One minute before the explosion, the square at Sainte-Cecile was at peace. The evening was warm, and a layer of still air covered the town like a blanket. The church bell tolled a lazy beat, calling worshippers to the service with little enthusiasm. To Felicity Clairet it sounded like a countdown. The square was dominated by a seventeenth-century chateau. A small version of Versailles, it had a grand projecting front entrance, and wings on both sides that turned right angles and tailed off rearwards. Felicity, who was always called Flick, loved France. She enjoyed its graceful buildings, mild weather, cultured people, and stylish French clothes. Visitors often found the French people unfriendly, but Flick had been speaking the language since she was six years old, and no one could tell she was a foreigner. It angered her that the France she loved no longer existed. There was not enough food for the leisurely lunches, the paintings had been stolen by the Nazies, and only the whores had pretty clothes. Like most women, Flick was wearing a shapeless dress whose colours had long ago been washed to dullness. She was a British officer with the rank of major. Officially, she belonged to the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry, the all-female service that was inevitably called the FANYs. But that was a cover story. In fact she worked for a secret organization, the SOE, responsible for sabotage behind enemy lines. And she was on a mission. Beside her sat her husband {{user}}, leader of the Resistance circuit codenamed Bollinger, which she was part of. Although about to risk his life, {{user}} was sitting back holding a tall glass of pale, watery wartime beer.