Page 43 of The Last Library of Paris

‘Right,’ I said. ‘Goodnight.’

I picked up my bag, my head full of visas, and job offers, worries about Parrish, and confusion over what Valentine was up to.

Chapter 11

I got halfway down the drive before I changed my mind. Looking back to check if Valentine was still there, and seeing he had gone, I turned and marched back into the embassy.

‘Keep doing the right thing,’ my dad had said. Except I wasn’t, was I? The visa idea was a good one, and I was pleased to be putting that into action, but I was still six days away from getting back to my proper job.

And in the meantime, Archie Valentine was supposed to be helping POWs like Penny’s brother, and airmen like Lara’s cousin, and soldiers like my brother.

But he wasn’t. He was flouncing round the embassy, fluttering his eyelashes at everyone and playing a lot of golf.

Even worse than that, he seemed to be connected to Steven Parrish in some way. The very same Steven Parrish who was wearing expensive clothes, acting shifty and spying on people.

Well, I wasn’t having it.

Determined, I headed to Valentine’s office. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do when I got there, but I wanted to know what he was up to.

As I approached, though, I could see the door was slightly ajar. Hearing voices, I paused, peeking through the gap.

I could see Valentine and his assistant Hughes, both pacing round the room, clearly rattled by something.

‘So, we find ourselves with a dilemma,’ Valentine was saying. ‘Men are making it to the escape routes but not quickly enough and not in large enough numbers.’

A tingle ran down my spine. This was what Hughes had told me about; this was MI9 work, helping escapers and evaders.

This was what Valentine was supposed to be doing when he was whizzing round Lisbon in his ridiculous car, with a pretty girl in the passenger seat. And this was undoubtedly what I should also be doing. At least in my own opinion. Perhaps this was my chance? If I could listen in and come up with a brilliant solution to their problems, Digby would have to let me back into Section D.

Quietly, I slid down the wall in the corridor so I was sitting on the floor beside the open door, and took out my notepad.

Valentine was still pacing. ‘Tell me the figures again.’

‘It costs, on average, £15,000 to train an airman,’ Hughes began. He sounded as though he’d said the words many times before.

‘That’s a lot of money,’ said Valentine.

‘Indeed. Obviously, we don’t want to spend that money simply for our airmen and soldiers to disappear into occupied Europe. So, as you know, as part of their training, our men are being taught “escape-mindedness”.’

Behind the door, I mouthed ‘escape-mindedness’ to myself. What kind of word was that?

‘The chaps know that if they find themselves in a sticky spot behind enemy lines, they’re to do everything they can to escape,’ Hughes went on.

‘But knowing that is, apparently, not the same as doing it.’ Valentine sighed.

‘The problem is that it is hit and miss,’ Hughes said. ‘For example, we teach them to find a safe house in the first instance. They know to stake out houses first – for a few days if necessary. It’s often better to choose a home with no men present. Safer. And then it’s just about waiting and hoping that they’ll get lucky and find the Resistance and an escape route.’

Leaning against the wall, I wrote down everything he was saying.

‘And what of the prisoners of war?’

‘Same process. As soon as they’re in the camps, they’re to be thinking of ways out.’

‘But we’ve sent them equipment,’ Valentine said. ‘Compasses in shaving brushes, maps hidden on playing cards.’

‘Exactly, so they are better off in a way. Though it’s still slow going when they’re trying to locate the escape routes. And they have the added danger of making it out of the camps, which is not an easy task.’

‘And you’ve spoken to some escapers and evaders?’ Valentine asked. I flipped to a clean page in my notebook ready to write more.