Chapter 9: Fashion Victim : Paris, December 1941

Anna Prozisc was not a woman to let a simple thing like global conflict interfere with her enthusiasm for haute couture. As a result it hadn't been hard to track her down.

Two of Sandy's "nuns" had kept watch on the fashion houses in the Boulevard Hausmann, under the guise of collecting alms for the poor. On the second day, Sandy was able to tell Clegg that they had spotted her.

Clegg and Sandy took off in a taxi along the right bank, Sandy for once eschewing a military uniform to allow her to pose as a woman seeking out a fashionable new outfit.

To call the establishment where they ended up a shop was rather like calling Notre Dame a church, Freddie thought. The high ceilings, lavish furnishings, chandeliers and supercilious staff all spoke of an establishment used to catering for those who had little concern about how much anything cost. "Where are the clothes then?" Freddie hissed to Sandy as they entered through the tall revolving door that led them into a vast open reception room.

"Don't be so provincial," Sandy smirked. "Here the clothes come to you. You can play the attentive husband while I try on a few things and see if I can find out if Anna is still here."

Clegg grunted. This wasn't his sort of place at all. At least Elly had the good manners to clothe herself without his involvement.

An obsequious man with a thin pencil moustache made his way across the room towards them. "Madame," he oiled, "Monsieur. Comment pouvons-nous vous enchanter aujourd'hui?"

"Something for the Spring," Sandy urged. "Something bright. Something flowered. Something to banish the cares of the world. I feel sure you can please me."

"Of course Madame, please come this way. Would Monsieur like to... ?" Clegg shook his head. "Very well." The two of them disappeared through a door.

Clegg sat down. As he waited an animated argument from the end of the room drew Clegg's attention. A Luftwaffe officer was backing into the room being harangued by a woman that Clegg immediately recognised as Anna Prozisc. Clegg had some sympathy with the man. Flying against a Spitfire was probably a less daunting prospect than that of confronting Anna Prozisc in full flow if the present exhibition was anything to go by. The officer held up his hands in mock surrender and backed away returning to the room in which Freddie sat.

"Frauen!" he exclaimed, he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in exasperation as he took his seat.

Freddie's sympathetic grunt was a sufficient response. He understood German but he knew that if he tried to engage in conversation his accent was likely to give him away. Fortunately the usual level of exchange between men waiting for their women to emerge from a changing room prevailed. Clegg buried himself in a magazine.

The two of them sat waiting for their women. The German with increasing impatience, Freddie with increasing puzzlement.

Eventually, Sandy emerged, followed by one of the shop's flunky's carrying a pile of boxes. "I see you had a successful shop," said Freddie.

"In more ways than one," Sandy said as she led the way out of the shop and flagged down a taxi. She and Clegg climbed in. The flunky piled the parcels in as well.

"What now?" said Clegg as the cab sped down the Boulevard Hausmann and on down to the Place De l'Etoile.

"I'm meeting a very good friend for dinner," Sandy smiled.

"And how does that help?"

"You haven't asked me who the friend is," she said.

"All right," said Freddie, humouring her. "Who are you having dinner with?"

"My new friend, Anna," she said with a laugh. "We got on famously. Girls chatting about fashion; the problems of shopping with men in tow; you know the sort of thing."

Freddie knew exactly.

"One other thing. She was boasting of her conquests. First a Gestapo Major, she said, now a Luftwaffe Oberstleutnant, next she wants an U-boat commander. I think she might be the lady you are looking for."

The taxi stopped outside the convent and the two of them got out. Gallantly, Freddie collected Sandy's parcels.

As he got through the door of the convent the plaintive sound of a cello filled the air. Clegg and Sandy went through to her office to discuss their next moves. Over the course of an hour and a bottle of claret a plan began to emerge. While Sandy went off to dinner with her new friend, Freddie and Jacques went to pay a call on the apartment of Anna Prozic.

"Bon soir," Clegg smiled affably to the maid that opened the door. "Nous chercherons Madamoiselle Prozic."

The maid's French was as halting as Freddie's when she answered, "I'm afraid Miss Prozic is out." Clegg assumed she had been brought from Prague by Anna.

"I wonder if we might wait. Herr Strasser said..."

At the mention of the Major's name, the maid ushered them in. "Please," she said. "Miss Prozic will be anxious to hear any news that you have of the Major." She showed them into a comfortably furnished lounge. "Please have a seat," she said. "May I get you some coffee, perhaps? I do not expect Miss Prozic to return for an hour or more."

"If it's not too much trouble," said Clegg.

"No, of course," the maid responded, scuttling away to the kitchen.

Clegg took the opportunity to nose around. The apartment wasn't large, as far as he could tell there was a the lounge, a dining room, Anna's bedroom, a bathroom, the kitchen and beyond that a small bed sitting room used by the maid. It wouldn't take Jacques and him long to set things up as they wanted.

The maid was the first to discover that their intentions towards Miss Prozic weren't entirely honourable. Freddie was only too happy to engage the girl in conversation as she put down the tray of coffee things. "You must have found Paris strange, after Prague," he said.

"Oh, not so strange," the girl replied. "We have been here many times. Before the war Miss Prozic, she always came for the collections. Spring and autumn. We were often in Paris and ... Mmmmmm!"