Welcome to my show case for the Paris Agent which is be hosted by Park Row Books, Hanover Square Press, MIRA Books, Graydon House, Inkyard Press , Haper Collins Publishers | Harlequin
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Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Paris-Agent-Kelly-Rimmer/dp/1525826689The Paris Agent : A World War II Mystery
ELOISE
Germany
October, 1944
Perhaps at first glance, we might have looked like ordinary passengers: four women in civilian clothes,
sitting in pairs facing one another, the private carriage of the passenger train illuminated by the golden
light of a cloudless late-summer sunrise. Only upon closer inspection would a passerby have seen the
handcuffs that secured us, our wrists resting at our sides, between us not because we meant to hide
them but because we were exhausted, and they were too heavy to rest on our bony thighs. Only at a
second glance would they have noticed the emaciated frames or the clothes that didn’t quite fit, or the
scars and healing wounds each of us bore after months of torture and imprisonment.
I was handcuffed to a petite woman I knew first as Chloe, although in recent weeks, we had finally
shared our real names with one another. It was entirely possible that she was the best friend I’d ever
known—not that there was much competition for that title, given friendship had never come easy to
me. Two British women, Mary and Wendy, sat opposite us. They had trained together, as Chloe and I
had trained together, and like us, they had been “lucky enough” to recently find themselves imprisoned
together too. Mary and Wendy appeared just as shell-shocked as Chloe and I were by the events of that
morning.
As our captors had reminded us often since our arrests, we were plainclothes assassins and as such, not
even entitled to the basic protections of the Geneva Convention. So why on earth had we been allowed
the luxury of a shower that morning, and why had we been given clean civilian clothes to wear after
months in the filthy outfits we’d been wearing since our capture? Why were they transporting us by
passenger train, and in a luxurious private carriage, no less? This wasn’t my first time transferring
between prisons since my capture. I knew from bitter personal experience that the usual travel
arrangement was, at best, the crowded, stuffy back end of a covered truck or at worst, a putrid,
overcrowded boxcar.
But this carriage was modern and spacious, comfortable and relaxed. The leather seats were soft
beneath me and the air was clean and light in a way I’d forgotten air should be after months confined to
filthy cells.
“This could be a good sign,” I whispered suddenly. Chloe eyed me warily, but my optimism was picking
up steam now, and I turned to face her as I thought aloud. “I bet Baker Street has negotiated better
conditions for us! Maybe this transfer is a step toward our release. Maybe that’s why…” I nodded
toward our only companions in the carriage, seated on the other side of the aisle. “Maybe that’s why
she’s here. Could it be that she’s been told to keep us safe and comfortable?”
Chloe and I had had little to do with the secretary at Karlsruhe Prison, but I had seen her in the hallway
outside of our cell many times, always scurrying after the terrifyingly hostile warden. It made little sense
for a secretary to accompany us on a transfer, but there she was, dressed in her typical tweed suit, her
blond hair constrained in a thick bun at the back of her skull. The secretary sat facing against the
direction of travel, opposite the two armed guards who earlier had marched me and Chloe onto the
covered truck at the prison, then from the covered truck onto the platform to join the train. The men
had not introduced themselves, but like all agents with the British Special Operations Executive, I’d
spent weeks memorizing German uniforms and insignias. I knew at a glance that these were low-ranking
Sicherheitsdienst officers—members of the SD. The Nazi intelligence agency.
The secretary spoke to the guards, her voice low but her tone playful. She held a suitcase on her lap, and
she winked as she tapped it. The men both brightened, surprised smiles transforming their stern
expressions, then she theatrically popped the suitcase lid to reveal a shockingly generous bounty of
thick slices of sausages and chunks of cheese, a large loaf of sliced rye bread and…was that butter? The
scent of the food flooded the carriage as the secretary and the guards used the suitcase as a table for
their breakfast.
It was far too much food for three people but I knew they’d never share it with us. My stomach rumbled
violently, but after months surviving on scant prison rations, I was desperate enough that I felt lucky to
be in the mere presence of such a feast.
