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S everal weeks had passed since that terrible night when Lizzie and Jack stumbled home in a daze through the smoke-filled streets with rage in their hearts.

The night of the London bombing reinforced Lizzie’s commitment to destroy the Nazis and dismantle their murderous regime. It was a timely and shocking reminder of why they risked everything to go on dangerous missions.

The Germans had struck at the heart of government. Westminster Palace had been hit by incendiary bombs and by morning all that remained of the Commons Chamber were smoking ruins.

Fortunately, recent weeks had been quiet with no major raids, and there were cautious whispers they had reached the end of eight months of the Blitz. Intelligence reports confirmed the Luftwaffe was preparing to invade Russia.

Lizzie and Jack were in his office getting organised for the impending mission when Drake, Lizzie’s former boss from the War Office, arrived.

‘Lizzie, it’s been too long. How are you, dear girl? I can’t tell you how good it is to see you alive and well with my own eyes.’

Lizzie rose from her chair and shook Drake’s hand. ‘Thank you, sir. It’s good to see you, too.’

‘Did this rogue here pass on my regards? I tried to check in on you several times after you transferred, but it was never the right time.’

Drake dropped into the seat Jack pulled out for him after they all exchanged pleasantries, and he immediately lit his pipe. Drake was one of Jack’s favourite people. He’d always had a lot of time for Drake, but he was even more grateful to his old mentor for introducing him to Lizzie.

Drake dragged on his pipe and looked from one to the other expectantly. ‘So, to what do I owe the honour of being summoned to this noble establishment?’

Jack usually made a point of meeting Drake for a drink at The Ritz, which buzzed with London’s elite and was affectionately dubbed, Blitz at the Ritz.

Drake used to drop into Jack’s old flat unannounced, but Jack had actively discouraged him from visiting his new place, so there would be no risk he’d show up and find Lizzie there.

They’d agreed that would be mortifying for all of them, so regular meetings at The Ritz were the norm.

The SOE kept the circle tight and even new recruits weren’t allowed in the HQ building anymore. As a founding member, Lizzie was fortunate to be considered one of the inner circle, and to have Val’s ear. It helped she was her personal assistant, but even so, she realised it was an honour.

Jack said, ‘You were in right at the beginning, Seagrove. It accords some special privileges. The newbies are based in a flat around the corner.’

‘Like when Drake brought me to meet you,’ Lizzie replied, thinking back to the first time she saw Jack.

It often struck her how easily her life could have taken a completely different course if it weren’t for that day.

If Drake hadn’t identified her as suitable agent material, and she hadn’t been intrigued enough to accept his unusual invitation, she would probably still be translating mundane documents at the War Office, weathering the war best she could, without any means to do something more significant to defend Britain.

Jack told her after they moved to Baker Street from St. Ermin’s Hotel, there were some leaks because they were too complacent about who came and went. They had to introduce stricter protocols.

The SOE had grown exponentially since Lizzie’s first day, both with networks in the field overseas and agents on home soil.

Lizzie’s attention snapped back to the present as Drake fixed his stare on Jack, waiting to hear why he had been called in.

‘Top secret,’ said Jack. ‘Can’t risk flappy ears overhearing our plans at The Ritz.’

‘Go on,’ Drake said. ‘What may I do to help?’

‘I remembered you mentioning you spent considerable time in the South of France and are familiar with Toulouse.’

Drake drew on his pipe again and narrowed his eyes as he exhaled. ‘Yes, that’s correct. Oh, those were the days. They seem like a lifetime ago. A different world.’

‘It’s a different world alright,’ Jack said.

‘What’s happening in Toulouse?’ Drake asked.

‘Lizzie and I are going in next week. We need eyes and ears on the ground if we’re to have a foothold in the South to prepare the way for an invasion. We’ve heard repeated whispers for some time now that De Gaulle is establishing Resistance networks in Vichy France.’

‘And F Section doesn’t want to be left out in the cold,’ Drake said, filling in the blanks.

‘Correct. It’s bad enough we have a rival SOE French group in RF-Section, but we can’t have them owning Vichy and us not knowing what the hell’s going on. De Gaulle has his own agenda, and it’s not the same as ours.’

‘Understood,’ Drake said, contemplating the smoke lingering in the air.

Jack rose and went to open the window, lighting a cigarette as he surveyed the activity on Baker Street below.

Drake’s pipe was a hazard that even Jack, a heavy smoker, didn’t bear well.

‘I get the hint,’ Drake said, resting his pipe on the table with a wry smile.

Jack returned to his seat and Jack asked Drake to tell him all he could about the layout of Toulouse and anything else he could think of that may be useful.

‘Of course, this was years ago. I don’t know what it’s like under the Vichy mob. In my day, it was a genteel place, and I was sorry to have to leave.’

‘What took you there?’ Jack asked.

Drake touched his nose. ‘You know how these things are. Best keep that to myself, old man.’

Jack nodded. ‘Say no more. I thought it might have been for personal reasons.’

Lizzie didn’t know what Drake’s role had been before the war.

She knew him only as her former boss at the War Office, and a mentor of Jack’s, but his links to Military Intelligence clearly went way back and were more complex than she had realised.

Perhaps one day Jack would divulge more about the mystery man, Drake, and how he came to be scouting for suitable recruits for the SOE.

