‘De Cazalle, Ariane? De Cazalle, Marguerite?’ He looked up after each name, while Madame Ariane indicated its bearer. ‘De Cazalle, Sabine? Ollivier, Suzanne? Menesplier, Henri? Menesplier, Micheline? Menesplier, Florence? Veyrines, Odette?’ He spent some time examining the documents, then slapped the last one down.

‘Who is the owner of this property?’

‘My stepdaughter, Sabine de Cazalle.’

The major spoke in German. Madame Ariane replied in the same language. Suzie realised that she was the only other person, apart from the lieutenant, who understood what was being said.

‘And your husband?’

‘He is dead.’

‘Who is the other child?’

‘She’s the daughter of a friend of mine who became ill with tuberculosis; she’s been living with us for several years now.’ He picked up Suzie’s card again. ‘And where was she born?’

Suzie held her breath. This was the first time her story had ever really been tested.

‘In St Sever, Pas-de-Calais, in 1931.’

‘And this is your farm manager?’

‘It is.’

‘Are there any other family members?’

Without hesitation Madame Ariane replied, ‘The sons of Mr Menesplier are conscripted workers in Germany.’

The major folded his hands on the pile of documents. He was wearing black leather gloves, even indoors. ‘We found some interesting things in our search of your property,’ he remarked.

Suzie felt Madame Ariane beside her stiffen.

‘Do you not want to know what we noticed in particular? A car, a fine car, Hispano-Suiza 1937.’

Still no reply from Madame Ariane.

‘What do you say?’

‘There’s nothing to say. It’s my car and it rests on blocks because I have no petrol to run it. It hasn’t been on the road since 1940.’

‘From now on the house is ours. Neither you nor your family will enter. The garden, the park, the lake are ours also. Please instruct your people they are to keep strictly to their own areas. There will be a curfew from eight p.m. to eight a.m.’

‘The cows are milked at six every morning,’ Madame Ariane said.

‘They must be milked at eight.’

‘Cows are milked every twelve hours. A twelve-hour curfew does not allow time for the milking,’ she insisted.

‘Very well,’ he said indifferently. ‘Eight p.m. to six a.m, for the sake of the cows.’ He obviously could not care less for the cows. Nevertheless, Suzie felt a small surge of triumph at the two hours won. ‘The car also we shall use,’ he finished.

The lieutenant was handing back their papers.

‘May we go?’

‘You may.’

Suzie began to turn before Madame Ariane indicated to them they could leave. She told herself she must be careful not to show that she understood what they said. No one noticed this time because, as the rest of them turned, the major spoke again, addressing Madame Ariane directly. ‘You will return at eight for dinner.’

Madame Ariane stopped and looked back at the major. Suzie, too, halted with her and for the first time examined the German closely. He had risen and was standing by the desk, not wearing his cap, which rested on the table beside him. He looked very fine in his black uniform, she had to admit, tall and frightening. He was not an old man, for his hair was thick and smooth and dark. He had a long thin tapir’s nose, golden-brown eyes, placed too close together. He did not smile. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, about him that was … Suzie sought what she meant … Friendly. Men usually appear polite to women, kindly to children, even if they do not care about them. This man did not bother with even a pretence of good will. He did not like Frenchwomen or children.