But here, and on the street, it was wise to be invisible, so today she wore a prewar trench coat over a dowdy dress, down-at-the-heels oxfords, and a scarf that concealed the severe bun at the nape of her neck, in contrast to the French chignon that had drawn admiring gazes from her jackbooted students. A pair of thin, wire-framed sunglasses sat on her nose, and she carried a market basket with a week’s ration of bread and cheese. Here was a woman no more remarkable than a weary housewife of the lower classes stepping into the shop for a cup of tea after a day of waiting in grocery lines with the hope food was still left to buy when she reached the head of the queue.

“Tea,” she said in French to the aproned man wiping the counter to indicate that she was not here for reading material. The shop smelled dankly of old books and spent tea leaves.

“One?” he asked.

Victoria shook her head. “Five. I’m meeting friends.”

The man slung his polishing towel over his shoulder, eyes lighting up at the prospect of customers. “Very good, madame. Follow me,” he said.

Employee or proprietor? Victoria wondered. Proprietor, she thought. He led with the right-of-way of ownership. Was he working with the SOE or OSS? Would the major have chosen this spot if it wasn’t a safe location? Had the proprietor been expecting her and the rest of the team? Was he one of them?

Only one table was occupied at this, the tea hour, in Paris. A lone customer, a Frenchman by the looks of him, sat reading in a corner by the light of the October afternoon that filtered through a dirty window. As trained, Victoria memorized his features in case she should see him again. Thick in the neck, broad in the shoulder, florid-faced, he wore the traditional black beret, turtleneck, black leather jacket, and inevitable scarf of his countrymen. A Gauloises cigarette drooped from his lips. Absorbed in his book, he did not glance up at her entrance. The proprietor paid him no more mind than if he’d been the shop’s house cat curled up in a corner, and Victoria guessed him to be a regular at his usual table. Okay, then.

She removed her sunglasses to better make out her surroundings in the gloom and said, “Over there, s’il vous plaît,” pointing to the table farthest away. The team would push two tables together to make room for five. The proprietor drew out a chair facing sideways to the Frenchman and asked in a courtly manner if madame wished him to take her coat.

She answered, “Non, merci.”

“You will wait to order?”

“Oui. My friends will be here shortly.”

“May I bring you something while you wait, madame?”

“Non, merci.”

“You have only to ask,” the man said, giving the table a vigorous swipe with the towel before he bowed away.