Special Operations agents worked in teams of three: the organiser, the radio operator, known as the pianist, and the courier. But as in so many other aspects, the Acrobat Circuit was different. It was so very small, so very limited in staff. As a result Sibyl held down two of those roles, that of organiser as well as pianist. As courier, the choices had been limited. There was, basically, only Jacques, who also played a double role: that of leader of the Maquis, and head saboteur.

---

The shop bell’s jangle announced the entry of a young man, limping in with the aid of a crutch. Sibyl, sitting on a stool behind the counter, jumped to her feet.

‘Bonj… Guten Tag… oh!’ It was better to address all customers in German, Oncle Yves had said, since one never knew who was plain-clothed Gestapo, or a spy for such a one. But the stumbling greeting soon turned into a cry of joy. She would know those eyes, the eloquence of that gaze, anywhere.

Now, she almost didn’t recognise him. The beard was gone. The hair, cut in a conservative, almost military style was side-parted, sleek, neat. He wore a dark grey suit which, though it had seen better days, was clean and fitted the gangly body beneath it well. A blue shirt, a blue-and-white striped tie, and well-worn but well-polished shoes completed the outfit. Over his shoulder was a leather pouch, in his free hand a burlap bag containing some very bulky objects. The bell jangled as he opened the door and in the same movement placed the bag on the counter.

He placed the crutch aside and put a finger on his lips.

‘Bonjour, Mademoiselle,’ he said, his eyes twinkling. ‘I have emerged from the underground, a little the worse for wear, bringing boots that need resoling… and a few other things. Perhaps you can help? Please excuse me if I do not speak German. I am out of practice.’

He unpacked a pair of well-trodden men’s boots – she recognised them as a pair he had worn in the hideout.

‘Mais bien sûr! Why don’t you come into the workshop and speak to the cobbler yourself.’

The moment the door to the outer shop closed behind them she was in his arms.

‘Jacques. Oh Jacques!’

‘Ssshhh!’ Again, a finger on his lips. ‘My name is David Laforêt. Voila!’ With a flourish, he swept an identity card out of the front pocket of his jacket. Sibyl inspected it; to all appearances it was genuine. But it wasn’t: it bore Jacques’ photo.

‘Where did you…?’

‘Our forger. He’s good.’

‘And this?’

‘Medical reports, and an exemption from military service. History of congenital dislocation of the hip. The crutch is a nuisance, but it helps. I’ve already been stopped twice by the Boche.’

‘Isn’t it risky, though? What if…?’

‘Riskier to wander around Colmar as an able-bodied young man. This way, they see the crutch and assume I’m exempted.’

‘But I thought you’re on the wanted list?’

‘Jacques Dolch is wanted by the Gestapo. David Laforêt is not. There is no way they can connect the two. They do not even have a photo of Jacques Dolch. He is invisible to them – just a name.’

‘Well, be careful.’

‘Of course. But enough of me. Tell me about yourself. The journey went all right?’

‘Yes – but – oh, it was terrifying!’

‘The young lady has had her first encounter with a German charmeur,’ said Oncle Yves, who had remained seated at his workbench, filing at a block of wood. ‘She escaped with her life and her virginity intact. I don’t know about her heart, though. Be careful, young man; he was very attentive and very determined.’

‘Oncle Yves! How ridiculous! And how dare you…’

‘Just teasing, my dear. In fact as I said before, you were lucky. He could have been of quite a different nature and then you would have been in deep stew.’

Jacques, looking from one to the other, frowned. ‘What…’

‘Oh, Jacques, don’t listen to him. It was an – an incident on my first day. And yes, it was scary but in the end nothing at all.’ She told him about Major von Haagen. He frowned again.

‘Be careful, chérie. He’ll be back, I guarantee, and you need to be quite strong, and yet polite and above all, tactful. He sounds of a certain type – they don’t take rebuffs lying down.’

‘No man does,’ put in Oncle Yves, ‘but especially not a tall, good-looking officer of the Boche.’

‘Do we have to discuss this now? Jacques, isn’t there business to discuss?’

‘Don’t call me that. Mon Dieu, you’re supposed to be the group leader – I shouldn’t have to remind you! I’m David.’

‘Sorry. David. Isn’t there business to discuss?’

‘There is. But not here. Sorry, Oncle Yves, but it’s confidential. Where can we go?’

‘Let’s go up to my bedroom.’

Oncle Yves whistled. ‘Oh la la. But she’s a fast one!’

Sibyl ignored him. She led the way out of the back door, making sure the door was locked, and up the back stairs.

‘I’m assuming no-one followed you down the lane.’

‘Of course not. I don’t know if anyone was watching me from a window, though. This is a residential area and some of the women in the houses – well, they are watchers.’

‘But probably not Nazi spies?’

‘Hopefully not.’

‘You scare me!’

‘The thing is, we are never safe in Nazi Germany and like it or not, Alsace is Nazi Germany now. You never know who is friend or foe. But if anyone asks I have my cover story and so do you. If anyone asks why I was so long in the building, well, I will just say I was making love to the beautiful new assistant to M Girard.’

‘And if they ask how you got to know me so quickly, what will you say? Considering I only arrived the day before yesterday, and I have only left the house once, to register at the Mairie and to get my ration card and buy a turnip and two beetroots…’

‘I will say I met you in Paris before the war and you have returned. To Colmar to be with your one true love.’

‘But, officially, I have a fiancé! He died on the East Front and I am still mourning him!’

‘Your mourning is only a front. In truth it is me that you love. Come, give me a kiss. I am clean now. Do I not smell of soap? Madame Schmidt helped me to clean up and I am fresh enough for a kiss from you. Come here.’

A few seconds later, Sibyl said,

‘We need to work.’

‘Yes. Let’s work.’