The SOE had instructed her that when she was placed, they would not advise the people of what she was specifically doing, but they knew to give her a room. The less they knew, the safer it was for all of them.
Maman led her upstairs and the room they had given her was sparsely furnished but clean and had a delightful view of the park across the street. When Maman left her Vivi took a minute to catch her breath and look out. Trees were alive with the abundance of new growth and spring flowers waved in the breeze, straining their heads towards the shafts of early-afternoon sun. As Vivienne took in the sight she mused how everything felt so eerily normal, plants and trees growing in their innocent way unaware of the madness of the world all around them.
Vivi placed her suitcase under the bed and went downstairs to meet the family.
‘Maman’, as the Terrier called her – her real name was Florence – was married to Pascal Renoir, a man half the size of her, a stooped, brittle-boned person with dark hair and tiny eyes that observed her through thick glasses. But he had a pleasant enough manner, kissing her on both cheeks with the lightness of a feather.
‘Thank you, mademoiselle, for what you are doing for France,’ he stated in a soft voice. His delicate hand barely touched her as he shook her own.
All at once, the door opened, and a young woman came in. A little younger than Vivi, maybe in her late teens or early twenties. She paused when she saw Vivi, and she grinned at her mother. ‘Is she the one?’ she enquired.
A stern look from her mother conveyed they should not be speaking about such things.
‘You must get into the habit of discretion, Yvette. This is your relative, Claudette, from the south. Do not forget that. Treat her as though she is family.’
Yvette flushed with embarrassment, then kissed Vivi on both cheeks. ‘Hello, cousin. It is good to see you. I’m glad you could remain with us for a time.’ Yvette looked across at her mother to make sure that what she said was sufficient.
After Vivi had settled in, Madame Renoir disappeared into the kitchen and occupied herself preparing dinner, confirmed by the clatter of pots and pans coming from the little side room.
Monsieur Renoir asked Vivi how things were going in the outside world. ‘We get very limited information. Paris is so locked down, even our newspapers have been censored. Please tell us about how the war effort is going.’
Vivi updated him on the highlights, and he shook his head, as if not wishing to take it in.
‘So sad. The world has gone mad.’
Yvette, however, didn’t seem so overwhelmed with their plight. ‘I love your hair,’ she said, running her fingers through it. ‘Did you get it done in England this way? It’s very chic right now.’
Vivi laughed. ‘I’m glad you like it. I had to get it done in the French style.’
Yvette’s mother shouted from the kitchen to her.
‘Tomorrow, Yvette will take you on a trip around the city so you can see some of what is going on for yourself. We have a bicycle we’ve held onto for you, though everybody needs the rubber. But I think it will be the best way to get about.’
Yvette eagerly agreed.
After Vivi bid goodbye to Terrier, who disappeared that afternoon, underlining to her that he had war work to do, she settled down to enjoy a pleasant dinner with the new household. They were very welcoming. However, when Vivi got to her room she suddenly felt lonely for home. She’d been concentrating so much of her time preparing for the mission she hadn’t realised how strange it would be and she desired what had been familiar to her growing up. She thought about her childhood. She wished she could wander into her father’s study and sit with him as he read the newspaper to her, updating her in his low voice about all the things of considerable importance. Or be with her Aunt Beebe who had helped at the manor ever since Vivi was a child. She’d spent many a rainy afternoon perched on a stool in the kitchen listening to her tell tales as she baked bread or pastries, talked about books she had read, or gossiped about the comings and goings of the village.
On leaving, there had been rumours that their enormous house would be changed into a hospital, a development that her father had readily encouraged. She thought about her little brother Tom, his keen, inquisitive mind and how he’d follow her around the house asking her all manner of questions so he could be in her presence. She pondered how it had been hard to not write to her older sister Caroline, newly married, to tell her about what she was doing, as her superiors had demanded of her. They had always been close. Lastly she saw John, his ruddy face smiling up at her, demanding that Vivi read him yet another story.
Vivi hadn’t thought about it before she left, but now, she realised, with the presence of the German army all around her, that her life was in jeopardy every moment of every day and there may be a chance that she wouldn’t see any of her family again. She felt the tears creep into her eyes and quickly wiped them away. She had to be brave. Everyone did. Or they would never win the war.
7
Present Day
From then on Sophie couldn’t seem to let go of the story of her mysterious great-aunt. The picture of Vivienne haunted her dreams and occupied her days. She wasn’t sure if it was her innate curiosity or the fact she missed her mother so much, and here was another connection with a woman who could have been her mother’s twin, and that alone made her want to know more. The lawyer in her also found it hard to rest without knowing Vivienne’s definitive motives for leaving the country with a Nazi. Yes, it looked bad, but one thing she had learned in her former line of work was that you always need to keep an open mind, as things could often look bad on the surface.
A few days after visiting her gran, Sophie decided to visit the National Archives, which housed extensive military records as well as historical documents, in order to conduct a little research to see if she could find out if Vivienne had an early war record – the one that Gran had hinted at. Arriving there she moved swiftly inside, recognising a number of the staff, as she had been spending at least two days a week in there doing research ahead of the exhibition.
Peter, an amiable young archivist who happened to be a World War Two buff and had been very helpful to her, smiled when she approached his counter. ‘Don’t tell me,’ he said, sitting back in his chair and locking his hands behind his head. ‘You’re searching for more information about the London bombings?’
‘Not any more, we opened the exhibition already. Though I do still need information from that time period. But this time I’m actually interested in the history of buildings on Baker Street. I was reading that apparently SOE was located there and I am especially interested in any records of agents visiting there in forty-four. It is kind of a needle in a haystack, but I am trying to track down what someone might be doing visiting there during that time.’
‘Intriguing,’ responded Peter. ‘This is easier now we have a lot more files from the war in the public record. Okay then, let me take you to that section.’
As they walked Peter filled her in on what he knew about SOE. ‘The Special Operations Executive, which was established during the war by Winston Churchill, was a British spy network that sent agents into all of Europe to disrupt German activities during the war. Its purpose had been to conduct espionage, sabotage and reconnaissance in occupied Europe.’ As they reached the correct section, Peter finished his history lesson. ‘They had over thirteen thousand people working for them between 1940 to 1946, with at least five thousand working undercover as spies. They were mostly wireless operators, couriers, Resistance organisers and saboteurs.’