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‘You’ll never get that in there,’ she said, making one last ditch attempt to thwart Archie.

‘You just watch me,’ he said with a grin.

‘Now,’ Archie said, standing back at last to admire his handiwork, ‘Just fetch one of your pretty tablecloths, Edie, and let’s see how it looks.’

Moments later, Edie’s biggest cloth almost covered the shelter. ‘There you are,’ Archie said. ‘Not so bad, is it? And it will keep you and Shirley safe. There’s
plenty of room for you both, though it’ll be a bit of a squash when I’m at home. We’ll put a mattress in and pillows and blankets to make it comfy. You can sleep in
there.’

‘Oh aye, when there’s bombs dropping all around us. I don’t see us getting a lot of sleep. But it’s not as bad as I thought, Archie,’ Edie said, giving in
gracefully. ‘Though it’ll be even more of a squeeze to get us all round it at Christmas. Still, like you say, it’s handy to get to – no rushing through the dark streets to
find a public shelter – and it looks strong enough. Does Lil want one?’

‘No, she’s happy with the Anderson.’

And so the ‘monstrosity’ found its place in the Kelsey household and doubled as a dining table for the first time on Easter Sunday.

This time there were only the four of them sitting in Edie’s front room, trying to make the best of a bad job. Edie had shed a few tears as she cooked their dinner, but by the time Lil
arrived, carefully carrying the trifle she had made, Edie had dried her eyes and pasted a welcoming smile on her face.

‘There,’ Lil said, setting it carefully on the table. ‘Home-made sponge cake, bottled fruit, jelly made with powdered gelatine and a custard made with dried eggs. No cream,
I’m afraid, but what do you think, Edie?’

‘It’s a triumph, duck. You’re so inventive.’

Lil pulled a comical face. ‘You’ve got to be these days, haven’t you?’

But the day dragged for all of them and there was no word from any other member of the family. After they’d finished eating, Shirley announced. ‘I’m off out to the park.
I’ve made a new friend. She’s called Ursula and she’s lodging at the end of our street. Ta-ra.’

‘Bring her back for tea, if you like, love,’ Edie said, but Shirley had left, banging the back door behind her.

Edie glanced at the other two. Archie was settling in his easy chair in front of the range for his Sunday afternoon nap, his eyelids already drooping.

Edie and Lil exchanged an amused look. ‘Fancy a game of Rummy, Edie?’ Lil said softly.

In the autumn of 1941, Alan Forster finally asked Beth if she’d like to train to be an agent in occupied France. ‘It’ll be very dangerous work. Have no
illusions about that, but you’re perfect for the job. You speak the language fluently and you’ve actually visited the area where we want to send you to when you were with us in
France.’ He hesitated and then added, ‘We want you to go back to the farm – to Simone’s parents. We’ve come up with what we think is a good cover story. You look very
young for your age, Beth, and we think we could pass you off as a girl who’s only just left school.’

Beth gasped and stared at him. ‘But won’t it be awfully dangerous for Monsieur and Madame Détange?’

Alan shrugged. ‘It’s what they want to do. They’re appalled at the invasion of their country. They’ve hardly recovered from the last war and now they’re overrun yet
again and by the same enemy too. And Emile – their son whom you’ve met . . .’

Beth smiled inwardly at the memory of the handsome young Frenchman. Instantly, she could picture him in her mind’s eye as vividly as if he were standing in front of her. His black hair
swept smoothly back from his forehead, his dark blue eyes flirting with her. He was slim in build and yet had a wiry strength from working on the farm from an early age. The young Beth – she
felt so much older now, even though in reality it was only three years since she’d last seen him – had been more than a little bit in love with him.

‘. . . has joined the local resistance group,’ Alan went on, interrupting her thoughts. ‘In fact, I think it was he who set that particular circuit up. But these groups will
need help and support from us. They’re hiding in the woods and forests. We’ve already sent an organizer, but he needs a lot more support. In the meantime, we’ve sent him a
wireless operator, but it’s only for a certain length of time. There are other areas where both those people would be more useful eventually. So we need to train replacements for both of them
and we’d like you to train as a wireless operator and, in due course, be dropped by parachute into France.’ He paused and met her steady gaze. ‘It’ll be a while before you
actually go – the training is intensive, but will you do it?’

