In fact das Frettchen looked nothing like a ferret. He was far younger than she’d expected – perhaps even in his twenties – with blonde hair swept back and bright blue eyes that seemed to twinkle. He smiled at her briefly and spoke to the guards in German, which she didn’t understand. She was unstrapped from the chair and taken over to a wooden chair in front of the desk where he sat. A glass of water appeared in front of her, and he gestured for her to drink as if they were acquaintances meeting in a bar. Despite all this, she was mindful of the training she’d had in England on how to handle interrogations, when a man who reminded her of the priest who’d married her and Nicholas only a couple of years before had told her how easy it was to be lulled into a false sense of security. You have no idea how frightened you’ll be. Even someone smiling at you will throw you off your guard. Be alert all the time.

‘Your papers tell us you’re Thérèse Dufour from Paris and that you’re a schoolteacher with permission to travel to look for work.’

He’d addressed her in French and she was surprised that he used the familiar tu for ‘you’ rather than the more formal vous. She nodded and smiled, which he didn’t return.

‘Which is all of course nonsense!’ He was speaking English now and swept her papers off his desk with the back of his hand. ‘So please don’t waste my time and cause yourself avoidable suffering. Tell me who you really are and what you are doing in France.’

She blinked and felt her throat tighten. He spoke good English and sounded as if he was trying to mimic an upper-class accent. Her training had made it very clear that she should endeavour to hold out as long as possible and not speak in English until it was impossible to avoid doing so. She replied in French.

‘I beg your pardon, I’m afraid I don’t understand. My name is Thérèse Dufour and I—’

He held up his hand as if stopping traffic. For a few moments he looked carefully at her before standing up, stretching himself and then strolling towards her. He bent down and she noticed he smelt of cologne and toothpaste; he must have nicked himself while shaving, as there were flecks of dried blood on his collar.

‘One last time, please: your name, those of everyone you work with and the location of your radio operator.’

She shook her head, which she immediately realised was a mistake because she wasn’t meant to understand English. The next thing she was aware of was her chair being kicked, and sprawling across the floor. Her shoulder seemed to take most of the impact. Other people were in the room now, and she was hauled to her feet, dragged over to the wall and pinned roughly against it. The Ferret moved in front of her, a wide grin on his face.