Marie turned her attention back to Sophie. “Tell me what you need. What mirage you wish to create.” She yanked the pencil from the back of her head and snatched a tiny notebook from a cluttered tabletop.

“Clothes that might have been expensive at some time but have seen wear. Something that would belong to a wealthy business owner and his wife. But something forgettable.”

“Hmmm.” Marie made a notation and looked critically at both Sophie and Gerard. “Yes, yes. This is no problem.”

“And I’ll need a dress that would not be out of place in a more glamourous setting. Gloves. Accessories.”

Marie brightened and rubbed her hands together. “Something not so forgettable, yes?”

“Yes. And anything that you might have with a laundry mark or label that might have been found in Marseille would be an advantage.”

“We have labels and items from many French cities,” Marie said, almost proudly. “Some come to us as…gifts, others we copy for ourselves. This also is no problem.” She settled her spectacles on her nose and considered Sophie more carefully. “Mais, your height, Madame, may be more of a problem. I will need to see what I have.”

Gerard scoffed under his breath.

Marie’s eyes snapped to him. “You, on the other hand, are a nice, small man, yes? Finding you clothes will not be a problem. We can hem right here.”

Gerard flushed, and Sophie suddenly found a loose thread on the cuff of her sweater fascinating.

“Come,” Marie said, beckoning them deeper into the study. “I will make clothing for Madame and Monsieur that is both forgettable and unforgettable. I will make sure you are ready for your time in France.”

Sophie lay on the cold metal floor of the Hudson bomber, feeling the vibrations from the engines right through her bones. At the front of the plane, the pilot and the navigator were absorbed in their duties. How these men could know where they were in the dead of night with only math and the moon and the occasional blackout-defying soul to guide them amazed Sophie. As did the gunners at the front and rear who scanned the ground and air with unwavering intensity. They had been told to expect flak from antiaircraft guns, explosions that could toss the plane even if they were too far out of range to cause real damage, but thus far, the flight had been blissfully uneventful.

Around her were over a dozen cylindrical containers as tall as she was, each attached to its own parachute. Their luggage and a suitcase full of silver powder compacts, tubes of bright lipstick, and an assortment of mascara and eye shadow pots were in one. The contents of the others were a mystery to her, though it didn’t take much to guess that they contained weapons and supplies for the Resistance forces that would meet them.