“Hewitt Purnsley,” he said.
“Aubrey Endeavours.”
“When you’re ready, Miss Endeavours,” he said.
She put her things away. “Lead the way.”
They walked along the Seine. He put his hand on her back more than once, caressed her shoulder as they paused and looked at Notre Dame cathedral. The touch of his hand on her made her go rock still. She knew it was all an act, pretending to be lovers in the city of love. She found it hard to get used to.
“Have you been fully briefed?”
“Aren’t you going to be doing that?”
“Quite. I’m to fill you in on your assignment. But first, there’s a few things we have to teach you. Otherwise, you’ll just muck it up.”
She knew what that meant: arrested for espionage, and by the Gestapo, no less. Not a pleasant prospect.
“If you are to have any chance of succeeding and getting out of there, you’ll listen to everything I have to tell you.” He pulled a camera out and took pictures. He put it away, and she slipped her hand around his arm and back into her jacket pocket, then rested her head on his shoulder like others were doing.
“Are you always this rude?” she asked.
“If you find me disagreeable, it’s because there is so little time. And what I have to teach you will help you survive. Are we clear?”
She lifted her head and removed her hand. To hell with the ruse—boyfriend, girlfriend, two young lovers.
“Whatever you say.”
“As I said, we don’t have much time. Your training starts now. We’re going to walk up this street. I want you to remember every number plate you see. Record them all.”
“You mean license plates. That’s it? No problem.”
They strolled a block. There were trucks and cars, Peugeots and Citroens and large lorries with growling diesel engines belching black smoke. She made a game of it, trying to sing the license plates she saw in her head. They got to the end the block and she started to recite them. She was six into it when she paused and then cautiously carried on. The jocularity of the moment was gone. The look on Purnsley’s face told her to be serious. She recounted ten plate numbers correctly.
“You missed two cars.”
“Not a bad batting average.”
“And you missed the scooters entirely.” There had been half a dozen.
“You didn’t say scoot—”
“I said number plates. Another block. Try again.”
At the end of two hours, Aubrey was exhausted from these memory games. Her last time, she got them all. For the last two plates, she had to dig deep and come up with them even though she’d just seen them.
“You’re tired. Long journey. You want to quit?”
She sighed. “I do want a rest.”
“You think that’s what you’ll get out there in the field, in enemy territory—a moment to rest?”
She turned away from him.
“This is important. Remembering a license plate will help you spot a tail. It’s basic counter-surveillance.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re not crying, are you?”
“Gosh, no. I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction.”
He gave a small smile. He’d liked that. “They said you were tough.”
“Who did?”
“They. That’s all they ever are—just they. But if you must know, your man Walton told me how tough you were. Resilient was the word he used. And I saw what you were capable of myself in Belgium. Look, Miss Endeavours, this is standard training. Normally, we would spend a month on this material. I only have you for two days, then I have to send you into Germany. One of the most oppressive and paranoid regimes on the planet.”
“I understand. Maybe we could switch it up, try something else.”
“Fine. It’s getting late. How about dinner first?”
“Come to think of it, yes.”
“This is Paris. We should be able to find somewhere decent to eat. But keep your guard up. Your training is not taking a break. The enemy certainly won’t.”
“Understood.”
7
They were halfway through their entrees, stuffed sole for Aubrey, a small braised lamb shank for Hewitt, when he finally had the first serious thing to say to her. They had sipped wine; he had drunk his sparingly, and she had matched his sedate pace. Normally she would have enjoyed a full glass.
“You mustn’t get drunk,” he told her. “At a cocktail reception or bar, order a club soda with lime by yourself, then when you’re with others they’ll think it’s gin or vodka. Liquor has done in more men in my line than you can imagine.”
“When do I get to put it like that?”
“Like what?”
“My line.”
“When you’ve been at it as long as I have.”
“And how long has that been?”
“You’re prying, Miss Endeavours.”
“Just trying to get to know my instructor.”
“Since the war.”
“Really? You don’t look old enough.”
“I was eighteen, attached to military intelligence. It was trial by fire back then. Had to learn quickly.”
“Like I’m trying to now?”
“Precisely. Bit more at stake back then.”
“Where are you from?”
He hesitated, then lowered his shoulders. “Salisbury, west of London. My father is a barrister.”
“I think you know a lot about me. Why don’t you spill the beans?”
“Right. Aubrey Endeavours. Born in Sacred, Michigan, in 1910. Mother died when you were twelve. Typhus, wasn’t it?”
“It was.”
“Terrible. Took an uncle of mine and more than one friend in the service. Your father served in the Army Air Service during the war. Distinguished, decorated. Cashiered out a colonel. I bet I know more about his military record than you do.”
“Really? Do tell.”
“Another time, perhaps. Where was I? You went to the Rockingham Girls’ Collegiate. You were asked to leave.”
“Kicked out. That’s how we would put it in America.”
“You caught the flying bug around that time. Learned
