‘André, you’re the one who taught me that knowledge is power. With that information I can help you. I can protect you better. I can even find the person behind the wheel of the van that—’

‘Eloïse, I trusted you before. Look what happened. Why would I trust you now?’ He turned his face to the wall.

The air suddenly became too heavy to breathe. The shadows deepened and what little light was in the room seemed to seep out under the door. I sat there in silence, but my lungs betrayed me, pumping as fast as if I’d been running. Minute after minute ticked past until finally I rose to my feet and walked to the door, but before I could open it, André spoke.

‘Do you have my wallet?’

‘Your wallet?’

‘You took it away from the hospital.’

‘Yes. I have it.’

I had ransacked the wallet a hundred times looking for clues.

‘Burn it,’ he ordered.

I nodded and walked out.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The reason I knew André was a spy was that one day I saw him in action. I saw him execute a brush-pass in the street. It was soon after I’d gone to Paris, a stifling summer day, and André and I had enjoyed a drink in a bar on Rue Gabrielle. When he left I tried to follow him to discover where he lived – I’d tried before but he’d always lost me. This time he was distracted. The pavements were busy and I was getting better at it, so he didn’t spot me.

I saw him suddenly slow his pace. His shoulders dropped, his arms hung loose at his sides, the fingers of one hand folded over. Instantly I knew what was coming. I’d seen it a thousand times. We used to do brush-passes all the time as children, first when we played at being spies and then for real when we helped the Resistance pass messages under the noses of the Nazis during the war.

But there on the streets of Paris on Rue de la Goutte d’Or, I was stunned. I watched his hand brush innocently against the hand of a tall fair-haired man wearing a pale linen suit and spectacles. Neither looked at the other or broke their stride. If I hadn’t been watching for it, I’d never have spotted it. Blink and I’d have missed it. This time it wasn’t a game. I knew my brother worked in the Ministry of Defence and I couldn’t help wondering why he would be passing information in such a secretive manner.

‘Are you a spy?’ I asked outright the next time we met.

‘What makes you think that?’

‘I saw you do a brush-pass.’