He nodded. I don’t know whether he believed me. I don’t know whether he knew I was lying. I had made no mention of my talk in the church with Father Jerome. That was André’s business, not mine, if he chose to seek strength from God on a Sunday. But neither had I mentioned the old newspaper cutting of Papa. I’m not sure why. In some way I didn’t totally understand, I felt it was private business between Papa and me, but I offered something else to keep André’s nose from sniffing out my lie.

‘I’ve discovered that Gilles Bertin is Mayor Durand’s cousin.’

He made no sound. But he threw back the rest of his wine and a streak of crimson flared on his cheek. ‘Is that a fact? You surprise me.’

‘It could be that Mayor Durand is being fed information by someone from the air base which he passes on to his cousin – who just happens to be an MGB agent – for a big fat fee.’

Again no sound from André.

I pressed on. ‘Which explains the nice little mountain of American dollars in his secret drawer.’

Very slowly my brother nodded.

‘André, we have to report this to the police.’

‘What?’ He stared at me as if I had suggested drowning Juno, my father’s dog.

‘We cannot allow a traitor to France to continue as Mayor of Serriac. We must inform Léon Roussel at once.’

He reached over and took my hand in his. ‘No.’

‘Yes, André. We can’t turn a blind eye to—’

He squeezed my hand. ‘Listen to me, Eloïse, listen hard. My network is acutely aware that there is an agent inside the air base, feeding information to the MGB. Some of it is critical Intelligence information like the technical details of the Nike Ajax missile system which they are thinking of installing at Dumoulin. It’s the world’s first surface-to-air missile. An invention of technical genius. Designed to attack subsonic aircraft at high altitude and intended to defend key strategic points against Soviet bombers.’

‘How do you know all this?’

He sighed, impatient. ‘It’s my job to know all this. The point is that someone has been leaking top-secret information from that air base for some time. It’s why I used to come back here from Paris every weekend. To dig around. To listen to rumours. To mix with the American airmen in the bars and cafés on a Saturday night. You and I have to find out who that leak is.’

‘Not Mickey. Surely not Mickey. He was too . . .’

‘Ordinary?’

I nodded.

André released my hand. ‘I’ve told you before, Eloïse. In this business you must think the impossible.’

*