Free Operation Kingfisher by Hilary Green

all in German custody? She calmed herself by clinging to another thought: it was possible that they had reached him within 24 hours of setting out, and been taken to safety immediately; so they could be back in England by now. That was why she was crouching over the radio, hoping to hear that ‘Michou’s pups’ were safe.
    She was so intent on making out the indistinct words of the announcer over the crackle of static that she almost failed to hear the banging on the front door. When the sound penetrated her consciousness, she jumped up, her heart pounding. Neighbours rarely called at this time of night, except in an emergency. Had a German detector van picked up the fact that there was a radio receiving the English broadcast? Was that possible? Had someone betrayed her? She grabbed the set and shoved it into the oven in the old, black range; then, forcing herself to behave as naturally as possible, she went to open the door.
    A German officer stood on the doorstep. Isabelle’s hand went to her throat. Either she was about to be arrested, or he had come to tell her that her children were in German hands.
    ‘Madame Beauchamp?’ he asked, using the French version of her surname.
    ‘Yes?’
    He saluted and clicked his heels. ‘I am Oberleutnant Gruber. I am the billeting officer for this area. How many people live in this house?’
    ‘Just myself and my father.’ Isabelle’s breath was coming in short gasps and she fought to control it. ‘He is disabled and confined to a wheelchair.’
    ‘According to records held by your mayor, you have two children who are not living with you at present.’
    ‘Not just now, no. They have gone to visit their godfather. He’s been taken ill.’
    ‘Then you will have spare rooms. You are required to accommodatean officer and his batman. They will arrive tomorrow morning. Please make sure the rooms are ready for them. They will take all their meals in the mess, so you will not be required to feed them. That is all. Good evening.’
    He saluted once more, turned on his heel and went back to his jeep. Isabelle closed the door and leaned against it. Her legs were trembling and for a moment she felt dizzy. Then her head cleared.
    Neither she nor the children were in immediate danger. It would be inconvenient and distasteful to have Germans living in the house and it would make it hard to listen to the BBC broadcasts, but at least her immediate fears had not been realized. She straightened up and went back to the kitchen, but by the time she had extracted the radio from the oven, the
messages personelles
were finished and she could only hope that she had not missed the one she was so desperate to hear.
    The two Germans arrived early the next day. Isabelle expected to hate them on sight but one look at the face of the young lieutenant who stood on her doorstep overlaid her hostility with a concern that was almost maternal. He looked hardly older than Luke, but whereas her son was well built, with broad shoulders and a healthy tan, this boy was thin and his face had a sickly yellow tint. His batman, who followed with his bags, was middle-aged, small, and wiry, with a face so lined and creased that it reminded her of a bulldog.
    The officer saluted and introduced himself in surprisingly good French.
    ‘Leutnant Hoffmann, Madame. I hope we are not inconveniencing you.’
    The words recalled Isabelle to the consciousness that these were the enemy, however unthreatening they appeared.
    ‘It is not as though I have any choice in the matter,’ she responded stiffly. ‘Come in, please. I’ll show you your rooms.’
    She had put the lieutenant in Luke’s room. There was only one spare room in the house, a small, rather bare space, and she had allocated that to the batmen, rather than putting him in Christine’s,but that left nowhere else for the officer. Hoffmann looked around and turned to her with a smile that touched her heart.
    ‘This reminds me of my own room at home. Thank you,