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L izzie reached the front of the queue. The shopkeeper looked weary, but still had a friendly twinkle in his eye.

‘A tough day?’ Lizzie asked.

‘Every day is a tough day,’ he said. ‘What can I get you, madame?’

‘What do you have left?’ Lizzie asked.

‘We’re low on stock and I’ll be closing for the day soon. I’ve only got some ham left if it’s meat you’re after. I can also give you some cheese and flour for bread if you’ve got the right coupons.’

Lizzie checked the ration books. ‘Forgive me whilst I get my bearings,’ she said. ‘I’m new to Toulouse and am filling in for the housekeeper.’

This seemed to intrigue the shopkeeper. ‘Which housekeeper would that be?’

‘Suzanne, from Chateau de Saint-Clair.’

‘Ah, why didn’t you say so before?’ He lowered his voice so the other customers wouldn’t overhear.

The housekeeper had told her to mention her name.

‘I always keep a little extra something in for Suzanne. The Saint Clair family has been buying from us since I was a boy, perhaps longer. So, you are new to the area, you say?’

Lizzie nodded and thanked the shopkeeper as he passed her the food items, and she hastily shoved them in her bag. It wouldn’t do to spark jealousy and make the shopkeeper regret his kind deed. She turned to leave. The old woman stood behind her, and Lizzie touched her arm and wished her well.

‘You are a good girl,’ the woman said. ‘It’s a shame there aren’t more like you around here.’

On impulse, Lizzie reached in her bag and withdrew a small portion of chocolate the shopkeeper had added at the last moment.

‘Here, take this,’ she said, pressing it into her palm.

The woman looked down at her hand, an expression of utter shock etched on her lined face. ‘You would do this for a stranger?’ she gasped. Then her eyes grew misty, and Lizzie knew she had done the right thing.

An image of her grandmother entered her mind once more. She hoped her grandparents were also benefiting from some selfless acts of kindness in what must be a brutal existence.

‘Of course, madame. Bon appetite ,’ she whispered close to her ear.

The people waiting impatiently in the queue started complaining about the delay. ‘Hurry, we’re waiting too, you know.’

Lizzie touched the woman’s shoulder, and quickly left the shop with her haul, as if she’d just unearthed a sack of buried treasure.

She looked at her watch and calculated the errand had taken almost three hours.

Lizzie’s legs ached from standing for so long in one place, and she decided to visit a café to rest and have a drink before cycling back to the chateau up the steep hill.

At least she wasn’t constantly hungry like on other missions, and wouldn’t return home skin and bones, and her mother accuse her employers of starving her on the job.

Suzanne was keeping them well fed, and she was pleased to have been able to relieve the housekeeper’s duties in some small way.

It was a shame she hadn’t met any promising contacts.

She’d studied each of the customers waiting in line, but most of them looked exhausted and beaten.

Not the material they needed to recruit for their new network.

Was it possible the intelligence the SOE had received wasn’t accurate and there weren’t any budding Resistance fighters in the area? Val said there were small cells springing up in the South and they should look for them and see who was the best fit.

Their strategy was to recruit motivated people who were already committed to support the Allies and cause trouble for the Nazi regime.

That was a much quicker route to building an effective team than convincing people to join them.

They needed leaders, preferably with existing skills, who were courageous enough to risk their lives, because they had nothing to lose, or they could not stand to witness the evil that was sweeping through Europe.

Apart from the waitress who was clearly disgruntled with the government, which was probably fair to say was true of many right now, there was no sign she was involved in any form of Resistance or would risk her neck to attack the Vichy or German regimes.

There was the fellow, Lev, who Jack was meeting with again, but he must be careful not to share anything that could be construed as treason.

The man had divulged nothing tangible, but Jack surmised he might be motivated to join them if he was Jewish, as he suspected.

Lizzie worried it was a fragile thread. Few would turn words into action when it endangered their life and that of those they loved.

Lizzie wandered through the streets clutching her bag.

Suzanne told her she got vegetables from a different shop but not to stop there today as it would be too late, so Lizzie hurried toward the Place du Capitole, straightening her yellow scarf as she walked.

Most of the cafés were in that area and it was the cultural centre of the city, so it was the best place to meet people.

It was odd being there without Jack, after they’d visited several times together, but her resolve to be independent strengthened.

She had to do her bit and not rely on him to lead the mission just because he was her commanding officer.

She was proud of what she had accomplished undercover during the past year, and the war waged on with no signs of abating, so this was no time to take it easy.

Lizzie decided to be bold and frequent a different café this time, and as she passed the one where they had met the friendly waitress, she saw there was no sign of her today.

She passed cafés and restaurants dotted around the outskirts of the square, but none of them appealed to her until she came upon a quaint little establishment in the square's corner with a green awning and sparkling gold umbrellas to keep the sun off the customers in the cordoned off courtyard.

This was the one, so she sat at a small table in the shade, grateful for the rest, and laid her shopping bag on the chair next to her.

Luc had told them theft was rampant in the city, where food was now as valuable as gold because of the shortages, and gangs of thieves roamed the city by day and night, even during curfew.

