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‘Bonjour, Monsieur. A loaf, if you please.’

Henri stepped behind his counter, picked up a loaf and then leaned towards Rob. ‘She’s been arrested.’

Rob, sorting out some change from his pocket, stopped and slowly looked up to meet the other man’s gaze. ‘Who?’

‘The girl who used to come to see you. Leonie.’

The colour drained from Rob’s face. ‘When?’

‘Major Hartmann brought her in about an hour ago.’

Rob was thoughtful for a moment, his mind working quickly.

‘I’m going to cycle out to the farm. Perhaps Monsieur Détange will be able to tell me more.’

‘You won’t get back before the curfew.’

‘Don’t worry about me. I may stay at the farm or try to get word to Antoine.’

‘How much does she know? Many people?’

Rob shook his head. ‘Only you and me and Antoine and, of course, the Détanges, where she’s staying, but she doesn’t know where Antoine is hiding out. He deliberately
always visits the farm.’

‘But she knows all the messages she’s sent – map references and such.’

Rob sighed. ‘True.’ There was despair and defeat in his tone. He could see the whole circuit, which had been so carefully built up and which had lasted a surprisingly long time in
occupied territory, being torn apart with men – and women – being arrested, tortured and possibly shot. He glanced out of the window. Only the sentry posted at the entrance to the
building opposite was about. Now was a good time for him to leave whilst there was no doubt great excitement inside that they had a suspect to interrogate. Poor Beth.

Rob handed over the money and picked up the loaf. ‘Thank you, Monsieur. I will not come back here again. You are already in danger because of your son’s arrest and even more so now,
I think.’ As he turned to leave, he murmured, ‘
Bonne chance
.’

‘You’ve brought the girl?’

Two Gestapo officers had arrived from Paris the previous day and had demanded that any suspects in the area should be rounded up for questioning. Beth’s name had been suggested –
though not by Kurt – and so he had had no choice but to arrest her.

Heinrich Schulze, the senior Gestapo officer, narrowed his pale eyes behind his rimless spectacles. He was a small, thin man with a gaunt face and a cruel mouth. ‘And the farmer and his
wife? You should have brought them too.’

Kurt said nothing.

Schulze shrugged. ‘No matter – for the moment. No doubt she will implicate them under interrogation.’

Kurt frowned and said, ‘I’m sure she is innocent. She is only a young girl – nothing more than a schoolgirl.’

‘I shall be the judge of that, Hartmann. We shall soon know when she is interrogated.’

Kurt hesitated. He wanted to say more, to try to convince the Gestapo officer that they should go easy on the girl.

‘I have watched her closely for months, whenever we have collected supplies from the farm. And we have searched the farm on two separate occasions and found nothing.’

Schulze’s eyes narrowed. ‘But you have still not located the place where someone is transmitting – despite, as you say, having searched that area. You will search again, Major
Hartmann, whilst we have the girl, and more thoroughly – much more thoroughly.’

Kurt was far from happy. He had been obeying orders in bringing Leonie to their headquarters, but he had hoped that he would be the one to question her and that, after a brief interview, he
could return her to the farm. But now that Schulze had taken over, he was afraid for the girl. The Gestapo officer was known for his brutality. He got results, certainly, but his methods were
inhuman. Kurt wished fervently that there was some way in which he could help Leonie, but he felt powerless. But then, surprisingly, Schulze gave him an opening.

‘Search the farm again and let the old man know that if he cooperates – if he tells you all he knows – it will go better for the girl.’

Kurt left the man’s office, eager to return to the farm in the hope that he could find something out that would mean Leonie was innocent. He didn’t believe – didn’t want
to believe – that Leonie could be his enemy. True, over the past few months since he had made the suggestion, she hadn’t passed any useful information to him, but that could be because
she really didn’t know anything. Kurt clung to that hope as he got back in the car and instructed his driver to take him back to the farm. Behind him, the lorry, laden once more with armed
soldiers, followed him.

‘Bring her to my office,’ Schulze instructed one of his cohorts. ‘We’ll see if she’s as innocent as Hartmann would like to think.’ The
older man had seen the look in Kurt’s eyes when he was pleading the girl’s cause and guessed that the young officer had formed some sort of attachment to her. He sighed. It happened in
wartime, of course, when the occupying forces lived amongst the local community, but it was not something he condoned, though he had heard that in some countries German soldiers had been actively
encouraged to consort with suitable young women.

