Marjie cut into her thoughts. ‘We have no contact network in place with the Maquis, Sibbie. All this time here – and nothing. Then this. Something is wrong, I can feel it.’

Madame surprised them then by saying, ‘I have a contact. Leave it with me. I’ll get an order ready for you to take to Monsieur Siet, and the message for him will be hidden within it. Oh, don’t worry, it is nothing that can be suspected – no note, just a certain number of an item, which will tell him there is something amiss and that he must come and see me. He will know if this is genuine, and what to do.’

Sibbie sighed with relief – not only that they had a way of verifying the message, but that Madame was clearly far more than they had first thought her to be. She was part of the Resistance, that was clear, otherwise she wouldn’t be a party to such codes. The fact that she’d never revealed this, despite knowing why they were here, boded well.

In her fifties and elegant, Madame Bachelet had been widowed for ten years. Jacques was her only child. Still beautiful, with pearl-like skin that didn’t sag, but was held taut and smooth by her high cheekbones, Madame must have been stunning as a young girl, Sibbie thought. Even in her wraparound apron, she looked sophisticated. Slim and with the figure of a much younger woman, she had very dark hair, which she wore swept back off her face and caught into a roll, rather than in a bun at the back of her head. Her eyes were fascinating; hazel-coloured, but with dark-brown flecks, they were large and bright and gave the impression that Madame knew everything and could see into your soul.

With the order ready, it was decided that Sibbie should take it to Monsieur Siet. She’d delivered his orders before, and wondered now how many of them had contained a code. She didn’t have to ask why a code was needed. Monsieur Siet lived in a tenement block on the rue du Capitole near the railway station. In the overcrowded building there was never a moment when she had been there that she hadn’t seen a lot of people, so it would have been dangerous to pass notes on or to speak anything other than casual greetings.

Never before had Sibbie felt this nervous when travelling around Narbonne. She often cycled around, enjoying the sights and smells; and despite the fear that accompanied the war, its people were lively and colourful and she felt it was a vibrant place. The gendarmes were a huge presence and were feared by everyone. It wasn’t unusual to see them suddenly stop someone, search them and bundle them into their van. Sibbie always felt nervous when passing them, but so far they hadn’t bothered with her.