this unusual phenomenon.’

He was in mission mode and knew that the slightest slip could reveal their true identity. He had far too much to live for to risk careless errors.

They walked the short distance to the Café de Paris, Lizzie elegant with her hair in a glamorous updo and wearing her raincoat even though there was not a drop of rain on the horizon.

‘There will be a chill in the air in the evening,’ she had told Jack when she slipped it on in their room. ‘It also has my knife in the lining. It doesn’t feel right to go into the city at night without a secret weapon.’

‘ I thought I was your secret weapon,’ Jack had said, pulling her against his hard body and kissing her until her pulse raced.

‘You are darling, but Val warned me never to relax my guard, especially when we are together.’

Lizzie was now a fully fledged agent, and she could take care of herself, he realised. Even so, he considered it his job to protect her. If anything happened to her, he would never forgive himself.

‘I love how you protect me,’ she had said, reading his mind.

The café heaved with people, some older like Jack and others in their early twenties, like Lizzie or younger. Jack saw at a glance, many were locals, but there were others whom he guessed had flocked to the southern city to escape the Nazi occupation.

They made their way through the crowds until they found a section near the bar where they could stand without being shoved.

Soon Jack caught sight of Marguerite, and she must have felt his eyes on her back because she turned and waved, before rushing over to them.

‘How exciting. I didn’t think you’d really come,’ she said.

‘Why?’ Jack asked.

‘Ah, you know how people are. They say one thing and do another.’

‘You’re awfully cynical for one so young,’ Jack remarked, his voice kind.

‘Yes, I suppose I am. I’m a product of my circumstances.’

And with that mysterious remark, as the band struck up a lively tune, she shouted over the music, ‘Come, I’ll introduce you to some other cynics like me.’

Jack held Lizzie’s hand as they pushed through the crowd. ‘Ignore what I said earlier about splitting up,’ he said. ‘It’s far too busy, we’ll lose each other. Let’s stay together this time.’

Lizzie agreed. ‘Alright, but if we do lose each other, let’s meet outside. We’ve only got a few hours before curfew sets in, anyway.’

They came to a sudden stop in front of a small group of young men and women who looked them up and down with suspicious eyes.

Jack and Lizzie introduced themselves and shook hands with them all, except for a surly looking man who muttered hello and turned away.

‘Don’t mind him,’ Marguerite said. ‘He’s just a grump.’

They ordered drinks, and Jack surveyed the large room, taking in the various characters, some of whom had already drunk far too much and danced in a vulgar manner.

This war brought out the best and the worst in people, he thought.

It made one want to live for the moment, which sometimes was a noble endeavour, but at others spiralled into a debauched lifestyle.

‘There’s someone I particularly want you to meet,’ Marguerite said, interrupting Jack’s contemplation.

‘Oh, yes?’ Jack replied. ‘Who?’

Marguerite tugged his sleeve and steered him to the corner towards a tall and wiry, earnest looking man who appeared to be waiting for them.

Jack had lost sight of Lizzie who had been talking to someone on the other side of the group.

His eyes worriedly scanned the area trying to locate her amidst the crowd, but he still couldn’t see her.

He reminded himself she was more than capable of taking care of herself and turned back to the man and introduced himself as Michel Dubois.

‘Good evening. I’m Lev Elias. Marguerite said you are new to the city and are looking to meet some like-minded people.’

They shook hands and fell into conversation.

One of the rules of spycraft was to trust no one. Even so, a familiar sensation in Jack’s stomach told him the game was on.

Lev was an interesting character and judging by his name he was Jewish, so he had everything to lose in this Vichy governed city if the Resistance didn’t derail the regime from its increasingly sinister Nazi agenda.