Page 45 of The Paris Agent
“And you?”
“I finish out this mission. Get back for my debrief. I go home to my son and my mother. I can’t think ahead any further than that.”
It was my idea to wander the stores. We were going a little stir-crazy with nothing to do at the apartment and unlikely to get ourselves into much trouble shopping as any ordinary young Frenchwomen might on a spare morning in the city. I even helped myself to some of the money I had left over from the supplies Basile gave me for my trip. This was a little cheeky of me, but I couldn’t imagine Baker Street minding much, given it was forged currency anyway.
“What exactly are we shopping for?” Chloe asked me, and I shrugged.
“A gift for my son if I can find something suitable. Then my mother. Finally, Miss Elwood.”
“Ah, Miss Elwood. What an idea! I do like her a lot.”
“Me too,” I said. “Although in the beginning...”
“She seemed terrifying. I mean—sheisterrifying,” Chloe chuckled. “But beneath that, she has a heart of gold.”
Miss Elwood had been heavily involved in our training and in my case at least, across just about every detail of the preparation for my mission. I knew that she, Turner, Booth and Maxwell were thick as thieves, but she seemed to be most deeply invested in the female agents. Elwood could be brash, almost abrasive, but in a strange way, that was what had endeared her most to me. I suspected people thought the same about me sometimes.
Chloe and I walked from store to store, considering various options for gifts. They had to be small enough to fit within my leather shoulder bag as I’d be leaving my cases behind. The gifts also couldn’t be terriblyexpensive. I decided on a small flacon ofSoir de Parisfor Maman, a perfume I hoped she’d love that would remind her of home. For Miss Elwood, we found a beautiful brooch—a large cluster of green and red beads with two tiny pearls hanging below.
And then, on our way out of the jewelry store, I paused at a chaotic display of dusty, used goods. Inside the cabinet was a beautifully carved wooden box with the Eiffel Tower etched onto the top, not much larger than the palm of my hand.
“I’ll take that too,” I said quietly. One day, I would open that parcel from Giles’s commanding officer. Inside, I knew I’d likely find the St. Michael pendant I bought for Giles the day before his deployment, along with his wedding ring and the photo of us at the restaurant.
Through these little trinkets, Hughie could have tangible reminders of the milestones of our family life—the photograph, representing the brief moment we were all together, and all of our hopes and dreams that would never come to pass. The pendant, representing Giles, and his deep faith and hope. And the box itself—a little piece of Paris that would represent the city of my birth. The city that made me.
The following day, I had a difficult, uncomfortable meeting with Basile, who was unfazed by the wanted posters and was still adamant he was going to find a way to return to Rouen.
“And if Baker Street tell me I’m not to return, I’ll work theSuccesscircuit here in Paris,” he told me stubbornly. “It seems to have more than enough challenges. I’m not going to let them evacuate me. France is where I need to be!”
It wasn’t my job to convince him—I would leave that up to Baker Street. We said our farewells, and I went back to Célestine’s apartment to say goodbye to Chloe. Before I made my way to the field outside of the city to meet my Lysander, she pressed a small scrap of paper into my hands.
“I won’t ask you to do anything that breaks the rules,” she said softly. “Give it to Miss Elwood or Mr. Turner. They can read it to check I’m giving nothing away. There’s just a lot left unsaid between my mother and me and...”
I took the letter and slid it into my pocket.
“I’ll pass it on,” I promised.
“I doubt they’ll send it. The rules are strict about contact with home when we’re in the field. But perhaps they can put it into my file,” she said. “I just need to know that I’ve cleared the air with her in case...”
“Don’t make contingency plans, Chloe. You don’t need them—you’re skilled, courageous and strong. When all of this is over, you and your boyfriend will come for dinner with me and my mother and son and it will feel like this was a strange dream we once had.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right. You’re going to do brilliantly.”
After five full days of debriefing sessions, I had all but lost my voice. I’d been quizzed by familiar faces—Booth, Turner, Elwood, even Colonel Maxwell, the head of the agency and a man who had a direct line to Churchill.
“Basile should come home,” I told Maxwell.
“He is still adamant he should stay,” Maxwell said.
I jabbed a finger against the Wanted poster.
“Look at this likeness! Paris is only eighty miles from Rouen. He will be so much use to you here, but it’s only a matter of time before he’s arrested if he stays.”
I drew maps and diagrams, made lists of observations and names and dates. The minute I mentioned those rocket sites, high-ranking officials from the Ministry of Defense were called in, and that kicked off another round of questioning and more maps and more sketches and Elwood started bringing in cups of tea with honey and strong coffee loaded with sugar to keep me going.
I had a sore throat from talking and a headache from the thinking and an aching neck from sleeping on the lumpy mattress in the little apartment at Baker Street I’d been given for the duration. I’d left my SOE-issued clothing in Paris with Chloe, and I was sick of wearing the starchy, dated clothes Ms. Elwood had supplied me.
