Chapter 2
The following morning, Lizzie stirred just as the grey winter light seeped through the blackout blinds.
She stretched, and the realisation of what she must do flooded her consciousness.
Val had already assigned her next mission to her, and today they would begin preparations for her official posting to Switzerland.
Wearing her FANY uniform—her official First Aid Nursing Yeomanry cover—she readied herself for another long day at Baker Street and hurried downstairs for breakfast. Pa beat her to it, as he usually did and was already at the table reading his newspaper.
‘Good morning, my love. How did you sleep?’ he asked, raising his eyes and smiling at Lizzie.
‘Very well, thank you, Pa. It is good to be home.’
Lizzie enquired about her father’s night’s sleep and settled into a chair at the breakfast table before reaching for a piece of toast and scraping it with a layer of homemade strawberry jam.
Butter was scarce and wasn’t a patch on the creamy yellow heaven they had taken for granted in Jersey.
One day she thought. One day, things would return to normal, and they’d enjoy all the lovely foods from her childhood.
An image of her grandfather showing off Seagrove’s latest crop of Jersey Royal new potatoes popped into her mind.
‘Any news from Jersey? I have been meaning to ask.’
Pa’s eyes clouded over. ‘There have been reports of more deportations.’
‘Who?’ Lizzie asked.
‘A few British Jews still on the island, and the Jerries announced that residents not born there, and World War I veterans, are to be deported to internment camps in Germany.’
This would mean some of her parents’ dearest friends who had fought in the Great War would be deported from their own island.
Lizzie’s toast turned to ashes on her tongue, and she struggled to swallow.
Resting the half-eaten toast on the plate, she drained her coffee cup and fixed mournful green eyes on her father.
Her appetite had deserted her, and she was sick at the thought of the poor families ripped apart by the command of the German occupying forces.
‘Will Nan and Pops be safe?’ she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Pa cleared his throat. ‘They should be fine. Fortunately for them, they were born in Jersey, are not Jews, and Pops was too old to fight in the war.’
‘I wish they would send us another note,’ she said. ‘We’ve sent several without hearing from them again.’
Pa patted Lizzie’s hand. ‘Try not to worry, my love. If there’s one thing of which we can be certain, it’s that if your grandparents are still permitted to send notes via the Red Cross, they will do so.
The postal route is circuitous at best, and I imagine many go missing long before they reach the shores of England. Hopefully, a message will arrive soon.’
Lizzie’s sisters hadn’t appeared for breakfast yet, so Lizzie kissed her father goodbye, and her mother looped her arm through hers as she walked her to the front door.
‘Have a good day, darling, and take care. Will you be late tonight?’
Lizzie turned to adjust her hat in the hallway mirror. ‘Don’t wait up for me, Ma. I’m on night shift—there's lots to do. I’ll see you again soon, though. Don’t worry.’
Rose inclined her head and leant over to drop a kiss onto her daughter’s cheek. ‘If only it were that easy.’
‘I’m safe at the office. The only thing that might kill me is overwork.’ Lizzie laughed and planted a kiss on her mother’s furrowed brow. ‘Have a good day, Ma.’
‘It’s foggy again, so look where you’re going.’
It was just as well Ma didn’t know the truth about her work with the SOE if she was worried about a touch of fog over London.
Lizzie entered Regent’s Park, which was no longer protected by proud iron gates. Park gates and railings had been cut down for the war effort, and in their place stood stone stumps and ugly chain-link fencing.
It was a dry February morning and so far, the winter was milder than in the previous years since her family had moved to London in 1940. Lizzie preferred to walk to Baker Street when the weather permitted, and she took brisk steps along the path, gazing around the park as she walked.
The familiar barrage balloons loomed overhead in the grey sky like an ever-present reminder of war, and the ground was scarred by the bombs that rained down during the Blitz and was now dotted with RAF encampments and cordoned-off areas.
The Victorian park had lost its pre-war glamour and served as a purely utilitarian space.
The famous rose garden Lizzie had so admired on her first summer in London was stubbornly maintained, the last nod to the once elegant park, but now it lay barren in winter.
