Page 48 of The Last Library of Paris

Satisfied with whatever he saw there, he turned to me.

‘Good,’ he said.

‘What are you looking for?’ I whispered, my mouth too dry to speak properly.

The Nazi went to the bookcase at the side of the room where there was a jug of water and a glass and poured me a drink. He handed it to me, and I took a grateful gulp.

‘Well, like I always say to the chaps, you can’t be too bloody careful,’ he said in English. ‘There could be listening devices anywhere, or an actual person outside, watching.’

I almost spat my water across the desk as I stared at him in astonishment.

‘You’re British?’ His accent was cut-glass.

‘I am.’ He made a face. ‘Sorry to frighten you.’

It wasn’t often I found myself lost for words, but I really had nothing to say. I opened and closed my mouth like a goldfish.

‘Marcus Oxley,’ he said. ‘Marcus Berger to my German friends.’

I drained the glass of water and put it on the desk.

‘May I?’ said Marcus. ‘I think I saw …’ He came towards me, opened the bottom drawer and took out a bottle of brandy which I kept for special occasions. He uncorked the bottle and poured a generous measure into my empty glass, then he pushed it towards me. ‘It’s good for shock.’

I took a large swig and felt the warmth move down my throat and into my belly. My heart rate was beginning to slow.

I took another drink.

‘You’re British?’ I said again, finally. ‘How?’

‘I work for the SOE,’ he said. I must have looked blank because he added: ‘British intelligence.’

I nodded.

‘You’re a double agent.’

He screwed his nose up. ‘More a sleeper agent,’ he said.

I felt like I was the one who was sleeping.

‘You’re living as a German?’ I said, my head spinning. ‘Living a life as a Nazi officer.’

‘I’m half-German,’ he said. ‘On my mother’s side. Spent my early years in Hamburg but later childhood and the rest in London.’ He grimaced. ‘Things were tricky, after the last war. She had to pick a side, as it were.’

‘I can imagine.’

‘Got the tap on the shoulder when I was at Cambridge, back in ’25. Then I was sent over to Berlin in ’33 when things started to look a bit bleak in Europe.’

This whole situation was barely comprehensible. He looked like a Nazi, but the words coming out of his mouth were so very British, I was almost struggling to understand them. I had no idea what a tap on the shoulder meant, though of course I understood what intelligence was.

‘You’re sending information to the Brits?’ I rubbed my nose. ‘Information you pick up from being part of the army?’

‘That’s the long and short of it.’

I tipped the rest of my brandy into my mouth. ‘You’re a British spy infiltrating the German Army.’

‘Well, it sounds a little dramatic when you put it like that,’ he said, waving his hand modestly. ‘I’m just doing my bit.’

This man was something else.