Drake stood to take his leave some time later, but insisted Jack bring Lizzie with him to The Ritz next time. He turned at the door, before Jack escorted him downstairs. ‘God bless you both and bring you back safely. Your next cocktail is on me, Lizzie Beaumont.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Drake laughed. It was a joke between them he’d not succeeded in dissuading her from calling him, sir .

Lizzie sat there, her heart pounding as she realised the day was fast approaching when they would drop into the South of France by night and once again, she would teeter on the sharp edge between life and death.

She reminded herself she wouldn’t be going in alone this time. Jack would be at her side, and the thought calmed her.

‘What did you make of that?’ Lizzie asked when Jack returned.

‘Sounds like it was a lovely city before the war. Hard to know what it will be like now, but we will soon see!’ Jack said, pulling Lizzie to her feet. ‘You and I are going out.’

‘Are we now? Where to, may I ask?’

‘It’s turned into a beautiful afternoon. I thought we should make the most of it and take a walk in the sun.’

‘Sounds good, Captain King,’ Lizzie said. She gazed out of the window and saw people below, wearing short sleeves.

They were both in uniform and in the lobby, Jack made a show of them leaving the building on official business.

‘It’s a lovely afternoon,’ the good-natured doorman remarked as they exited onto Baker Street.

Jack shot off at his usual pace and Lizzie did her best to keep up, until he turned and stopped. ‘Sorry, am I walking too fast again?’

Lizzie laughed. ‘The only way I can keep up with you is by holding onto your arm, but as that’s too risky here, I’d better start running.’

Jack slowed, and they walked side by side, arms brushing occasionally, both conscious of how they shouldn’t touch in the usual fashion when they were near the SOE.

‘Fancy an ice cream?’ Jack asked, pointing to a Wall’s ice cream vendor.

‘What a wonderful idea,’ Lizzie replied. ‘By the sounds of it, we won’t be tasting any ice cream for a while. Val told me rations are just as meagre in Vichy France as in Paris.’

‘My thoughts exactly. We’d better make merry whilst the sun shines on us.’

They waited for two small ice creams to be served and took a seat on a wall near Regent’s Park.

Lizzie licked the vanilla ice cream with enthusiasm. ‘I don’t remember when I last had an ice cream. This is delicious.’

Jack laughed and reached over to wipe her face. ‘You’ve got a big smudge of it above your lip like a vanilla moustache.’

Lizzy giggled and for a moment they were like young lovers on their lunch break, without a care.

Jack crunched the last of his cone. ‘It’s not pre-war quality, but it’s edible. Summer is officially here. Come on, darling. Let’s take a turn around the park.’

‘Lizzie rubbed her hands together and touched her lips. ‘All gone?’

‘All gone,’ Jack said, smiling. ‘You’re stunning, as usual.’

Lizzie accepted the compliment with grace and countered with one of her own. ‘You’re attracting your fair share of admiring glances. You cut such a fine figure in that uniform, Captain.’

They entered the park and started walking. ‘Gosh, last summer this park was immaculate. Look at it now,’ Lizzie said.

Her eyes took in the crushed tulips in the once pristine flowerbeds. The grass was singed in places and Nissan huts and floating barrage balloons littered the park, making it look more like a war zone than a recreational site.

The sun beamed down on the thick material of Lizzie’s uniform, and she was too warm outside for the first time since the previous summer.

As she gazed upwards at the pale blue sky, she saw a cluster of fluffy white clouds drift by, as though they had all the time in the world.

‘It really is summer. It’s been a long old winter, and sometimes I thought the end would never come. ’

‘This time next week, all going to plan we’ll be in Toulouse at my uncle’s chateau.’

‘I can barely believe it’s happening so soon. It feels surreal,’ she said, smiling into Jack’s warm eyes.

‘We’d better test each other, so we’re ready,’ Jack said. ‘My uncle used to be sharp as a whip, although he’s older now, so he might have slowed down.’

‘What will we tell him?’

‘First, we must pretend he’s not my uncle, or it will be a dead giveaway.

Some of the older residents of the village may recall he has nephews in London who visited as boys.

It only takes one Vichy official or collaborator to mention his sister has lived in London for over thirty years and they’ll be onto us before we’ve found a place to hide our radio. ’

‘Oh, I see what you mean,’ Lizzie said. ‘So, what relation will you say you are, then?’

‘We’ll say I’m a distant cousin who has never visited before. That way, he won’t need to remember anything about my fake background. We need to bear in mind, he’s elderly, so who knows what state his memory is in. Let’s keep things as simple as possible.’

Lizzie’s eyes twinkled. ‘Talking of which, what do I need to know about you, my darling husband?’

‘You know far too much about me already,’ Jack said.

‘Yes, but I need to know about the imaginary you. If we’re to fool everyone into believing we are a married French couple, we must know everything about each other.’

‘True. Look how far you’ve come since last year. Now you’re drilling me!’

They walked on exchanging ideas they could use for their cover story, and Lizzie suggested they say they were from Brittany.

She had spent a lot of time in St. Malo with her cousins and knew it well.

Jack had visited Brittany several times and said he could pull it off.

They agreed they would create their exact cover stories over the next few days and would test each other and be word perfect before they flew out the following week.

That night, when Lizzie lay her weary head on her pillow in her cosy bedroom in the Regent’s Park house, her mind buzzed with ideas, and she couldn’t sleep.

When she did finally drift off, she dreamt she was gazing out over lavender fields and sipping wine in a chateau on the outskirts of Toulouse with her beloved husband.