He married his architect’s daughter, she heard it said in the years after Harry and she were wed, as if in certain homes in Bath, Brighton or Berwick, architects and their progeny lined up, set squares in hand, along with those other village trades: the gamekeeper’s daughter, the goose-plucker’s, the miller’s scion.

Levi’s daughter married out, was what her father might have heard them say of her in Hampstead, had he cared for public opinion. But he didn’t care. He cared only for Eva and the mistake she made.

ALICE: In her notebook of this time, Eva describes a dream. There is a storm. It is raining so hard that she can’t see anything out at sea. But she knows the man she loves is out there, on a boat, and as the rain falls harder and harder—

JUDGE: Another man, not her husband, clearly?

ALICE: No, the man from Sarajevo. She dreamt of him all her life. The rain falls, blurring her vision. She repeatedly calls his name. She wakes herself up by shouting. But by then it is too late. She has married Harry, of her own volition.

They got married in St Margaret’s, Westminster; Harry was already a young politician for the Conservative Party. She wondered often, in the months that followed, what was usual in marriage, and what was unconventional; but as an only child with no mother it seemed she had little experience to go on. In Yugoslavia, marriage customs were changing. Perhaps marriage customs were changing in England, too.