Prologue
France, June 1945
Vivi rushed through the streets of Paris, sweat trickling down behind her ears and gathering under the collar of her German uniform. At every turn, she was aware of heightened energy. On what seemed like every corner, the people of Paris were whispering in huddled groups. She hoped it was the news she and Marcus had been waiting to hear, but feared the enemy might still gain the upper hand.
Vivi barely had time to check over her shoulder as she raced down the darkened alley, her footsteps beating out an echoed rhythm that fought against a cracked water pipe that gushed out a beat of its own. Arriving at the door of the address she had memorised, Vivi stopped to catch her breath and wipe at the beads of perspiration that had collected under her cap. Gulping back hot sticky air that burned her lungs, she gathered herself, trying to clear her mind and remember everything she had been taught; it felt like an eternity since her training.
Her racing heart began to return to normal as Vivi momentarily considered her life and the man she loved. She had to do this. For him and for the cause they both believed in. Tears brimmed in her eyes as Vivi remembered the night before when they’d lain in one another’s arms, a full moon streaming through the window, casting its shadow across their bed, when she’d thought, just for that moment, even amidst all the madness, that somehow her life was perfect.
But in the last twelve hours, all of that had been put in jeopardy. Now Vivi had to focus on what was right. But would she be strong enough to do what she had to do? The betrayal was so hard, but the one thing that kept her alive every day was the knowledge that she was doing all this for love, the noblest reason of all.
So there was one last thing she had to do. One thing that could make the difference between who won this war, and who lost.
Summoning up the courage she needed, Vivi knocked on the door.
1
Present Day
Sophie Hamilton paced the steps of the Imperial War Museum and glared at her phone again. Already twenty minutes late, Matt hadn’t even bothered to return her texts. Acknowledging the time, she sighed deeply and, unable to wait any longer, knew she would have to go in without him.
Rushing through the glass doors because she was late, Sophie’s feet echoed across the white marble foyer and she cursed herself for wearing stilettos, particularly this new pair that were chafing the back of her heels. Racing towards the lift, she barely had time to notice the splendid exhibition of military history all around her, only briefly glancing at the V2 rocket that dominated the hallway and the Spitfire, with its polished silver propeller glinting under its spotlight as it dangled from the windowed ceiling above her head. She hustled because she knew Jonathan, her supervisor, was probably having a panic attack about now and she pictured him anxiously pacing the exhibition halls upstairs as he waited for her.
Arriving at the lift, Sophie wedged her hand in the door just in time to stop it closing. The only other occupant, a young man staring at his phone, pretended not to see her as she panted inside.
Getting the first glance at herself as the lift door slid into place, Sophie felt even more frustration building towards her boyfriend as she tried desperately to comb her hand through the blonde bobbed hairstyle she’d had cut and blow-dried for the occasion. But even in the hazy reflection of the door she could see that it was now lank and stringy because she’d spent nearly twenty minutes outside in the drizzle.
Drawing in a deep breath, Sophie attempted to calm herself. She wasn’t going to let Matt spoil this for her. She’d been looking forward to it all week.
The lift door opened on the next floor and a mother and child entered. The scrubbed, pink-cheeked girl, with red-ribboned pigtails that bounced with a life of their own, squeezed her mother’s hand with excited anticipation. Sophie caught her breath and quickly averted her gaze to the floor, the sight of this happy family picture still too raw and painful for her to even observe.
As the lift climbed again, Sophie dragged her thoughts back from the heartache she’d been through in the last year and instead focused on how relieved she’d been to get this job, how she’d needed it for her sanity.
Taking six months off from the intensity of her legal career had been her grandmother’s idea.
‘You just need a break, Sophie. Give yourself the chance to catch your breath,’ she’d stated, stroking her granddaughter’s hair.
Gran, of course, had been right. Being a high-flying corporate solicitor had definitely had its perks, but one of them hadn’t been having time to grieve her personal loss. And when she had been found by her secretary sobbing at her desk one morning four months after losing Emily and her mother, it had been a relief to let go and accept that she couldn’t just go on as normal.
At first, she had told herself it would just be a sabbatical, but as time had gone on it had been harder and harder to even contemplate going back to that hectic pace of life. For now, she was working part-time for a small charity that specialised in archiving historical materials. Sophie had always loved visiting old houses. Her job was to categorise all the treasures that went back centuries, some from houses that the charity had been working in for years. There were no time pressures and no client counting on her to be at her best. And even though she didn’t know what the future held, this job was perfect for her, right now.
The lift door slid open and, carefully, without looking in her direction, Sophie sidestepped the young girl even as the presence of her once again tugged at her heartstrings. Swallowing down her pain Sophie moved at a clip towards the event.
The museum had created an atmospheric experience to support the exhibition and as she raced toward it the sounds of London during the Blitz stretched out down the hallway to greet her. The high-pitched screech of air-raid sirens followed by the ominous rolling thunder of bombs dropping on London boomed from the wall speakers. Interspersed with the sinister sounds of war were the best of Winston Churchill’s speeches and an uplifting recording of Vera Lynn singing ‘We’ll Meet Again’, supplied by the BBC Home Service. With this evocative backdrop, plus the dim lighting and retro signage, Sophie felt as if she was stepping straight back into the 1940s.
As her eyes adjusted, she marvelled that this new exhibition had been possible at all and was excited to finally see the photos that the museum had asked Jonathan to provide as part of it, and which he had gushed about, blown up to life size.
All at once her boss was in front of her.
‘There you are, Sophie,’ declared Jonathan, unable to hide the desperation in his tone as he strode towards her. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’ He glanced at his wristwatch.
‘I’m so sorry. Matt said he’d meet me here, and I was waiting for him.’
He shook his head, barely acknowledging what she was saying, the worry furrowing his brow. ‘We really need to get going,’ he continued, anxiously. ‘I am expecting the mayor at any moment. Do you have my notes?’
‘I sent them to you yesterday,’ responded Sophie.
Her boss was often scatty and was endlessly losing things, and he stared at her with a look of abject panic.
She had backed up the notes on her phone just in case. ‘I have a copy.’