Estelle wasn’t sure if any of the information she collected in this hotel was at all useful to the network to which she reported or what, if anything, they were able to do with such knowledge. It had been the field medic whom she had worked with for months, Jerome de Colbert, who had set up the initial meetings—his cousin Vivienne being the resistance operative Estelle met with most often. Half the time, Estelle felt ridiculous passing on details like the number and identities of the Luftwaffe officers who had taken up residence in the hotel, the names of the women who warmed their beds, or the fragments of conversations she overheard at the bars and in the salons. But all of it was absorbed with grave intensity. And solemn encouragement to keep watching and listening.

Like she was doing now.

“We’ve destroyed Britain’s air force.” Meyer clenched his fist and then opened it like he was mimicking a bomb detonating. “Utterly routed them. There is nothing left.”

“Nothing?” Estelle remarked, attempting to sound impressed. Inside she was shaking. With anger or despair, she wasn’t sure.

“We pulverized them,” he said with relish.

Estelle only nodded.

“The Reichsmarschall has now ordered the annihilation of London. Without a challenge, we will all be able to celebrate Göring’s brilliance and Churchill’s surrender right here in this beautiful city. This war will be over quickly, of this I am sure. Days, perhaps, weeks at worst.” He picked up his glass, raised it in a silent toast, drained it with gusto, and signalled the barman for another. “And I’m also sure we would all like to hear you sing to mark the occasion.”

I’d rather die, Estelle thought but, as always, she kept her smile firmly upon her lips. She managed another nod, already trying to determine if there was any logical way that she might get this information to Vivienne before tomorrow morning. Though for all Estelle knew, the Luftwaffe was already dropping explosives on London as the RAF sat in ruins and she sat sipping fine champagne at a Paris bar.

Estelle knew that Vivienne or the others in her network were in contact with London sporadically because they brought news of what was happening beyond the borders of France. Perhaps, at the very least, Estelle might be assured that Meyer’s comments were nothing more than a cog in the machine that was Nazi propaganda. Perhaps the Germans had underestimated the air force on the other side of the channel. Perhaps the RAF was merely biding its time.

Or perhaps the horrific red-and-black flags shrouding every building and monument in Paris would soon similarly hang from London’s edifices.