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she didn’t know how to answer.
    Elizabeth could only think Paul had been wrong !
    ‘No matter!’ He didn’t seem to expect an answer. He seemed to know all the answers to his own questions. ‘No matter, Elizabeth. You just tell me now about the Pointe du Hoc in 1944 instead.’

2
    TEN YEARS as a school-teacher had taught Elizabeth how to deal with the clever-awkward girls, who had simultaneously known too much for their own good, yet not half enough. But what she had somehow forgotten was how such girls resisted The Enemy.
    ‘The Pointe du Hoc is a headland on the coast of Normandy, between Grandcamp and Vierville—‘
    ‘Spare me the geography, Elizabeth.’ Oliver St John Latimer munched his chocolate. ‘Waterloo is a village near Brussels, and Gettysburg is a small town in Pennsylvania, and neither of them has moved an inch on the map since 1815, or 1863. So the Pointe du Hoc is still where it was in 1944—shall we take that as read?’ He munched contentedly. ‘Just tell me something I don’t know—eh?’
    Dawn, 6th June, 1944, Companies D, E and F, 5th Battalion, US Rangers —
    ‘ Rangers , the Americans called them, Liza—like our Commandos .’ Major Birkenshawe locked a bushy white eyebrow at her. ‘You know what they are? Real cutthroats is what they are, Liza!’
    Elizabeth tried not to wince. Long, long ago, when she had been in pig-tails and short skirts—when Father had first brought Major Birkenshawe to the house—the Major had told her that ‘Elizabeth’ was far too big a name for such a very little girl, and that he proposed to abbreviate it.
    ( ‘ You see, you ’ re a lucky little girl, to have such a name. Liz, Lizzie, Elisa — and Betty, and Bet, and Beth … Bessie, too. And when our Queen was a little girl like you, she was called “ Lilibet ” — shall I call you that, eh? ’ )
    ‘Yes, Major. Like the Paras and the SAS?’ What really bugged her was that, in the kindest and most helpful way, he always took her ignorance for granted still, just as he had done over twenty years ago.
    ‘Funny thing, that,’ said Colonel Sharpe.
    ‘Funny, Colonel?’
    ‘”Rangers”, Miss Loftus.’
    Now, Colonel Sharpe was different, and she was genuinely grateful to the dear old Major for producing him on demand, once she had given him the specification. But then the thing about the Major was that he knew how to obey orders. His wife had taught him that, if not the army.
    ( ‘ If you want a clever fella, that knows his stuff, I ’ ve just the man for you, Liza. Served on Monty ’ s staff, saw it all — probably planned half of it himself, I shouldn ’ t wonder — house full of books, head full of knowledge — resigned to run the family business — would have run the Army otherwise. Retired now — Sharpe by name, and sharp by nature — never got on with your father — funny thing, that — ‘ )
    That last wasn’t really ‘funny’, because Father had never got on with masterful equals who had made successes of their lives. But everything else was undoubtedly ‘funny’ (but not very funny), about the Deputy-Director’s very specific orders. And that not only because any one of the men in the department could have done this job more quickly, if not better, but also (and more) because he had instructed her neither to use any of the department’s immense facilities, human or otherwise, nor to go straight round to the Americans in Grosvenor Square and use any of her professional contacts. And although he must have his reason for this, none was as yet readily apparent to her.
    Sharpe was looking at her, and she had the uncomfortable feeling that he had already smelt a rat, while she could only smell the Major’s fierce tobacco.
    ( ‘ Hugh ’ s girl — Hugh Loftus — remember him, Sharpe? Used to teach the wife ’ s nieces at the High — works for the Government now — Civil Servant — waste of a good teacher — better paid though, eh Liza? ’ )
    Elizabeth waited.