Beth was ushered into the office and made to stand in front of the desk. She looked very afraid and, this time, it was not all an act. The man in front of her was everyone’s picture of a
tough, ruthless Gestapo officer.

‘Name?’ he snapped.

Over the next few minutes, Beth answered his questions about herself, telling him the cover story that had been learned and rehearsed so well and played out every day. Mentally, she crossed her
fingers, hoping that Raoul and Marthe would remember what they were supposed to say. They, too, had rehearsed often during the time that Beth had been with them for she was sure that at some point
they would be questioned. They had all prepared for this day, hoping it would never happen and yet being ready for it if and when it did. And now it
was
happening – at least to
Beth.

Schulze leaned his elbows on his desk and linked his fingers, staring at her with cold eyes. ‘I expect,’ he said slowly, ‘that all this nonsense you have told me is your cover
story. You have been well trained by your superiors in London, I grant you that. Major Buckmaster, is it not, who is charge of F Section?’

Beth stared at him, hoping her surprise at his knowledge did not show on her face. She frowned. Had someone talked? Had he tortured someone from another group to give him such information?
Unless, of course, Julien . . .

‘I don’t know what you are talking about.’

‘I think you do. Did you train in Scotland too?’

‘I didn’t “train” anywhere. I came here to my uncle’s farm when my home was bombed and my parents were killed. I told you.’

The man smiled thinly and without any humour reaching his eyes, which remained cold and hard. ‘So you did,’ he said sarcastically. And then his smile faded. ‘But now you had
better start telling me the truth. Let’s start with their son – Emile Détange. Where is he?’

Beth shrugged. ‘I have no idea. I haven’t seen him since I arrived. He’s away fighting in the war.’

‘And on which side do you suppose he is fighting, eh?’

Beth blinked. This was one question she had not foreseen, but she decided to state the obvious. ‘For the Free French, I would think, wouldn’t you?’

‘You mean he’s in England?’

‘We don’t know where he is.’

‘You would do better to answer my questions, girl. I have no wish to hurt you but, if I have to, I will.’

‘Hurt me?’ Beth decided to play the little girl act. ‘Why?’

‘Because I want the truth.’

‘I have told you the truth, I came from Boulogne-Billancourt—’ she began again.

‘Yes, yes, I know all that, but I don’t believe you. I think you are a British Agent dropped by parachute. Have you been carrying messages on your bicycle? Because I know you have
been cycling around the countryside, into the village and, occasionally, into the town.

‘Only to fetch something for my uncle or aunt.’

‘And why would your aunt want you to buy bread from the baker across the street? Doesn’t a farmer’s wife always bake her own bread?’

‘Not when all her flour and yeast have been’ – Beth licked her lips, knowing she was being very daring, knowing she might be making the man even more incensed –
‘taken.’

His face darkened and a muscle in his temple throbbed visibly, but he could not deny that the farmer’s foodstuffs had been raided by his own men. It took a lot to feed all the men in this
area and they took freely from the locals and especially from the farms.

There was a long silence in the room and then, with ominous quiet, Schulze said, ‘Since you will not co-operate, Krueger here’ – he gestured towards a sharp-featured man in
Gestapo uniform – ‘will have to persuade you . . .’

When Raoul saw the car sweep in through the gate again, his heart lifted in relief only to plummet again when he saw that Beth was not in the car. Then the lorry turned in at
the gate, halted and the armed soldiers spilled once more into his yard and began yet another search. Watching from the kitchen window, Raoul squeezed his wife’s arm gently and whispered.
‘Remember the story, Marthe, and her name is Leonie. Her life might depend upon us.’ Then he left the house and went out into the yard.

‘Major Hartmann,’ Raoul asked, ‘what exactly is it you hope to find?’

‘A wireless set or perhaps British airmen waiting to be picked up.’

Raoul waved his arm encompassing his house and buildings. ‘Then search away to your heart’s content. You will find nothing and no one here.’ Luckily, at the moment, it was
true, unless, of course, they decided to search the fields and came across the derelict barn.

