I nodded slowly. ‘He was a pacifist – I expect I’ve told you. When the war ended and those pictures of Bergen-Belsen and the other camps were all coming out, it was the only time my mother allowed me to see her cry for him. She was crying partly about the terrible things in the pictures, of course, but she said to me, “Thank God your father didn’t live to see this.” And I understood exactly what she meant. Although he had worked with so many people in all walks of life, and seen some awful things, he still had such strong beliefs in the sanctity of people. There was a kind of innocence about him.’

Douglas squeezed my hand. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t meet him.’

We sat talking over our coffee, well fed, warmed by the cosy room and suddenly intimate. I relaxed, unburdened of the painful thoughts that had marred the train journey. We ordered more coffee, delaying the moment of going upstairs, luxuriating in the sense of anticipation.

As soon as we were in our room our hands were pulling at each other’s clothes. Our lips opened up to each other’s, and I pulled his body in close to mine. He seemed startled at my passionate response to him, drew back and looked at me, and I could see the urgency in his eyes.

‘Stand still,’ he ordered. ‘I want to undress you.’

I realized only afterwards how prominent in his mind was the thought that he was the first person to do this. I waited, my legs unsteady with longing for him. Both of us were breathing fast, shallow breaths. Douglas’s physical presence had always had a strong effect on me and now I could allow those feelings to be satisfied. He slipped off my wool dress, slip, stockings, camisole and the rest of my underwear, his hands trembling as he loosed my breasts. Without giving me the chance to do the same for him, he began to tear off his own clothes, struggling impatiently with his tie and collar studs. He turned his back to me as he removed the last of his clothes. I had never seen him naked before. Shivering, I looked at the broad top half of his body, the strong straight back. His legs were very white, the bad one slightly thinner than the other. He turned, very bashful suddenly, braving both the exposure of his leg and his obvious arousal. At first he couldn’t look at me, as if he was afraid that having seen, I would reject him.

But I wanted him for everything he was. ‘Come here,’ I said. ‘Please.’

His hands flickered over my body, lightly, then with more firmness and confidence. He stood back from me a little, not allowing the lower part of his body to touch me. His hands moved over my breasts, waist, back, and then, as if he could no longer resist, his fingers stroked quickly between my legs. I responded, moving my hips forward, eyes closed.