For the next two days they didn’t leave the house at all. It was the weekend, which somehow seemed less safe than anonymous weekdays. They had found a pack of cards and Klara taught them Skat, an entertaining German game that occupied them for hours. They also listened to the wireless, mostly classical music punctuated by the occasional news bulletin. The war in the Pacific was looking dire for both America and Britain. Allied shipping continued to take a hammering and, in Eastern Europe, the Leningrad siege intensified. At least Hitler’s troops hadn’t made the promised breakthrough to Moscow. Wilde didn’t envy the soldiers on either side; it would be a cold and bloody winter for all concerned, hunkered down in icy trenches far from home. This place might be their prison, but it was decidedly cosy by comparison.

On Sunday evening, after Johnny had gone to bed, there was a knock at the door. Wilde was about to deal a card and his hand stopped in mid-air. Lydia and Klara didn’t move.

‘Someone knows we’re here,’ Lydia whispered.

‘Wrong house, perhaps. Or kids messing about. Maybe that ghastly old man next door. Just stay still and keep quiet. Whoever it is, they’ll go away.’

‘I think I might have heard a car. Maybe it’s Harry Taylor, home on leave.’

‘He wouldn’t knock.’

Then they heard a voice, calling through the letterbox.

‘Wilde, it’s me, Eaton. Open the door, old boy – I know you’re there.’

Wilde and Lydia exchanged glances.

‘He doesn’t really know we’re here,’ Wilde whispered. ‘He couldn’t do.’

‘Well, if it’s a guess, it’s a bloody good one. Go on, Tom, answer the damned door.’

*

Eaton was leaning heavily on his walking stick, the hint of a sly smile on his face. Behind him there was a dark, official-looking car with a driver. And there was someone else, standing at Eaton’s side.

‘Are you just going to stand there gawping, Wilde? Or are you going to invite us in?’

‘Us?’

‘Ah, you haven’t met, have you? I’d like to introduce you to Frau Romy Dietrich.’

Klara had come into the hallway with Lydia. For a moment, she went rigid as though she had seen a ghost, then her eyes opened wide and she cried out.

‘Tante Romy! Tante Romy!’

Wilde stepped aside. The girl and the woman threw themselves into each other’s arms, hugging, laughing and crying all at once.

*

‘I really think we all ought to come inside or we’ll have the ARP or worse on our case,’ Eaton said at last, gently urging Romy and Klara into the hallway. They seemed unable to break away from each other’s arms. Romy was holding Klara’s face in her hands, kissing away the tears, then hugging her again.

‘Do come in,’ Lydia said.