Lizzie saw no one who looked like a potential thief, but she knew looks could be deceptive. She kept her bag close by her side and picked up a crumpled newspaper from the table. She unfolded it and saw it was a copy of La Gerbe .

The newspaper was a couple of days old, and Lizzie was scanning the front page when a distinguished looking older gentleman came out to take her order. He was pleasant but reserved, and when he returned with a cup of weak coffee, Lizzie was engrossed in reading the paper.

It was always a shock to read the depth of the lies the Nazi regime went to in their quest to spread the belief they were victorious on all fronts and the Allies were weak and didn’t stand a chance.

The London newspapers told a very different story, and she wondered if there was a Resistance newspaper in Toulouse yet, like in Paris.

In Northern France, there were printed flyers distributed by brave souls in the Resistance, as well as underground newspapers.

These efforts, which were at grave risk to the chain of people who created and distributed them, were the Resistance’s attempt to counter the immense flow of propaganda with which the Nazis flooded France.

If you were to believe what you read in their newspapers, you’d think the war would end any day and Hitler’s vision of a Thousand-Year Reich was guaranteed.

Lizzie tried not to think what would happen if the Allies didn’t invade soon and take back control of Europe.

The reality of a future governed by the Nazis was too terrible to contemplate, which fuelled Lizzie’s fighting spirit.

The SOE must continue to follow Churchill’s order to ‘set Europe ablaze’ and create chaos for the Axis powers.

When Lizzie joined the organisation, she hadn’t fully understood, the importance of succeeding in such dangerous operations in occupied territory, but as she gained experience and witnessed the enemy in action, she realised her job was to prepare the way for the Allies to invade.

When she discussed her thoughts with Jack, he agreed and said if they failed, they would lose the war.

There was only so much that soldiers and pilots could do.

They followed their orders to engage in battle, and Lizzie was proud of her brother, Archie and Juliet’s fiancée, Oliver, but a different battle was happening underground in secret organisations like in Baker Street.

Military Intelligence, the SOE and the Resistance networks who partnered with them on the ground, fought a secret war and engaged in a distinct set of combat rules. Whoever won the intelligence war would be the ultimate victor, Jack said. The price of losing was one they could not afford to pay.

Lizzie sipped her coffee and resumed reading the newspaper.

An article about Germany’s relations with the Soviet Union caught her eye.

It said the Treaty of Non-Aggression between Germany and the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics was crumbling.

Until now, Stalin and Hitler had been allies, so this shift in Hitler’s attitude could change the dynamic of the Axis forces.

Lizzie speculated on what it could mean for the Allies.

She was frustrated at her lack of understanding of world politics and since joining the SOE; she had done her best to fill the gaps in her knowledge.

Her father, who was a high-ranking official at the War Office, was a credible source, and she often quizzed him on his thoughts and opinions.

In Jersey, Pa had explained to her that war broke out when Germany invaded Poland. He said they invaded with the blessing of the Soviets, who in turn occupied and annexed Eastern Poland shortly after. She remembered him talking about a mutual treaty.

The article cited the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics as the enemy of Nazi Germany.

Lizzie lay the newspaper down on the table, her mind ticking over furiously.

She must treat anything she read in this propaganda rag with caution, but still, if there was even a hint of truth in it, the Soviets would likely switch sides which could only strengthen the Allies, even if they didn’t trust them in the long term.

Lizzie rose from her seat with her cup in hand. She pushed the door open and walked towards the counter, surveying the café interior. There were a few people scattered at the tables in the back.

‘Merci, madame,’ said the man who had served her. ‘All to your liking?’

Lizzie smiled graciously. ‘Thank you, the coffee was as good as we may hope in the circumstances. How I long for a touch of milk like the old days when we took it for granted.’

His smile lit up his eyes. He leant closer. ‘Visit us again soon, madame, and I’ll see what I can do to offer you a café au lait.’

Lizzie thanked him, touched by the stranger’s friendly attitude.

Even in wartime in enemy territory, it comforted her to see there were good people everywhere.

She walked back through the now quieter streets and was relieved to find her bicycle still propped against the fence.

Lizzie cycled up the slope away from the city, and when she hit the steep incline of the hill, her muscles screamed out and she recalled Jack saying the journey would be tough by bicycle.

Even so, the flush of a successful trip into the city alone, her precious rations stashed in the basket, outweighed the pain and she pressed on, pedalling as hard as she could until she dismounted and wheeled the bike to the summit of the hill, panting and grateful for her hat.

As she pushed the bicycle, a strong floral scent tickled her nostrils and through a gap in the wall, she glimpsed a lavender field.

On impulse, she entered, and rows of purplish-pink lavender stretched before her in a blaze of loveliness against the backdrop of the clear sky and the chateau in the distance.

The heady scent and the outstanding beauty of the place permeated her senses, and she stood there breathing it all in.

After a while, she turned back onto the road and cycled slowly until she reached the chateau, which seemed to welcome her like an old friend.

Lizzie cycled through the courtyard, her heart pounding with a combination of physical exertion and excitement that she had completed her first solitary reconnaissance excursion.