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wake up. She threw the sheets off her bed and went to the window. She opened the shutters and looked down on the street below. It was totally deserted. In the kitchen, she boiled some water and poured it onto the freshly ground coffee Mémé (the family’s housekeeper) had recently brought back from Brussels. From the Normandy-style wooden bread cabinet in the dining room she helped herself to a piece of bread, warming it up in the oven before spreading it with some of Mémé’s greengage jam.
    As she ate her breakfast at the dining room table, Andrée thought long and hard about the day ahead. Monsieur Langeron had asked her to come to his office at 7.00 a.m. for an important meeting, to which he told her he had also invited three of her colleagues whom she might not know but in whom she could have total confidence. She knew nothing more about why this meeting had been called. Initially she feared she might be in trouble for not doing her work properly, but she had not been reprimanded about anything and she seemed popular with her colleagues. It was true she kept herself to herself at work and never mixed with her fellow employees outside office hours, but no one would have described her as unfriendly. She was always hard-working, approachable and certainly had no airs and graces.
    Having finished her meal, she dressed in a simple navy-blue polka dot dress and flat cream-coloured shoes, and left the flat. On this fresh, warm morning she decided to walk to the Place de la Concorde, where she could catch a bus over to the Assemblée Nationale and then walk along the Quai d’Orsay. As she arrived at Police Headquarters and walked through the main entrance, a policeman saluted her. ‘Bonjour, Mademoiselle, you are very early this morning.’
    Andrée returned the greeting and quickly made her way up to her office where, as yet, no one else had arrived. She placed her handbag neatly in her drawer and with a pad and pen made her way to Monsieur Langeron’s office. Her best assumption was that he might want her to type some personal and confidential letters and, because of his close friendship with Renée, he knew she would be discreet.
    As she knocked at Monsieur Langeron’s door, she could hear the bells of Notre Dame chime seven o’clock. She waited for his acknowledgement and, as she did so, a dark-haired, slim man about her age came up beside her and said hello. Andrée wondered who he was but then the call came to enter. Inside there were two other people, both sitting opposite his desk: a young woman, a little older than Andrée, with auburn hair and a lot of make-up, and a small man who appeared to be in his late thirties but whose hair was already going grey.
    Monsieur Langeron stood up and formally shook the hands of Andréeand the young man next to her before introducing them to the other people in the room.
    â€˜Monsieur Dupont, Mademoiselle Grisson, this is Mademoiselle Griotteray and Monsieur Paul.’
    Langeron came straight to the point. ‘You may be wondering why I have asked you to come to my office so early in the morning.’
    â€˜As you are well aware, we have always closely monitored the number of foreigners living in and around Paris. You, Mademoiselle Griotteray, have carefully checked their ID cards and recorded them on our central filing system. Monsieur Paul, Monsieur Dupont, Mademoiselle Grisson, you have all worked on the same project at different times. The Germans could reach Paris within days and I do not want this information to fall into their hands. They may take over Police Headquarters within the next few days, but it is my intention to remain as head of police. I will take full responsibility for the decisions I make.’
    As he spoke, the little group were all aware of the seriousness of what he was proposing, and each felt a little frightened.
    â€˜On 12 June, all the records on the foreigners will be boxed up and taken down