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Jack watched Lizzie prepare to jump. He’d watched her hurl herself into the night once before, and now his heart buffeted in his chest as fiercely as the wind hit the aircraft.

It would be the usual procedure, for him, the captain, to take the lead, but Lizzie was not the usual kind of woman, and if she preferred to jump first, then jump first she would.

Jack wasn’t typically a praying man, but beseeching words flooded his consciousness, and his lips moved silently as she jumped. If anyone had heard the noise of the engine and was waiting below, it would all be over for them before it begun.

There would be no reception committee to welcome them, like in Reims. Toulouse was virgin territory for the SOE, and they had no established network to pave the way.

All that would change if the mission was successful.

Reims Resistance Network was still fully operational, but unfortunately, The Liberty Network they had set up in Paris was out of action for the time being.

It was too dangerous for Hannah or Lizzie to show their faces in Paris after their last deadly operation, so they had alerted all contacts to go dark until further notice.

They were here now because the South of France was wide open for recruitment.

Jack looked downwards, and the breath snagged in his chest as he watched Lizzie’s silk chute open.

Thank God. He could breathe again, and he inhaled deeply several times. The moon was full, and its silver light bleached the inky sky so he could glimpse Lizzie below as the plane hovered, ready for him to join her.

And then he took the leap and felt his weight sail through the air until mercifully his chute opened, and his feet bounced several times before he tumbled onto the hard ground, his limbs tangled in the material.

Lizzie appeared, looking down at him, and she offered him her hand to help him to his feet and he took it gratefully.

‘How was it?’ he whispered.

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you’re with me. This is the really hard bit when you don’t know where to go.’

Jack raised her hand to his lips and kissed her cold flesh. ‘I told you, we’re together all the way.’

Lizzie had already removed her jumpsuit, and Jack hastily stepped out of his. ‘We need to bury them,’ she said.

They poked around the outskirts of the field and found a wooded area. ‘Here looks good,’ said Jack.

Lizzie extracted her torch, and a little spade from her jumpsuit pockets and started digging.

Jack did the same, and soon they’d hidden the incriminating outfits.

Jack produced his torch, and they huddled beneath the dense foliage and found a spot to sit.

The light illuminated their map, and they pored over it to check their bearings with a mini compass.

Jack said, ‘If we landed in the right spot, there should be a church a couple of fields further south, and we can follow the path into the village from there.’

They clambered across the lumpy earth and reached the field, each retrieving their case they had thrown clear before hitting the ground.

‘Is it my imagination or does the moon look blue?’ Lizzie asked.

‘Yes, it is a blue moon tonight.’

It gave the landscape lit only by the blue-tinged moon, an eerie feel and Lizzie shivered in the chill breeze and clutched her thin raincoat around her.

Jack said, ‘Come on, let’s speed up so we can be off the path and out of sight before the labourers start work.’

They hurried across the bumpy terrain and after a while, they glimpsed a church spire in the distance. It was topped by a girouette— a weathercock in the shape of a rooster—gleaming against the pink sky that proclaimed the imminent arrival of a new dawn.

Sometime later, Lizzie pointed ahead. ‘That looks like the churchyard. I think we’ve made it.’

As they crept beside an ancient wall, they saw a charming little medieval church and Jack stopped when he reached a wooden gate. Gently pushing it open, its old hinges emitted a creaky whine and Jack beckoned to Lizzie to enter before he closed it behind him.

Rows of uneven, craggy headstones lined the sloping churchyard, and the light glinted on the pale stone.

‘It’s beautiful. Even the headstones are pink,’ Lizzie said with a touch of awe. ‘I’ve never seen a coloured graveyard before. It seems like a good omen that even the graves are pretty in the South of France.’

‘They don’t call Toulouse La Ville Rose for nothing,’ Jack said. ‘Come on, I know the way to the chateau from here and we can hide in the grounds.’

They climbed a steep, winding hill, and Lizzie’s foot kicked some small stones that skirted across the mossy ground. The residue of smudgy darkness still lingered in the sky, and Jack strode up the hill at such a pace, Lizzie panted as she fought to keep up with him.

‘Nearly there,’ he mouthed, turning to face her.

She chased after him, and he left the hilly path that wound into another grassy field. He pointed, ‘Can you see the vineyards?’

Lizzie narrowed her eyes and made out the faint silhouette of the vines in the pale dawn shadows.

The chill of the night air had vanished, and Jack could tell it was going to be a scorching day. He loved watching Lizzie, as her gaze swept about her, and she gasped with delight. In the distance, rows of neat lavender swayed in the gentle breeze.

‘It’s breathtaking,’ she said. ‘I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this place.’

The sky now formed a pink and blue cape as though they had entered a magical fantasy world.

Jack said, ‘Come on.’ He took Lizzie’s hand, and she weaved along the hillside beside him, careful not to lose her footing in the partial light, still clutching her small case in one hand.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked

Jack stopped and pointed ahead. ‘I wanted to show you this view.’

