One

"Miss Jones?"

"Yes." The girl in front of me couldn't have been much older than I was, but her tone was so authoritative that I felt myself stand to attention. My hand shot out to shake her proffered one.

"I'm Grace Haller. You'll be my replacement. Colonel Clifton asked me to show you the ropes for today. There's quite a lot to get through, so you'll want to make notes."

"Of course." She turned on her heels and opened the door she had exitedonly thirty seconds earlier. "You'll be working in here." I walked through and waited for her to lead the way. "This was a pre-existing military base, but it's pretty ancient and they've had to make some extensions. We've been quite lucky – we're not in one of the new prefabs where you freeze in the winter and melt in the summer." She motioned to a pair of security guards who blocked the entrance to what I assumed were offices beyond. "Did they give you a pass?"

"Yes." I fished in my purse and pulled out a paper ID, already dog-eared.

"You need to keep it somewhere safer than that. If you lose it, you'll be in big trouble." I tried not to look embarrassed as I copied her movements and flashed my ID at the guards. Beyond the booths was a narrow corridor that opened out onto a vast floor of open-plan offices. Grey daylight could be glimpsed from windows placed high on the walls, and to the right and left were several closed, unmarked doors. Grace moved towards the door closest to us on the left. "You've been assigned to Colonel Rochard. This is his office. You'll have one key, he has the other. Don't let anyone borrow it and make sure you lock it if you have to go out." I nodded and watched as she unlocked the door and motioned for me to go in. "This is your office. The Colonel's is through there."

"The Colonel isn't here?"

Grace grimaced. "God, no. He hates disruptions to his routine, and you are a disruption. He has a meeting until ten, which is why I had them bring you down now so I can get you settled in. There are a few things about him that you need to know. Take a seat." I sat at once in the only chair available while Grace perched on the desk. "Colonel Rochard is not an easy man to work for. God knows, he'll be the first one to tell you that you're his fourth secretary in as many months. He's demanding and generally ungrateful. If you're doing alright, he'll ignore you. If you're not, you'll wish you'd stayed at home. Don't expect any small talk. I know some bosses are like that, but he's all about the work. And that's another thing – he'll expect you to do a lot of overtime. He and I argued about that, and that's one of the reasons I asked for a transfer. I told him, "I am not an appendage to this office. It's unreasonable to expect me to work until midnight or one in the morning six days a week!" So be firm with him. I think he respects that. But the most important thing to remember is, don't mention the mask."

"The mask?"

"Yes. He wears a mask that covers half of his face. I don't know why – maybe he got wounded, maybe not – it's worth more than our jobs to speculate. Just don't mention it or draw attention to it. He gets angry and you'll make your working life a hell of a lot more difficult."

"Alright. Anything else?"

"Oh, just a hundred little things. Time to get your notebook out." I could tell from the way she glanced at the clock that Grace was impatient to get my induction out of the way. Before I'd uncapped my pen, she was racing off again.

"I understand you're trilingual. That's good. You'll certainly be speaking French on a daily basis. The Colonel insisted that he brief you himself about the work we've been doing. Move your legs a sec." I obliged and she opened a drawer in the desk. "This is his appointment diary. Do not lose it and make sure you keep it up to date, because if you don't, you'll be the one he blames. I've colour-coded his contact list. It's a very simple system; every contact is either a red, amber or green. If they're green, allow them to speak to the Colonel immediately, even if he's left you explicit instructions not to be disturbed. If they're amber, it's your call, depending on whether you think putting them in contact with him will be useful. If they're red, do not let them speak to the Colonel. Either deal with them yourself or delegate it to someone else. Clear?" I nodded, still scribbling furiously. "Sometimes he'll be so busy he'll skip meals and take naps in the office. You're going to have to anticipate everything before he even asks for it – meals, fresh uniforms, chauffeurs." I stole a glance at Grace just as she checked her watch and frowned. "We're running late already. Do you have all of that written down?" I nodded, blinking. "Good. I need to introduce you to some people." She was already out the door and I hadn't even left my seat; hastily I deposited my notebook and the diary on the desk and followed her. The open-plan office was airless and stuffy, and several of the girls closest to me were pink-cheeked and sweating in their scratchy uniforms. "Miss Jones!" Grace motioned impatiently a few paces away. "I'm sorry!" I managed to mumble, almost running as I tried to keep up. It took a few second before I realised that Grace has been pointing to the unmarked doors. "Post room, signals room, filing room. Meeting room. Intelligence liaison." We stopped suddenly and I almost crashed into her. She swung the door open and I managed to peek around Grace's shoulder as she introduced me to someone who I thought was called Margaret. "Secretary to Colonel Grey," explained Grace.

