‘Yes,’ they both agreed. ‘Monte Cassino, yes.’

‘And before that – before you were in Italy?’

For a moment they looked helplessly at each other as if overcome by the enormity of the question. Eventually Piotr shrugged, holding his fork, and said, ‘Everywhere, we have been. Before that – Polska, Poland, our homeland.’

‘I see, yes, of course,’ Sybil said. She had the sense not to push her questioning too far.

Piotr suddenly looked down the table at Michael and grinned. ‘Hey – little Michael! You like it? It’s good?’ He pointed at the food, grinning and nodding.

‘Yes,’ Michael fibbed, nodding back, unable to resist all this good humour. He had barely touched the snoek and was eating only the potato.

‘And you say your sister is coming?’ Sybil asked Marek.

For the first time Katie saw his rather mournful face lift and become more animated. He put his fork down and turned to Sybil.

‘Yes, I think this month. She is coming from Africa – I hear through the Red Cross that she is there. She will come, but first, before she will be coming to this house, she goes to camp . . .’

‘Ah, I see,’ Sybil nodded. ‘To acclimatize – I mean, get used to this country . . .’

The two of them were nodding solemnly.

‘She learn English,’ Piotr added.

‘And how old is your sister?’

Marek considered, head on one side. ‘Now – she will be twenty yearses old.’

‘I see.’ Gently Sybil asked, ‘When did you last see her?’

‘Er – I see her four years ago.’

Katie saw the solemn look on Sybil’s face. She felt the years of the war open out a fraction in her understanding. All of them had been so taken up with their own concerns, their families, the bombing and shortages and, in her case, Simon Collinge and all that had happened to her, that the newspaper headlines and Pathé newsreels had so often felt distant and hardly real. She realized she had only the barest idea of whatever turmoil had taken place across the great span of Europe and beyond.

Very gently Sybil asked him, ‘You are from a large family?’

Marek looked down for a second as if counting, then raised his head. In a flat voice he said, ‘We were seven. Now, I think, we are but two.’

Katie felt the words sink into her.

‘And you?’ Sybil asked Piotr.

He shrugged. ‘My family is six people then. Now – I do not know.’

This led to a silence, filled with questions that it did not seem possible to ask. Then Marek broke it, gazing longingly across the room.

‘You have a piano,’ he said.

‘Oh yes!’ Sybil looked pleased. ‘Why – do you play?’

‘Yes,’ he said in his serious way. ‘In my home, I play piano. I have not played since . . . For a long time.’

Well,’ Sybil invited. ‘You must feel free to play. I don’t think one ever forgets completely. I should love to have a pianist in the house.’