“To whom do I broadcast? And what do I say?”

“Patience, dear lady. All will be made clear,” he said.

I went back into the kitchen and poured two cups of tea, then carried them on a tray to where we’d been sitting. Mr Sinclair took a sip and gave a sigh of satisfaction.

“Ah, tea that tastes like tea. One thing I shall enjoy when I get home.”

I took a drink myself and waited.

He put the cup down. “Do you know Morse code?”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

“I’ll get a booklet over to you. Learn it as soon as possible. Along with the radio, you will receive a codebook. You will keep that hidden apart from the radio, in a place where nobody would think of looking. Your messages will be sent in code. For example, if you see two destroyers, you might say, ‘Granny is not feeling well today.’”

“And if the Germans break the code?”

“The codes will be changed frequently. You will not know in advance how you’ll receive a new booklet. Maybe a package from your auntie in Rome with recipes in it.” He shrugged. “Our secret service is highly resourceful. The good thing is that you will never have to make personal contact with anyone, so should you be questioned, you will not have to worry about betrayal.”

“That sounds so reassuring,” I said drily and saw the twitch of a smile on his lips.

He took another sip, then put down his cup once more. “One more thing,” he said. “You will need a code name for communication. What do you suggest?”

I stared out across the canal. A cargo ship was moving slowly past. Was I mad to agree to this?

“My name is Juliet,” I said, “so my code name could be Romeo.”

“Romeo. I like it.” He laughed.

CHAPTER 1

Juliet, Venice, May 20, 1928

At last Aunt Hortensia and I have arrived in Venice, after a long, sweaty, smoky and exceedingly uncomfortable train journey. Aunt Hortensia does not believe in wasting money and declared that sleeping berths on a train ride are completely useless as the cars stop, start and shake so much that sleep is impossible. So we sat up, all the way from Boulogne, on the French coast, through France, then Switzerland and into Italy. By day it was awfully hot. One could not open the windows as smoke and cinders would blow in from the engine. And during the night there was a man opposite me who snored loudly, as well as his wife, who stank of garlic and body odour. I know I shouldn’t be complaining. I am fully aware of how awfully lucky I am at being taken to Italy for my eighteenth birthday. The girls in my form at school were most envious!

All that is behind us now. We are here. We came out of the Santa Lucia train station and stood at the top of a flight of steps.