‘No!’ she said quickly. ‘I’m not.’ Her face was burning. Could she make it any more obvious that she was lying?

But he merely laughed and held up his left hand in a gesture of surrender. ‘Steady on! Look, I couldn’t help but overhear your little tête-à-tête with Rudi. Or should that be “Kopf und Kopf” or whatever the hell it is in German? In any case—’ he laughed again ‘—your secret’s safe with me, Maggie. I shall call you Poppy if it’s all the same to you. On account of that delightful way you have of blushing. Hey, I’m serious. Don’t take on so!’ He tapped his mouth. ‘Mum’s the word! Believe me, I’m an excellent secret-keeper. Top notch! Come along, Rudi, old chap. There’s a young lady upstairs waiting to put you to bed.’

He took the child’s hand and they mounted the stairs slowly, one at a time. Maggie watched them go with a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Jack Rosman was handsome and charming but he was a total stranger. Could she trust him?

Oh, what did she think she was doing, speaking German here? You never knew who was listening. ‘Careless talk costs lives.’ She knew that saying as much as anyone.

She’d done the very thing she’d warned Mutti about. Stupid, so stupid! She could have banged her head against the rough basement wall.

Chapter 9

‘Did you sort it out?’ Mrs Mason asked, as Maggie came into the kitchen, slamming the scullery door behind her. ‘You’ve been a while.’

She was tying her headscarf under her chin and putting on her coat.

‘Yes, ta,’ Maggie said.

She was out of breath. Once Jack Rosman and Rudi had gone, she’d hurried back down the corridor, given her blouse a quick prod with the posser, left it to soak and climbed the stairs to the kitchen.

Perhaps Mrs Mason knew more about the little boy and why he was here? But on second thoughts, it might be difficult to describe meeting him without admitting she’d heard him speak German and that she’d spoken it herself.

Mrs Mason was tutting. ‘Oh, would you look at that!’ She’d put a finger through a hole in her worsted overcoat. ‘It’s worn right through here and here. You can see daylight. I shall have to darn it.’

‘Or put a patch on,’ Maggie said.

The housekeeper sighed.

‘You could always turn it.’ Maggie knew about turning overcoats; she’d seen Mutti do it often enough. ‘You undo all the seams—’

‘Yes, I know what it is. It’s a question of time—’

‘I could do it for you,’ Maggie offered.