He set the sailors to work: one to tidy the house and unbar the doors and windows, another to replace the blown fuse, a third to make tea.

He sat down in front of the woman and looked at her. She was dressed in ill-fitting, mannish clothes; her hair was wet; her face was dirty. Despite all that, she was remarkably beautiful, with lovely amber eyes in an oval face.

Bloggs smiled at the child and spoke quietly to the woman. "What you've done is tremendously important," he said. "One of these days we'll explain, but for now I have to ask you two questions. Is that okay?" Her eyes focused on him and after a moment she nodded. "Did Faber succeed in contacting the U-boat by radio?" The woman just looked blank.

Bloggs found a toffee in his trousers pocket. "Can I give the boy a sweet? He looks hungry."

"Thank you," she said.

"Now, did Faber contact the U-boat?"

"His name was Henry Baker," she said.

"Oh. Well, did he?"

"No. I short-circuited the electricity."

"That was very smart," Bloggs said. "How did you do it?"

She pointed at the empty light socket above them.

"Screwdriver, eh?"

"No. I wasn't that smart. Fingers."

He gave her a look of horror, disbelief. The thought of deliberately… he shook himself, trying to put it out of his mind. And thought again, What kind of woman is she?…

"Right, well, do you think anyone on the U-boat could have seen him coming down the cliff?"

The effort of concentration showed on her face. "Nobody came out of the hatch, I'm quite sure," she said.

"Could they have seen him through their periscope?"

"No," she said.

"This is good news, very good news. It means they don't know he's been… neutralised. Anyway…" He changed the subject hastily. "You've been through as much as any man on the front line. More. We're going to get you and the boy to a hospital on the mainland."

"Yes," she said.

Bloggs turned to the senior sailor. "Is there any form of transport around?"

"Yes a jeep down in that little stand of trees."

"Good. Will you drive these two over to the jetty and get them onto your boat?"

"Surely."

Bloggs turned to the woman again. He felt a tremendous surge of affection mixed with admiration for her. She looked frail and helpless now, but he knew she was as brave and strong as she was beautiful. Surprising her and himself he took hold of her hand. "When you've been in hospital a day or two you'll begin to feel depressed. But that's a sign you're getting better. I won't be far away and the doctors will tell me. I'll want to talk to you some more, but not before you feel like it. Okay?"

At last she smiled at him, and he felt the warmth. "You're very kind." she said. She stood up and carried her child out of the house.

"Kind?" Bloggs muttered to himself. "God, what a woman."

He went upstairs to the radio and tuned it to the Royal Observer Corps frequency.

"Storm Island calling, over."

"Come in, Storm Island."

"Patch me through to London."

"Hold on." There was a long pause, then a familiar voice, "Godliman."

"Percy. We caught the… smuggler. He's dead."

"Marvellous, marvellous." There was undisguised triumph in Godliman's voice. "Did he manage to contact his partner?"

"Almost certainly not."

"Well done, well done!"

"Don't congratulate me," Bloggs said. "By the time I got here it was all over, bar the tidying up."

"Who…?"

"The woman."

"Well, I'm damned. What's she like?"

Bloggs grinned. "She's a hero, Percy."

And Godliman, smiling on his end now too, understood.

Hitler stood at the panoramic window, looking out at the mountains. He wore his dove-grey uniform, and he looked tired and depressed. He had called his physician during the night. Admiral Puttkamer saluted and said good morning.

Hitler turned and peered closely at his aide-de-camp. Those beady eyes never failed to unnerve Puttkamer. "Was Die Nadel picked up?"

"No. There was some trouble at the rendezvous. The English police were chasing smugglers. It appears Die Nadel was not there anyway. He sent a wireless message a few minutes ago." He offered a sheet of paper.

Hitler took it from him, put on his spectacles, and began to read:

YOUR RENDEZVOUS INSECURE YOU CUNTS I AM WOUNDED AND TRANSMITTING LEFT HANDED FIRST UNITED STATES ARMY GROUP ASSEMBLED EAST ANGLIA UNDER PATTON ORDER OF BATTLE AS FOLLOWS TWENTYONE INFANTRY DIVISIONS FIVE ARMOURED DIVISIONS APPROXIMATELY FIVE THOUSAND AIRCRAFT PLUS REQUISITE TROOPSHIPS IN THE WASH FUSAG WILL ATTACK CALAIS JUNE FIFTEENTH REGARDS TO WILLI

Hitler handed the message back to Puttkamer and sighed. "So it's Calais, after all."

"Can we be sure of this man?" the aide asked.

"Absolutely." Hitler turned and walked across the room to a chair. His movements were stiff and he seemed in paim. "He is a loyal German. I know him. I know his family."

"But your instinct…"

"Ach… I said I would trust this man's report, and I shall." He made a gesture of dismissal. "Tell Rommel and Rundstedt they can't have their panzers. And send in that damned doctor."

Puttkamer saluted again and went out to relay the orders.

When Germany defeated England in the quarterfinal of the 1970 World Cup soccer tournament, grandpa was furious.

He sat in front of the colour television set and muttered through his beard at the screen. "Cunning!" he told the assorted experts who were now disgecting the game. "Cunning and stealth! That's the way to defeat the damned Germans."

He would not be mollified until his grandchildren arrived. Jo's white Jaguar drew up on the drive of the modest three-bedroom house, and then Jo himself, prosperous-looking in a suede jacket, along with his wife Ann and their children, went in. Jo said, "Did you watch the football, pop?"

"Terrible, we were rubbish." Since he'd retired from the Force and had more leisure time he had taken an interest in sports.

"The Germans were better," Jo said. "They play good football. We can't win it every time."

"Don't talk to me about bloody Germans. Cunning and stealth, that's the way to beat them." He addressed the grandson on his lap. "That's the way we beat them in the war, Davy, we tricked them proper."

"How did you trick them?" Davy asked.

"Well, see, we made them think…" His voice became low and conspiratorial, and the little boy giggled in anticipation. "We made them think we were going to attack Calais-"

"That's in France, not Germany."

Ann shushed him. "Let your grandpa tell his stories."

"Anyway," grandpa continued, "we made them think we were going to attack Calais, so they put all their tanks and soldiers there." He used a cushion to represent France, an ashtray for the Germans, and a penknife for the Allies. "But we attacked Normandy, and there was nobody much there but old Rommel and a few popguns."

"Didn't they find out about the trick?" David asked.

"They nearly did. In fact, there was one spy who did find out."

"What happened to him?"

"We killed him before he could tell."

"Did you kill him, grandpa?"

"No, your grandma did."

Grandma came in then, carrying a teapot. "Fred Bloggs, are you frightening the children?"

"Why shouldn't they know?" he groused. "She's got a medal, you know. She won't tell me where she keeps it becawe she doesn't like me showing it to visitors."

She was pouring tea. "It's all over now and best forgotten." She handed a cup and saucer to her husband.

He took her arm and held her there. "It's far from over," he said, and his voice was suddenly gentle.

They looked at each other for a moment. Her beautiful hair was greying now and she wore it up in a bun. She was heavier than she used to be. But her eyes were still the same: large and amber and remarkably beautiful. Those eyes looked back at him now, and they both were very still, remembering.