Without hesitation, Beth said, ‘Of course I will.’

‘You’ll need to talk to Sybil Carpenter. She’s the second in command in charge of women recruits under Vera Atkins.’ He smiled as he added, ‘Maurice Buckmaster is
the Head of F Section – the French Section – and Vera is his Assistant. Both Vera and I answer directly to him.’

Beth’s eyes shone.

On the morning she was to meet Miss Carpenter, Beth dressed carefully, but, remembering what Alan had said, not as one might have supposed for an interview for a job. She applied Ponds cold
cream to her face but no other cosmetics. Then she tied her hair into two bunches. She would have liked to have plaited it, but it was scarcely long enough yet. Then she put on a gingham dress that
reached to just above her knees.

‘Good job I’m not massive in the bosom department,’ she murmured, as she looked at herself in the full-length mirror. She had a slim figure that was perfectly proportioned, but
she would never be described as buxom. And now she was glad of it. White ankle socks and brown, lace-up shoes completed her outfit. She smiled as she checked her appearance. It was like looking
back down the years to her fifteen-year-old schoolgirl self.

‘I look younger than our Shirley,’ she giggled and then, sobering, put on her coat and left her lodgings to make her way to Baker Street.

As she stepped inside, a voice accosted her. ‘You can’t come in here, girl. What d’you think you’re doing?’

Beth turned to see the man who regularly greeted her every morning. ‘Jim, it’s me.’

The middle-aged man’s mouth dropped open. ‘Good Heavens, so it is, Miss Kelsey. Whatever have you—?’ Then he paused, as if suddenly catching on. ‘Ah, you’ll
be wanting to see Miss Carpenter, I take it?’

Beth smiled and nodded. This man saw all the comings and goings in and out of the buildings in Baker Street that had once been the offices of Marks and Spencer. But now they had a very different
purpose and Jim Lovatt was at the heart of it. He probably knew more about what was going on here than any other individual in the building.

‘I don’t need to take you to her office, do I? You know the way.’ Beth was about to turn away when he said quietly, ‘Just be careful what you sign up for, love,
won’t you?’

‘I will,’ Beth promised huskily, touched by the older man’s concern.

Moments later she was knocking at Sybil Carpenter’s door, her heart beating a little faster than its normal rate.

‘Come in,’ a voice called and Beth opened the door to what was to become a very different way of life for her.

‘Mam – this is Ursula Werner. She works for the local newspaper as a freelance, covering events and news items when their regular reporters are busy. I’ve
brought her home for tea like you said I could.’

Normally, Edie would have been welcoming but she had queued half the morning outside the butcher’s and then again at the grocer’s. Her feet hurt and she was not in the best of
tempers. Shopping was boring and it was so tiring trudging from shop to shop.

As if sensing a problem, the girl said cheerfully. ‘I have brought you some tea, Mrs Kelsey, and some butter.’

Edie blinked at the girl. Although she spoke perfect English, she had a strange accent. Sensing her mother’s disquiet, Shirley laughed. ‘Ursula is Swiss – from Zurich.
That’s right, isn’t it, Ursula? She’s been in England a long time, but some of the accent still comes out now and again. Do you remember when Beth first came back from France, she
couldn’t remember some English words?’

Edie nodded, still staring at the stranger. She was unnerved by Ursula’s accent – and her name, if it came to that. She wished Archie was at home. Still, if the girl was being
employed by the local paper she must be genuine. The editor would have vetted her, Edie was sure.

‘That’s kind of you,’ Edie said, trying to instil some warmth into her tone. It was a nice gesture on the girl’s part, she had to admit. ‘Sit down, duck. Make
yourself at home while I get the tea on.’

The two girls sat down at the table whilst Edie moved between the scullery and the living room, setting the table and bringing in the food.

‘So,’ she heard Shirley say, ‘what have you got lined up for the paper next – anything interesting?’

Ursula laughed. ‘My pieces are always interesting.’ She paused and then asked casually, ‘Will Beth be home soon? I’d like to meet her.’

Edie, coming in at that moment, almost dropped the plates she was carrying. That strange accent again, she thought. Maybe she had some kind of speech impediment. She couldn’t sound certain
letters of the alphabet like some folk couldn’t sound their ‘r’s.