Far below was a sweeping valley with a maze of buildings clustered around a river. ‘Is that Toulouse?’ asked Lizzie.

‘Yes, we’re in the Garonne Valley. I remember this view well. Henry and I used to watch the city from up here when we were boys. He used to say, one day he’d own a big mansion in the centre of the city instead of being stuck up here on the hill.’

‘I’m happy we’re up here,’ Lizzie said. ‘That way, we’ll get the best of both worlds.’

Jack looked at Lizzie and thought she had never been more beautiful. ‘I love you, Madame Dubois.’ He tilted his head to kiss her lips softly.

‘I love you, Monsieur Dubois,’ she said, and then her stomach growled so loudly they both laughed.

‘I think that’s a sign to introduce you to my uncle and get some well-earned breakfast.’

They sat observing the chateau as daylight broke and the pale edges of the old house were etched in sharp relief against the colourful backdrop of the sky.

‘It’s actually got turrets like a fairytale castle!’ Lizzie said.

The shutters were opened at 6 a.m. sharp and a woman’s head bobbed around inside one room on the upper floor of the chateau.

‘Last I heard, my uncle lives alone, apart from a housekeeper and a small household staff. That must be her.’

Lizzie smoothed out the skirt of her dress as they readied themselves to approach the stately building, speaking only in French.

‘Do I look presentable?’ asked Lizzie.

‘You look incredible.’

Lizzie said, ‘Now, I know you’re fibbing, but thank you all the same.’

They walked around to the back of the chateau, and Jack tapped on the door with the brass knocker.

They heard a dog bark and the scurry of footsteps. The door opened slowly, and a woman’s face appeared in the crack.

‘Oui?’

Jack apologised for the early morning intrusion and launched into an explanation.

The woman’s expression switched from one of guarded suspicion to keen interest, and she stepped back slightly, opening the door wider. A big dog shot out and licked Lizzie’s hand.

‘Some guard dog, that one,’ said the woman, rolling her eyes and permitting her face to break into a small smile. ‘Unless he takes against you, he’s hopeless.’

Lizzie stroked the dog, who made little yelps of pleasure.

‘Well, Monsieur Saint-Clair is on the terrace. Excuse me, whilst I tell him you’re here.’ The woman beckoned to a table and chairs in the courtyard. ‘Please take a seat and I’ll be back soon. Beau will keep you company, by the looks of it,’ she said, pointing to the enthusiastic dog.

They sat down and Lizzie continued playing with the dog, stroking his big black and tan head and silky ears. ‘What breed is he, do you think?’ she asked Jack.

‘He’s a Beauceron, a French herding dog, who’s obviously smitten with you. Can’t say I blame him.’

Five minutes passed before the woman returned.

‘Monsieur says he will see you now.’ She extended her hand to Jack and then Lizzie.

‘I am Suzanne, the housekeeper, here for ten years. I must say, I’ve never heard him mention you before.

Didn’t know he had any family in Brittany. Mind you, he keeps himself to himself.’

‘I’m a distant cousin,’ Jack reiterated. ‘It’s been some time since my father was in touch with Monsieur Saint-Clair. Perhaps my letter notifying him of our visit went astray.’

‘The mail is unreliable, so that would make sense,’ she said, hurrying through the wide entrance hall and beckoning them to follow. ‘This way.’

Jack and Lizzie exchanged a look. The success of their mission depended on Jack’s uncle recognising him immediately and playing along with their cover story without question. It would only take one wrong word in the housekeeper's presence, and all could be lost.

They followed her into an elegant drawing room with an enormous chandelier and an exquisite parquet floor, through one of the tall double doors and out onto a stone terrace that overlooked a vista of vineyards and lavender fields.

The sun had risen and chased away the eerie shadows of the night.

The air was warm and white puffy clouds adorned the pale blue sky.

Jack gazed at the familiar view and for a moment it was as though he were still a boy and there was no war. Just a fun-filled adventure to his uncle’s chateau in the South of France.

An old man with a shock of silver hair and dark eyes, just like Jack’s, stood to greet them. ‘Thank you, that will be all, Suzanne.’

The woman left the room, calling the affectionate big dog who had followed them, to heel, promising him breakfast.

Jack clasped his uncle’s hand, and his voice was low.

‘Uncle Luc, thank you for seeing us and apologies for the sudden unannounced visit. I told your housekeeper I had sent a letter, but the truth is there wasn’t time.

May I present my wife, Isabelle Dubois. We are here on a serious matter, and I must ask you to promise to keep our secret, or it could mean death for us all. ’

Luc studied Jack and moved his hand in a sweeping gesture. ‘How very thrilling. I’ve been slowly going out of my mind with boredom during this war. You must tell me everything, but first let me order you breakfast. You look as though you’ve been travelling all night.’

He rang the bell and Suzanne reappeared a few minutes later like a genie.

The door closed behind her once more. ‘Now begin at the beginning and leave nothing out,’ the old man said, fixing Jack with a steely stare. ‘The last person I expected to see was my nephew from London.’