“Yes, but not right now.” Gabriel closed the case and latched it securely. He set the instrument on the bench and stood. “Right now, I have something else in mind.”

“What are you doing?”

Gabriel looked around him at the deserted gallery, the lone light from above shining down on his head and turning his hair raven black, putting his features in stark contrast. He held out his hand. “I find myself in a moment when no one else in the world exists except a woman who has made me understand what it means to make every day count. Every moment count.” He held out his hand. “Will you dance with me?”

Lia placed her hand in his.

“Yes.”

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Author’s Note

The Paris Apartment is a work of fiction. While a product of my imagination, the premises and characters I’ve chosen to create are inspired by real people and real events. The characters of Sophie Seymour and Estelle Allard were shaped by the experiences and courage of Virginia Hall, Pearl Witherington Cornioley, Christine Granville, Josephine Baker, Nancy Wake, and Andrée de Jongh. Their memoirs, interviews, and stories only give us an idea of how truly extraordinary each of these women was.

Sophie’s work at Bletchley Park was based on the real men and women who worked tirelessly against time and almost impossible odds to decode Nazi encryption devices. Most of us have heard of the Enigma cipher and the remarkable work by Alan Turing and his team to break that cipher. Told less often seems to be the story of Tommy Flowers and Bill Tutte, who, together with their teams, developed Colossus—the machine that was able to break the Lorenz cipher, known as Tunny at Bletchley.

The Lorenz cipher was favoured by Hitler and used by High Command—and for good reason. It was far more powerful than the Enigma and capable of exceedingly complex encryptions. Additionally, unlike the Enigma, it did not depend on Morse code. Attached to a teleprinter, it automatically encrypted outgoing messages and decrypted incoming messages, allowing longer messages to be transmitted with greater ease. Each of the links between Nazi command posts was given a name by Bletchley—the Paris–Berlin link was referred to as Jellyfish.