I hesitated. "And Colonel Grey is…?"

"Military Intelligence Liaison," she repeated. "He and Margaret are the people you'll have the most contact with." There was barely time to give more than a glancing nod to Margaret before Grace shut the door again and faced me directly. "A word of warning. You're quite pretty, so he'll probably try to charm you out of your knickers once he gets to know you. Don't let him." I felt myself blushing immediately, but Grace barely seemed to have noticed. We picked up speed again and the rest of the tour passed in a blur. Grace introduced me to Secretaries, Intelligence Analysts, Signallers and a handful of other staff whose faces I didn't have time to register before she whisked me back to the office again and spent the next hour and a half talking through various office procedures. Her knowledge seemed encyclopaedic and I started to feel increasingly overwhelmed. Colonel Rochard seemed to be a tyrannical monarch who ruled his kingdom with an iron fist. My mouth was dry and my hand ached from writing shorthand; there was so much information to take in and I could barely recall any of it. If I could just splash some water on my face, I might be able to think more clearly. I barely had fifteen minutes before the Colonel got back from his meeting and I didn't want to meet him for the first time looking and feeling as if I've been dragged through a bush backwards. Grace mentioned something about coffee and I trudged wearily after her. The office kitchen was on the opposite side of the open plan office, and as we passed by the Secretary pool, we attracted several curious glances.

The office kitchen was tiny and I had to squeeze past Grace to get into it. "The Colonel has his own coffee. Never use anything else. He can always tell the difference." As she lit the gas stove I looked through the cupboard for coffee cups and managed to find three. "What are you doing?" Grace interrupted. Immediately she returned two cups. "You'll have to have something later. There's no time now!" She didn't look panicked, but she was frowning and every five seconds she checked her watch. The wait for the kettle to boil was agonising, but I didn't have the energy to fill the silence with small talk. I patted my hair nervously and smoothed out a non-existent wrinkle on my skirt. As soon as the coffee was done we scurried back across the office and Grace closed the door. "Right. You sit there. I'll go and put this in his office." I was just about to sit down when the door burst open and I jumped up again in surprise. Grace wasn't joking about the mask. The man who'd just entered the room was wearing a tan leather mask that covered the left side of his face from forehead to below the cheek, which was just as well because he looked as if he'd probably be scowling if he didn't have it on. Without a word he walked straight past me into his office and shut the door. I wasn't quite sure what I should do. I could hear him talking to Grace and I hovered nervously near the door, wondering if I should knock. After a few minutes I decided against it and sat back down. I leafed through the appointment book and checked to see what appointments he had that day. There were dozens of meetings pencilled in and some of them were at the same time, which was confusing. Why had he double-booked himself? I checked the page for the week before, which looked almost identical except that most of the appointments had been crossed out. The only ones that were left all seemed to be with either the lecherous Colonel Grey or a certain 'G.C.', which didn't ring a bell. I pulled out the contact list and ran a finger down the list of names; the only one that fitted seemed to be General Crawley. A General. The only time I'd ever seen a General was on the newsreels at the cinema, pointing at battle plans and pouring over maps. If Colonel Rochard was meeting with this General Crawley on a regular basis, he must be someone important. I closed the diary and took a few deep breaths. The telephone began to ring, and I stared at as if I'd never seen a telephone in my life before. After ten rings it was clear she wasn't coming and I reached for the handset. "Colonel Rochard's office?"

"Gracie? How's the new girl settling in?" The voice was feminine and rather chipper.

"Um, no. I mean, I'm the new girl." There was the tiniest of pauses and the sound of whispering.

