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must only use his cover name. You must only speak French when you are in France. Speak it until you think in it. It must come naturally to you. One slip could cost you your life.

There were also staged interrogations. Endless questions about what she was doing. Why was she on the street? Where had she come from and where was she going? Towards the end of her training Claire was taken to a small room and left. Six hours later a member of staff playing an SS officer grilled her about her friends. Did she know any English men? Did she know any English women? Had she met any foreigners recently? Did she believe in a free France? Did she admire Charles de Gaulle? Had she heard of the Resistance movement? At the end of the day she was congratulated and asked to return the following morning.

‘Good morning, Claire. Come in,’ one of the two men in the room said in perfect German. ‘Please, take a seat.’ Claire felt the pulse in her temples start to throb and her heart began to race, but she didn’t move. ‘It says here that Claire speaks German,’ the first man said to the second.

‘Won’t you sit down?’ the second man said. Mitch’s words came into her head. You understand German, which will work to your advantage, but you must not show it.

‘My apologies, sirs,’ she said in French, and turned and closed the door.

‘So she apparently does not speak German.’ Both men looked at her file. Claire’s mouth was dry. She wanted to lick her lips; instead she swallowed. It didn’t help. ‘English girls are not taught other languages at school, so where did you learn French?’ the first man asked. Frowning quizzically, Claire lifted her shoulders and, looking worried, let them drop.

‘Are you taking us for fools?’ the second man shouted. ‘Well?’ He slammed his fist down on the desk and Claire jumped. Without taking his eyes off her, he slowly walked towards her until his nose was almost touching hers. Claire held her nerve. She looked at him, tilted her head innocently as if she didn’t understand, and said nothing. ‘So,’ he said, circling her, ‘you have a brother in the British Army.’ Claire felt perspiration run down her back. Her breath threatened to burst from her lungs, but she quickly controlled it and it remained steady. ‘His name is Tom. Is that correct? Is that correct?’ he shouted into her ear.

Claire turned to him, her eyes pleading. ‘I do not know what it is you want from me, sir,’ she said in French.

‘I want you to tell me about your brother Tom in the British Army.’ He spoke French now, but with a German accent.

‘I do not have a brother, sir. I have two sisters younger than myself. They are still at school and live with my parents.’

‘Good! Well done, Claire,’ the man said in English.

‘Gerry is not going to get anything out of you if you’re questioned,’ the second man said. Pointing to the chair on the other side of his desk, he said again, ‘Sit down, will you?’ Claire didn’t move. They were still testing her, trying to fox her with friendly and complimentary words. She knew they were SOE intelligence officers. Even so, she was not going to do anything they asked until they spoke to her in French. She remained standing.

‘Please take a seat,’ the second man said in French, sitting down in the chair behind the desk. The first man stood at his side and Claire sat in the chair in front of them. ‘It has been a pleasure meeting you,’ he continued in French. ‘I feel sure that anyone lucky enough to partner you will be in safe hands.’ The man standing nodded and smiled at her.

‘Thank you,’ Claire said, taking both men in.

The first man looked at the second. ‘I think that’s it, don’t you?’

‘Yes, sir,’ the second man said. ‘Thank you, Miss…’ He looked at the file. ‘Le Blanc. You are free to go.’

Claire stood up, thanked both men, and left.

Shaking like a leaf, Claire ran up to her room. She flew to the wash basin, filled the glass holding her toothbrush with water and took a couple of sips. She felt no better and ran to the bathroom. Locking the door, she fell to her knees, began to retch, and was sick. Trembling, she returned to her room, threw herself onto the bed and closed her eyes. For the first time since she began training for the SOE she doubted herself. Was she doing the right thing? Was she tough enough for the job? She was eager and dedicated, but was she mentally strong enough? Would she be able to keep her resolve under real interrogation? Or would she capitulate, give up her fellow operatives? Tears squeezed through her eyelids. She turned over, held her aching stomach and slept.

The next day, lectures on traitors and what to look for, the importance of giving and receiving the correct passwords and patterns of words, controlling your fears and not showing your nerves, helped to put Claire back on the right path. She realised that she had done exactly what was required and expected of her during the interrogation. She now understood that what she thought was emotion was in fact adrenalin. Adrenalin pumped round your body when you were under duress and it kept you alert.

On the train back to London, Claire went through everything she had learned at Beaulieu. She had understood and enjoyed the change of voice and character work. She had passed the interrogation test, and all the other tests, but she had no certificate to frame, or promotion to show for her efforts. As far as the world was concerned the SOE training school at Beaulieu didn’t exist. Therefore she had never been there. When she was leaving, the

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