It wasn’t an emotion he shared with Eva. If Eva clung to the hope that a German victory would leave British towns and villages intact and Britons enjoying the same lifestyle they now enjoyed, he was not going to spoil their precious time together by taking that hope from her.

A smart black Steyr two-seater screeched to a halt at the kerbside just yards in front of him. The driver was Nicholas and as he stepped from the car, slamming the door behind him, Paul saw by the expression on his face that whatever the news he was in such a hurry to share with him, it wasn’t good news.

He stood still as Nicholas walked towards him, hoping that the bad news was to do with the war and not family. Over the last few months he and Eva had become very close to Nicholas and Ilse. He had introduced Eva to Lotti the first week of meeting her and, much later and with many reservations, had even introduced her to Claus. It was when he had introduced her to Ilse and Nicholas, though, that he’d had the sensation of Eva becoming a part of the family, for she and Ilse had instantly bonded and, as the friendship between Ilse and Eva had deepened, so had his friendship with Nicholas.

Nicholas was a man he admired. He had a gravitas about him unusual for a man in his mid-thirties and his position at the Foreign Ministry was a responsible one. Via it he kept Paul informed of what was going on in the rest of the world, for a word-by-word record of all BBC news and other foreign broadcasts passed through his hands. Only thanks to Nicholas did he know that British troops had landed in Norway and that Norwegian resistance to Germany’s invasion was intense.

‘What is it?’ he said as Nicholas reached him, fearing it was bad news with regard to British troops.

‘Hester.’ Nicholas said bluntly. ‘Claus has just heard via Göring that she was sentenced to death within hours of being taken to Gestapo headquarters. The sentence would have been carried out almost immediately.’

Paul blanched.

A group of soldiers strode past them. A woman with a nearly empty shopping basket bumped into him. ‘Why are we on food rationing if we’re winning the war?’ she demanded querulously. ‘No butter, only a pot of jam a month. How far does that go?’

He didn’t answer her. As she continued on down the busy street, still complaining aloud to anyone who would listen, he said to Nicholas, ‘How can Hugo be told?’

‘I thought a letter from you sent to him by way of one of your distant relatives in New York. It would have to be very innocent-sounding, though. Nothing the censor might pick up on.’

Paul tried to control the sick feeling surging in his stomach. He had been deeply fond of Hester. She had possessed an innate gentleness he had been very drawn towards.