Kurt moved closer. ‘Schulze is interrogating Leonie. You know what that means, don’t you?’

Raoul shook his head sorrowfully.

‘He – he’ – even Kurt shuddered at the thought of what might, already, be happening to her – ‘is a brutal man. Oh, he doesn’t do the dirty work himself
– he has his minions to do that – but he will order her to be – to be persuaded to talk.’

‘But there is nothing Leonie’ – deliberately, Raoul used her name, more to remind himself than anything else; he prayed silently that Marthe would be strong enough, that fear
would not let her forget the cover story – ‘can tell you.’

Kurt stepped closer to him, so close that Raoul could feel the man’s breath on his face.

‘But what about you, Monsieur? If you tell me the truth, it will go easier – a lot easier – for the girl. In fact, I may be able to get her released immediately.’

For one brief, dangerous moment, Raoul hesitated. But he was careful to keep his face blank. Nothing of the turmoil inside his mind showed on his face. He was terrified for Beth. He had become
very fond of the pretty, laughing girl, but he knew that if he were to utter one word of the truth, all their lives would be in danger. Marthe’s, Emile’s, his own and countless others
who worked in the resistance group, to say nothing of the two airmen waiting to be picked up if Beth had managed to send the message. Fortunately, this time they had not come to the farm but were
in hiding somewhere with Emile. And, Raoul told himself, Beth had volunteered for this dangerous work. She had known full well what to expect and had done it all the same. He was filled with
admiration for her bravery and yet he was also very afraid. But he, too, summoned up his courage as he faced Major Hartmann.

‘She is my wife’s niece, Major, who has come to stay with us because she has lost her home and the rest of her family. I cannot believe you think she is capable of . . .’ He
shrugged as if the whole idea was beyond his comprehension. ‘Well, I’m not sure what you are thinking.’

‘
I
don’t think anything,’ Kurt said, ‘but the Gestapo believe she could be a British agent and I’m afraid that’s what counts.’

Grimly, Raoul nodded and, his tone laced with sarcasm, added, ‘And you are only obeying orders.’

‘Of course,’ Kurt said.

There was a long pause whilst the two men stared at each other, like two boxers at the start of a contest, but it was the German who looked away at last with a sigh. ‘Very well, if you are
determined to be obstinate, there’s nothing more I can do. I was only trying to help Leonie.’

Raoul remained very still, his face impassive, but his heart was beating faster than normal as the major glanced towards the house. ‘Perhaps,’ he said softly, ‘your wife would
be more co-operative.’

Fear sliced through Raoul like a knife, but from a reserve of strength and courage that even he hadn’t known he possessed, he managed to say, ‘You can talk to her, of course. Please
come in. No doubt she will make you something to eat whilst’ – he glanced around at the soldiers tearing his farm apart once more; even now they were clomping through the farmhouse with
their heavy boots – ‘your soldiers finish their searching.’

Kurt hesitated a brief moment. The elderly man was surprisingly calm. Was he a very good actor or did he really have nothing to fear? Kurt wanted to believe the latter. He wanted – more
than anything – to believe in Leonie’s innocence.

To Raoul’s surprise, Kurt was surprisingly calm and almost gentle with Marthe, keeping the conversation light and talking to her just as a guest in her kitchen might do. Perhaps, Raoul
thought shrewdly, the man thought the soft approach would work better with the frightened woman. Marthe could not hide her fear like her husband could, but Raoul hoped that the officer would think
her anxiety was natural when enemy soldiers were tramping through her house and flinging her possessions everywhere.

‘Your niece? She is the child of your sister or brother?’

Marthe shook her head and for a brief moment, Raoul saw the look of triumph light the officer’s eyes. But Marthe spoke surprisingly calmly though Raoul could see her hands were shaking.
‘No,’ she said and Raoul held his breath, ‘it goes back a generation further. I was an only child.’ This Raoul knew to be the truth and the advice when concocting a cover
story was always to use the truth when possible. Marthe managed to smile at the German as she pushed a plate containing two small portions of bread and cheese towards him. ‘Please help
yourself, Major.’ Then she sat down on the opposite side of the table and went on. ‘We had lost touch with that side of my family – until Leonie appeared – but according to
her, we have the same grandparents on my mother’s side.