like here. Neither does Uncle Edward. He gave you the training that would get you here, but Violette and I have to give you the training that will make you useful here—and keep you alive. We have just a few days to do it. If you don’t learn, you’re nothing but a liability.”
Her gaze was steady and unapologetic. She could have been a factory foreman delivering a brisk lecture to a new worker, and Eve’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. She let out a slow breath, unclenched her jaw, and managed to nod. “Salute all German officers. Do not object to being groped. Keep my hands out of m-m-m—out of my pockets. What else?”
They drilled her, over and over. Encounter drills: What do you do if—? Quick-hide drills: If they happen upon you before you’ve hidden a report, what do you do to distract and delay? And they tutored her about the new rules of life in Lille.
“Trust nothing in the newspapers or bulletins. If it’s in print, it’s a lie,” Lili decreed.
“Carry your identity cards at all times, but hide your pistol.” Violette had a Luger of her own which she handled with casual authority. “Civilians aren’t supposed to have weapons.”
“Steer clear of the German officers. They think they can have any of the women they want, with or without their consent—”
“—and once that happens, a good many people in Lille will despise you for a collaborator and say you flopped on your back just to get favors.”
“You’ll live here, in this room. Before now we’ve used it as a bolt-hole for quick overnights, but now you’ll live here, so the door outside will need a posted notice with your name and your age in case a roll is called—”
“—no gatherings of more than ten people allowed—”
“How does anyone l-live like this?” Eve wondered on the second day, finally earning enough grudging approval to venture the occasional question.
“Life is shit here,” Lili said. “It will likely go on being shit until we drive the Germans out.”
“When will I report to you? If I l-l-learn anything.”
“We come through regularly, Violette and I.” Lili grinned at her lieutenant. “We’ll continue to bunk here with you when we need to stay the night in town. But we’re on the move so much between all my drops, you’ll be alone more often than not.”
Violette looked at Eve with an utter lack of enthusiasm. “I hope you’re up to it.”
“Salope!” Lili tugged Violette’s taut bun. “Don’t be such a bitch!”
German-run Lille was a horrible place, Eve soon saw. Before the war it must have been a fine, bright, bustling city—church spires piercing the sky, pigeons fluttering about the Grand Place, streetlamps casting circles of warm yellow light in the dusk. Now the city was dulled and wretched, every face downcast and pinched with hunger. They weren’t far from the trenches and soldiers and the real action of war—the boom of guns in the distance rolled like low thunder, and occasionally a biplane droned overhead like a poisonous wasp. The Huns had held Lille since last fall, thoroughly entrenched: the boulevards sported new street signs with German names, German boots rang confidently on the cobbles, and German chatter resounded loudly in every public place. The only pink well-fed faces were German, and that alone was enough to push Eve very quickly from a rather impersonal dislike of The Enemy to utter, burning hatred.
“Don’t get too much fire in your eye,” Lili advised, helping Eve dress for her interview. A neat, drab skirt and shirtwaist, but it was more than just the clothes. Lili was dulling Eve’s skin with a few strategic dabs of chalk and soot, downplaying the healthy color in her cheeks. “You need to look downcast and beaten, little daisy. That’s what the Germans want to see. Fire in the eye will get you looked at.”
“D-downcast,” Eve repeated grimly. “Oui.”
Violette looked her over, round glasses flashing. “Her hair gleams.”
They dulled it with a little dirt. Eve rose, putting on her darned gloves. “I am a country g-girl newly come from Roubaix,” she recited. “Desperate for work, badly educated. Neat, deft, a little s-s-stupid.”
“You look stupid,” Violette said matter-of-factly, and Eve glared. She didn’t much like Violette, but there was no doubt she excelled at her job. Evelyn Gardiner was gone; the room’s single badly polished mirror reflected dull-skinned, hungry-looking Marguerite Le François.
Eve looked at Marguerite, and performer’s anxiety stabbed her like any actress preparing to step onstage. “What if I f-f—what if I fail?