Jackdaws by Ken Follett Page A

noticed—rather lovely green eyes. He
would not have called her pretty: her face was too grown-up for that. The
initial schoolgirl impression was fleeting. There was an aggressive look to her
straight nose and chisel-shaped chin. And there was something sexy about her,
something that made Paul think about the slight body under the shabby dress.
    She reacted with indignation to
Grave's statement. "There's no point in bombing the place from the air,
the basement is reinforced. For God's sake, why did they make that
decision?"
    "Perhaps you should ask this
gentleman," Graves said, turning to Paul. "Major Chancellor, meet
Major Clairet and Colonel Thwaite."
    Paul was annoyed at being put in the
position of defending someone else's decision. Caught off guard, he replied
with undiplomatic frankness, "I don't see that there's much to
explain," he said brusquely. "You screwed up and you're not being
given a second chance."
    The woman glared up at him—she was a
foot shorter than he—and spoke angrily. "Screwed up?" she said.
"What the hell do you mean by that?"
    Paul felt himself flush. "Maybe
General Montgomery was misinformed, but wasn't this the first time you had
commanded an action of this kind, Major?"
    "Is that what you've been told?
That it was my lack of experience?"
    She was beautiful, he saw now. Anger
made her eyes wide and her cheeks pink. But she was being very rude, so he
decided to give it to her with both barrels. "That and poor planning—"
    "There was nothing wrong with
the damn plan!"
    "—and the fact that trained
troops were defending the place against an undisciplined force."
    "You arrogant pig!"
    Paul took an involuntary step back.
He had never been spoken to this way by a woman. She may be five feet nothing,
he thought, but I bet she scares the damn Nazis. Looking at her furious face,
he realized that she was most angry with herself "You think it's your
fault," he said. "No one gets this mad about other people's mistakes."
    It was her turn to be taken aback.
Her mouth dropped open, and she was speechless.
    Colonel Thwaite spoke for the first
time. "Calm down, Flick, for God's sake," he said. Turning to Paul,
he went on, "Let me guess—this account was given to you by Simon Fortescue
of MI6, was it not?"
    "That's correct," Paul
said stiffly.
    "Did he mention that the attack
plan was based on intelligence supplied by his organization?"
    "I don't believe he did."
    "I thought not," said
Thwaite. "Thank you, Major, I don't need to trouble you any further."
    Paul did not feel the conversation
was really over, but he had been dismissed by a senior officer, and he had no
choice but to walk away.
    He had obviously got caught in the
crossfire of a turf war between MI6 and SOE. He felt most angry with Fortescue,
who had used the meeting to score points. Had Monty made the right decision in
choosing to bomb the telephone exchange rather than let SOE have another go at
it? Paul was not sure.
    As he turned into his own office he
glanced back. Major Clairet was still arguing with Colonel Thwaite, her voice
low but her face animated, expressing outrage with large gestures. She stood
like a man, hand on hip, leaning forward, making her point with a belligerent
forefinger, but all the same there was something enchanting about her. Paul
wondered what it would be like to hold her in his arms and run his hands over
her lithe body. Although she's tough, he thought, she's all woman.
    But was she right? Was bombing futile?
    He decided to ask some more
questions.

CHAPTER
    NINE
     
    THE VAST, SOOTY bulk of the
cathedral loomed over the center of Reims like a divine reproach. Dieter
Franck's sky-blue Hispano-Suiza pulled up at midday outside the Hotel
Frankfort, taken over by the German occupiers. Dieter got out and glanced up at
the stubby twin towers of the great church. The original medieval design had
featured elegant pointed spires, which had never been built for lack of money.
So mundane obstacles frustrated the holiest of