Wilde did the same. He had seen the picture of the Führer in the girl’s bedroom, and he knew that the children of Germany were taught in school to believe that Adolf Hitler was the father of the nation. This was not the time to try to disabuse Klara of all she had been told.

‘Will you come with us, Klara?’

The girl nodded. Her shoulders were back now, her fear controlled.

‘We have a long walk.’

*

They made their way to the far side of the lake, then strode out northwards through woods and back into open farmland. If they saw a road, they avoided it. The flat fields, rivers and woodlands of Germany stretched out endlessly; one could almost imagine that the sea must be just beyond the horizon. But that was wishful thinking.

The countryside was coming alive in a rush. Teams of workers marched along the roads and farm tracks. Fields were soon full of men and women bringing in winter crops. Ploughmen were out with their horses, preparing the soil. Wilde tried to skirt these fields and keep them out of sight. He stopped his two companions at the edge of a field. Dozens of men and women were out among the furrows, harvesting a root crop.

‘Zwangsarbeiter,’ Sunny said. ‘Forced labourers from the east. Look at the letters on their jackets – OST. They are from the eastern Baltic beyond Poland.’

‘Will there be guards?’

‘Of course.’

‘Then we have to go another way. We can’t easily explain ourselves.’

‘But this is the right direction. The guards will not care about us.’

‘I disagree,’ Wilde said. ‘We have to avoid anyone in uniform – even if it means going the long way round.’

The ten-year-old girl had barely spoken. Suddenly she turned to Wilde.

‘You are speaking funny! You are not German – you are the enemy.’

‘No, truly, I’m your friend.’

Sunny was agitated. ‘Tom is French, Klara. A guest worker in Germany.’

‘I speak some French, too.’

‘But I am not so good with French,’ Sunny said. ‘So let us all speak the same language for the moment, please? German it is.’

Klara was computing this information. At last she nodded.

‘As you wish,’ she said. ‘But you haven’t told me yet – what has happened at home?’

Wilde had been dreading this. He had been trying to work out what he knew about ten-year-olds; it had always seemed to him that children first became aware of adult concepts at the age of eight, so by ten they must be well aware of certain realities. And the truth about what had happened at Der Steinhof could not be held back for long. But the reality was so horrible and stark that he could not find the words.

‘Sunny?’ he said.