Dr Harry Taylor’s house, Trinity Villa, was a large building of soot-darkened brick in a narrow lane not far from Trinity College, in the very heart of Cambridge. On the way there, while Klara and Johnny seemed to be amusing each other in the back of the car, they had discussed the advantages and disadvantages of the house as a bolt-hole. One thing it had going for it was that it had that rarity in Cambridge, a garage, so that their car could be taken off the street. They had agreed that there were pros and cons to being so close to home. For the moment, they decided it would have to do; Wilde had no real plan beyond trying to prevent Klara from being used as a political pawn.

They arrived outside the house and Lydia handed Wilde the keys. Getting out of the car, he shuffled through them, found the one labelled ‘Garage’ and opened it up. Lydia drove straight in with the children still in the back.

‘Let’s get in the house quickly,’ Wilde said. ‘Then we can try to work things out.’

The house had been neglected, and even Harry’s prized Viennese cold-painted bronze animals had a coating of dust. He had not spent much time here in the past two years. Sheets covered the furniture and the curtains were closed. It was cold, but there was coal and Wilde quickly got a fire going in the living room. The electricity was still on, as was the water, but the phone was dead. Lydia managed to get the wireless working and a classical concert came over the airwaves from the BBC Home Service. Warmth and music worked wonders.

While Klara and Johnny explored together, Wilde told Lydia everything that had happened in Germany and since.

‘I promised her a lovely home, Lydia. Cashbone is offering a lifelong stigma – a stain that will never wash out. The fact that she is innocent of any crime will never reduce her notoriety.’

She put her arms around him and held him close.

‘You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Tom. I would have done the same. The question is, what do we do now?’

Finally the children returned.

‘Is this where you usually live?’ Klara asked Lydia.

‘Well, we live in this town, but not this house. It belongs to a friend of ours, but we can stay here a little while.’

‘I like it, Mrs Wilde. It’s nicer than the last house with those men. It was warm there and the food was good, but I didn’t like it.’

‘No, nor did Tom. That’s why we’ve brought you here, Klara. Please, call me Lydia – I want to be your friend.’ She smiled at the two children. ‘Perhaps you’d help me look after Johnny while we’re here.’

She was holding his hand. ‘He’s so sweet, isn’t he.’

‘I think he likes you, too.’