As she walked deeper into the park, she passed what used to be ornamental flower gardens, converted to dedicated vegetable allotments.
Londoners needed food more than flowers, but Lizzie’s soul yearned for the innocence of the park as she had witnessed it when she first arrived.
Much like the park, she had lost her innocence too.
Now she was a war-hardened SOE agent who could kill a man in a few controlled moves.
She shivered in the sudden wind that stirred the bare trees and whipped across the still lake, drawing her scarf closer around her neck and exiting the park.
The grand stucco-fronted terraces lining the edge of the park were still imposing, but showed signs of damage and desperately needed maintenance.
Lizzie knew that would have to wait until after the war.
It was a familiar refrain where everyone had put their lives and plans on hold for years until that magical day when the war would be over, and they would be free from the Nazi threat.
The Germans had suffered a crushing defeat at Stalingrad, and a renewed sense of hope swept over Britain.
Victory was within their sights and not a distant dream as it had been for so long.
Lizzie checked her watch as she entered the Baker Street building.
It was only 7 a.m., but she knew Val and Jack would already be in, so she went straight to Val’s office.
Her own desk in the corner was, as usual, piled high with files and papers awaiting her attention.
Her demanding job as Val’s assistant was a curious mix of official translation work, deciphering coded messages from their agents in the field in French networks, and anything else that Val passed to her.
The result was that it was never dull, and the hours flew by, which pleased Lizzie because the job occupied her mind, so she had less time to think about the horrors she had seen and the deeds she had undertaken on her missions.
Jack constantly reminded her not to dwell on the past or blame herself for her actions in the field.
They were fighting a deadly war even though she didn’t wear a uniform when she was undercover.
Val’s thick glasses had slipped down her nose as she pored over a document on her desk. Jack sat opposite her, his long legs splayed to one side of the desk and a cigarette in one hand.
‘Ah, here’s Elizabeth. Perfect timing,’ Val said.
Jack winked at Lizzie as he stood and pulled a chair over for her to join them.
‘Good morning,’ Lizzie said. ‘Perfect timing for what?’
Val pushed a file across her desk until it reached Lizzie. ‘We’ve been working on your cover identity. Elizabeth Gale is your new name. Commit all the details to memory, and if anything needs adjusting, let me know.’
Lizzie reached for the file and read a few lines aloud.
‘Elizabeth Gale is posted to Bern and her official job title will be Foreign Office translator-secretary, assistant to the Commercial Attaché.’
Lizzie raised her eyes, which shifted between Val and Jack. ‘Sounds solid. This will be my first mission where I go in as a Brit. That should be interesting.’
‘Yes, that’s why we thought you should use your first name. The simpler the better, but no one will connect you with your real identity.’
‘Gale,’ Lizzie said, rolling the name over her tongue. ‘It has a good ring to it. Elizabeth Gale.’
Lizzie knew from that moment on she would start to become Elizabeth Gale so that by the time she arrived in Bern to take up her new post, she would feel like Elizabeth Gale, and Lizzie Beaumont, or Agent Seagrove would be left in London at Baker Street.
Jack showed none of his usual dour expressions he displayed when she was about to go undercover, and she knew exactly why.
An official posting to the British Legation in Switzerland was one of the safest missions you could get.
No one would know she was there for any other purpose than to assist the Commercial Attaché, not even her new boss.
As with all intelligence work, the fewer people involved and the tighter the circle, the safer for all concerned.
Lizzie continued reading, and neither Val nor Jack interrupted her.
She could see her new fictional role take shape before her eyes.
Elizabeth Gale would work at the Legation, translating French and German documents and assisting in British commercial affairs.
Lizzie Beaumont’s mission was clear. She was to identify and extract evidence that Swiss banks were laundering Nazi-looted gold to finance the war machine.
The Allies were applying diplomatic pressure on Switzerland to freeze German assets and stop collaborating with the Nazis.
Switzerland’s actions were prolonging the war, but so far, the Allied efforts were to no avail. They needed irrefutable proof.
Lizzie was the agent tasked with providing it.