“I heard the announcement as we came onto the carriage— this train goes to Strasbourg, doesn’t it? Do
you have any idea what’s waiting for us there? This is all a bit…” Wendy paused, gnawing her lip
anxiously. “None of it makes sense. Why are they treating us so well?”
“This is the Strasbourg train,” Chloe confirmed cautiously. There was a subtle undertone to those
words—something hesitant, concerned. I frowned, watching her closely, but just then the secretary
leaned toward the aisle. She spoke to us in rapid German and pointed to the suitcase in her lap.
Had we done something wrong? More German words but it may as well have been Latin to me, because
I spoke only French and English. Just then, the secretary huffed impatiently and pushed the suitcase
onto the empty seat beside her as she stood. She held a plate toward me, and when I stared at it
blankly, she waved impatiently toward Chloe and spoke again in German.
“What…”
“She wants you to take it,” Chloe translated for me, and I took the plate with my one free hand,
bewildered. Chloe passed it to Wendy, and so on, until we all held plates in our hands. The secretary
then passed us fat slices of sausage and cheese and several slices of bread each. Soon, our plates were
filled with the food, each of us holding a meal likely more plentiful than we’d experienced since our
arrival in France.
“She’s toying with us,” Mary whispered urgently. “She’ll take it back. She won’t let us eat it so don’t get
your hopes up.”
I nodded subtly—I’d assumed the same. And so, I tried to ignore the treasure sitting right beneath my
nose. I tried not to notice how garlicky and rich that sausage smelled, how creamy the cheese looked, or
how the butter was so thick on the bread that it might also have been cheese. I told myself the
increasing pangs in my stomach were just part of the torture and the smartest thing I could do was to
ignore them altogether, but the longer I held the plate, the harder it was to refocus my mind on
anything but the pain in my stomach and the feast in my hands that would bring instant and lasting
relief.
When all the remaining food had been divided between us prisoners, the secretary waved impatiently
toward the plates on our laps, then motioned toward her mouth.
“Eat!” she said, in impatient but heavily accented English.
Chloe and I exchanged shocked glances. Conditions in Karlsruhe Prison were not the worst we’d seen
since our respective captures, but even so, we’d been hungry for so long. The starvation was worse for
Chloe than me. She had a particularly sensitive constitution and ate a narrow range of foods in order to
avoid gastric distress. Since our reunion at the prison, we’d developed a system of sharing our rations so
she could avoid the foods which made her ill but even so, she remained so thin I had sometimes worried
I’d wake up one morning to find she’d died in her sleep.
“What can you eat?” I asked her urgently.
She looked at our plates then blurted, “Sausage. I’ll eat the sausage.”
For the next ten minutes we prisoners fell into silence except for the occasional, muffled moan of
pleasure and relief as we devoured the food. I was trying to find the perfect compromise between
shoving it all into my mouth as fast as I could in case the secretary changed her mind and savoring every
bite with the respect a meal like that commanded. By the time my plate was empty and my
surroundings came back to me, the guards and the secretary were having a lovely time, laughing
amongst themselves and chatting as if they didn’t have a care in the world.
For a long while, we prisoners traveled in silence, holding our plates on our laps at first, then after
Wendy set the precedent, lifting them to our mouths to lick them clean. Still, the guards chatted and
laughed and if I judged their tones correctly, even flirted with the secretary? It gradually dawned on me
that they were paying us very little attention.
“How far is Strasbourg? Does anyone know?” I asked. Wendy and Mary shook their heads as they
shrugged, but Chloe informed me it was hundreds of miles. Her shoulders had slumped again despite
the gift of the food, and I nudged her gently and offered a soft smile. “We have a long journey ahead.
Good. That means we have time for a pleasant chat while our bellies are full.”
