a coffee and one of the flaky pastries that was calling to her from a glass counter below the bar.
‘You are English, no?’ the jovial young man behind the gleaming coffee machine asked as she ordered.
Sophie nodded, knowing for sure what had given her away – languages had never been her strength.
‘You are here for a holiday this early in the year?’ he questioned, raising his eyebrows.
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m here to do a little research.’
‘Research? In this little fishing town?’
She smiled. ‘I’m actually on my way to Paris. I’m hoping to follow the trail of a relative during World War Two.’
‘The spy network. You are following the trail of the spy network.’ He smiled with knowing. ‘Our café was very famous during that time, did you know?’
‘That I have heard,’ she said. ‘I googled you.’
He laughed. ‘Here, let me show you. We have a special place dedicated to the people that did this.’
He wiped his hands on a bar towel and led her to a wall of photographs. A banner above it said ‘World War Two Heroes’ and there was a scattering of black-and-white shots of people taken in the café.
He pointed to a photo of a stout man with a balding head, holding a tray of pastries in front of him, a cigarette balanced on the corner of his mouth, with a petrified-looking woman by his side.
‘This is my great-great-uncle Pierre. He ran this café. He worked for the Resistance.’
Sophie nodded, amazed that someone so ordinary-looking could be a local hero.
‘They never caught him. They never knew what we used the café for during that time.’
Sophie scanned the photos quickly, looking for Vivienne, but she was disappointed to see there was no one as striking as her great-aunt, with her platinum-blonde hair and pretty heart-shaped face.
The barista pointed out other characters, telling her different stories of bravery. ‘This one,’ he said, pointing to a short man with glasses, ‘killed a Nazi by sabotaging his car. This woman slept with Nazis to get information. This woman confronted and killed a Nazi in an alley in a town close by and was unfortunately hung for it, and this man slowly poisoned the food of German officers, giving them terrible stomach problems.’ Sophie was amazed as he continued, ‘They had to be very careful, because sometimes the enemy would come pretending to be undercover. That happened once with a beautiful female English spy who turned out to have secretly joined the Nazi Party.’
Sophie shuddered inside. He had to be talking about Vivienne with her blonde hair and green eyes, but she tried not to show any connection. ‘Do you know much about that story?’ she asked, working to keep her tone even.
‘Only that she was a traitor. A beautiful blonde, just like you,’ he joked, flirting openly with her. Sophie felt her cheeks flush, not only with the compliment but also with the truth of the comparison. ‘The story is that she came here earlier in the war pretending to work for the British. But she was obviously a double agent because she was spotted at the train station later in the war with a German officer.’
He pointed at a picture of a handsome young man with a heavy dark moustache and dark eyes, rocking back on a chair in the café, a cigarette in his hand. ‘This man was called the Terrier. He used to transport many of the spies to Paris.’
Sophie sucked in breath at the mention of his name, and thought about the word in the poetry book.
‘Did he meet the woman who defected?’ she asked quietly.
‘Maybe, I don’t know.’
She looked at the curling black-and-white photo. The Terrier looked so unassuming and relaxed, as if he were on holiday in the south of France, not working for the underground.
‘What happened to him?’
‘I think he was betrayed. It was a hard time,’ the barista added, flatly.
Sophie continued to browse the photographs. The people looked so ordinary. Underneath them were written their names and all they did during the war. It suddenly struck her how courageous people could be.
The young guy smiled at her as a new customer walked into the café. ‘I have to go and serve, but feel free to stay.’ He saluted her. ‘Vive la France.’ And off he went, being drawn into happy chatter with a new customer.
She sat down at the table in front of the photo wall, slowly drinking her coffee and pulling off pieces of the delectably warm croissant to pop