"I'm such an idiot! Should have noticed you had a different voice. I'm Mabel. My desk is opposite your door." The room was small enough that I could see what was going on outside without having to move, and I craned my neck. Mabel must have been the one waving and grinning at me like a madwoman. Two girls at the desks next to her were also glancing my way speculatively and I gave a rather anaemic wave back. "Have you met the beast yet?"

"No, not really. He just – walked straight past me. I'm sorry, but are you a friend of Grace's?"

"Yes! Sorry, didn't I mention that? We're her support group. Emergency ciggie break in half an hour, alright? Let Grace know."

"Alright." Mabel hung up the phone. As I replaced the receiver the door to Rochard's office swang open and Grace appeared. She closed the door behind her with exaggerated care. "Who was on the phone?"

"Mabel. Something about a break in half an hour?"

"Thank God. Mabel's a darling. Listen, he wants to see you now. Try not to let him see that you're nervous." My hands were shaking, so I pretended to look for a spare pen in my bag and took a few deep breaths before knocking on the door.

"Enter." The command was clear and sharp, and I felt like a schoolgirl again, being called into the headmaster's office. Opening the door, I sensed Grace at my elbow as I stepped into the office. "This is Miss Jones, Sir." The Colonel was standing behind his desk, studying a map of what appeared to be northern France. "Sit down, Miss Jones. Thank you, Miss Haller." He didn't look up as she left, nor did he speak to me, and for a minute or so I sat and watched. He wasn't especially tall, but rather broad-shouldered and robust. He must have been wearing aftershave, as the room now had a different, vaguely masculine scent of soap and sandalwood. I schooled myself not to look at the mask and instead peeked surreptitiously at the part of his face that was visible, deciding that he would be handsome if he smiled more. When he looked at me suddenly, I almost jumped out of my seat. His eyes were almost golden in colour.

"Has Miss Haller shown you how we work?"

"Yes."

"Good. Has she explained what this department does? Who it works with?"

"Only that it liaises with the French."

He sat down, never breaking eye contact. "I need a Secretary who understands how this department works, inside and out. No excuses. Your predecessors haven't been up to scratch in that regard. If you wish to stay in this position, don't make the same mistake. France has been occupied for over three years. In that time, the French Resistance has attempted to resist both the German Occupation and the Vichy goverment. The sole responsibility of this department is to aid with the coordination of the Resistance. Any questions?" I shook my head. He reached under the map and handed me a cardboard file four inches thick. "This is confidential. Bring it back to me immediately once you've finished with it, and no note-taking. I don't have time to give you a full briefing, so this will have to do. You'll shadow Miss Haller for today and then start officially tomorrow." I nodded again and then waited, expecting him to continue; it took a few seconds before I realised that he had already returned his attention to the map, and the meeting was over. Clutching the file, I exited the office as quickly as I could.

My first day had left me feeling exhausted and dispirited; with the exception of Colonel Rochard I had found my new colleagues welcoming and sympathetic, but even this smacked of pity. It seemed as if I been given the raw end of the deal, and everyone knew it. My one consoling thought was that I could at least count on the Colonel for an honest opinion. He was as curt and uncommunicative when I wished him a good evening as he had been during our first meeting, but there was comfort in his consistency. He was clearly uninterested in office politics, and he would surely work well with someone who kept their head down and did the same. Grace allowed me to leave at seven (although she assured me it would never happen again), and I decided to walk the short distance back to my new flat and read as much of the file he had given me as I could. I had never lived on my own before, and the silence of the tiny box room where I slept was distinctly mournful. As expected, the information the Colonel had put together for my briefing was thorough, and I was glad for the distraction. He was responsible for aiding the exiled French command in London with the co-ordination of the resistance in northern France, although he clearly had an uphill struggle; communication between the different units of resistance was difficult and at times impossible under the severe scrutiny of the Nazi-backed Vichy government. For every step forward two had to be conceded, and almost no measurable progress had been made in planning a co-ordinated attack. I quickly learned to distinguish Rochard's cursive notes in the margins: "We are nipping at their heels without drawing blood," "ineffectual," "incompetent," "a waste of time and valuable resources." Many of the guerrilla fighters, or maquisards, had escaped to the mountains to avoid conscription into the German army, and often faced internment in labour camps if captured. I read until midnight and slept soundly.