By unspoken agreement, we didn’t discuss our work with the Special Operations Executive (SOE). It was
obvious to me that each of the other women had been badly beaten at some point—Wendy was missing
a front tooth, Mary held her left hand at an odd angle as if a fractured wrist had healed badly, and
Chloe… God, even if she hadn’t explained to me already, I’d have known just looking at her that Chloe
had been to hell and back. It seemed safe to assume we had all been interrogated literally almost to
death at some point, but there was still too much at stake to risk giving away anything the Germans had
not gleaned from us already. So instead of talking about our work or our peculiar circumstances on that
train, we talked as though we weren’t wearing handcuffs. As though we weren’t on our way to, at the
very best, some slightly less horrific form of imprisonment.
We acted as though we were two sets of friends on a casual jaunt through the countryside. We talked
about interesting features outside our window—the lush green trees in the tall forests, the cultivated
patches of farmland, the charming facades of cottages and apartments on the streets outside. Mary
cooed over a group of adorable children walking to school, and Wendy talked about little shops we
passed in the picturesque villages. Chloe shared longing descriptions of the foods she missed the
most—fresh fruit and crisp vegetables, eggs cooked all manner of ways, herbs and spices and salt. I
lamented my various aches and pains and soon everyone joined in and we talked as if we were elderly
people reflecting on the cruelty of aging, not four twenty-somethings who had been viciously,
repeatedly beaten by hateful men.
I felt the warmth of the sunshine on my face through the window of the carriage and closed my eyes,
reveling in the simple pleasures of fresh air and warm skin and the company of the best friend I’d ever
known. I even let myself think about the secretary and that picnic, and feel the relief that I was, for the
first time in months, in the company of a stranger who had shown kindness toward me. I’d almost
forgotten that was something people did for one another.
I’d never been an especially cheerful sort of woman and I’d never been an optimist, but those past
months had forced me to stare long and hard at the worst aspects of the human condition and I’d come
to accept a certain hopelessness even when it came to my own future. But on that train, bathed in early
morning sunlight and basking in a full stomach and pleasant company, my spirits lifted until they soared
toward something like hope.
For the first time in months, I even let myself dream that I’d survive to embrace my son Hughie again.
Maybe, even after all I’d seen and done, the world could still be good. Maybe, even after everything, I
could find reason to have faith.
Excerpted from The Paris Agent by Kelly Rimmer, Copyright © 2023 by Lantana Management PTY
Ltd. Published by Graydon House Books.
ABOUT THE BOOK:
For fans of fast-paced historical thrillers like Our Woman in Moscow and The Rose Code,
Rimmer’s brilliant new novel follows three female SOE operatives as their lives intersect in
occupied France, and the double agent who controls their fate.
Twenty-five years after the end of the war, an aging Marcel Augustin is reflecting on his life
during those perilous, exhilarating years as a British SOE operative in occupied France—in
particular the agent who saved his life during a mission gone wrong, whose real name he never
knew, nor whether she survived the war. Piqued by her father’s memories, Marcel’s daughter
Charlotte begins a search for answers that resurrects the unrest and uncertainty from that
period of his life. What follows is the story of Eloise, Josie and Virginia, three otherwise ordinary,
average women whose lives intersect in 1943 when they’re called up by the SOE for
deployment in France. Taking enormous risks to support the allied troops with very little
information or resources, the three women have no idea they’re at the mercy of a double agent
within their ranks who's causing chaos within the French circuits, whose efforts will affect the
outcome of their lives.
As Charlotte’s search for answers continues, new suspicions are raised about the identity of the
double agent, with unsettling clues pointing to her father, and more mysteries are unearthed
from the last days of the war about the eventual fates of Eloise, Josie and Virginia.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Kelly Rimmer is the worldwide, New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of The
German Wife, The Warsaw Orphan, and The Things We Cannot Say. She lives in rural Australia
with her husband, two children and fantastically naughty dogs, Sully and Basil. Her novels have
been translated into more than twenty languages. Please visit her at www.Kelly.Rimmer.com
SOCIAL LINKS:
Author website: https://www.kellyrimmer.com/
Facebook: @Kellymrimmer
Twitter: @KelRimmerWrites
Instagram: @kelrimmerwrites