‘No – no,’ Shirley said uncertainly, not meeting the girl’s questioning gaze. ‘She’s – away.’

‘In the forces?’ Ursula was evidently not going to let the subject drop.

‘We don’t know,’ Edie said, banging the plates down onto the table in a gesture of frustration at the newcomer opening up a topic of conversation that was rarely raised. Each
member of the family had their own thoughts – and worries – about Beth, but for some strange reason not one of them wanted to voice them aloud. But now, she and Shirley were being
forced to confront uncomfortable thoughts.

‘When she first went to London,’ Shirley said, ‘we had long, newsy letters, but now it’s just a short note – and not very often at that.’

‘Perhaps she is on a secret mission.’

Edie and Shirley stared at her. Seeing their startled looks, Ursula said swiftly, ‘I was only joking.’

‘Aye, well, mebbe so,’ Edie muttered and turned back to the scullery, wondering if the girl’s teasing had actually been somewhere near the truth. Where
was
Beth? Was she
safe and would she ever come home? Or was she, too, lost like Laurence?

At first, Sybil Carpenter frowned as she looked Beth up and down. ‘I see you’ve taken it upon yourself to design your own style of dress to fit the cover
story.’

‘It’s just a suggestion, Miss Carpenter. I’ll abide by whatever decision is made – if I’m accepted and pass the training, of course.’

‘That goes without saying.’

Sybil Carpenter was tall and thin with short brown hair and smooth skin. She was neatly dressed in a dark blue costume and a white cotton blouse. She had a brisk manner that sometimes bordered
on being brusque, but she had an important job to do and it was not melodramatic to say that people’s lives depended on her decisions and on those of her colleagues. She continued to regard
Beth thoughtfully, biting her lower lip until Beth began to feel slightly uncomfortable. Had she overstepped the mark? Been too forward?

‘Take your coat off, please.’ Beth removed her coat and then Sybil said, ‘Turn round – slowly.’

When Beth stood facing her once more, the woman’s face suddenly broke into a smile, making her look years younger and far less severe. ‘Actually, Beth, I think it’s a very good
idea, particularly in view of what Alan is suggesting. Sit down and let’s talk things through.’

The next hour passed quickly whilst Sybil explained all that would be expected of Beth. When she had finished, she asked the same question that Alan had asked. ‘Will you do it?’

Once again, Beth said firmly, ‘Yes, I will.’

‘We want you to start training straight away. You’re already in the FANYs so it makes it a lot easier,’ Sybil added.

‘What happens about letters to our families while we’re away?’ Beth knew, of course, that she could say nothing to her family.

‘If you wish, we can send postcards, which you will have written before you go. Postcards are easier because you won’t be required to say too much, not like you would if you were
writing a letter.’ Sybil smiled. ‘Families expect long, newsy letters, but with a short postcard, they accept you can’t say much.’

‘Mm.’ Beth was sceptical. Her letters had been epistles of the highest order, as her aunt, Jessie, would have said, and the difference between them and a few brief postcards would be
markedly noticeable. But just lately she had not written so effusively. It had been difficult when she could no longer talk about what she was doing, let alone what she would be doing in the
future. But she still doubted that her eagle-eyed mother, or her perceptive dad, would accept brief postcards as ‘normal’. More than likely they had already begun to ponder the brevity
of her recent letters. Anyway, she comforted herself, it had to be done. Training as an agent was what she wanted to do.

Four days later, Beth was on a train to Wanborough Manor in Surrey, dressed once more in her FANY uniform. She was greeted in French by the woman in charge of the establishment and quickly told
that she must speak the language at all times. It seemed to Beth that the atmosphere was very relaxed for a training school for agents, but she had worked with Alan long enough to know that this
first part of a four-stage training was to weed out any who were unsuitable. Beth knew that the candidates were being observed every minute of the day, yet no mention was actually made about why
they were really here. For the following three weeks, Beth took part in the physical training and laughed with the others during the lessons in sabotage, the teacher making the bangs a matter for
levity. Yet underneath they all knew there was a very serious reason. They enjoyed throwing each other about in the unarmed combat lessons, but when it came to learning silent killing they all
realized the grim reality of what they were undertaking. They were taught map reading and how to communicate in Morse code, in which, much to everyone else’s surprise, Beth excelled.