‘Of course.’ She began to turn around so that he could see the knot binding her. ‘I’m sorry – I have been so scared.’

‘Keep still.’ The paring knife was not strong enough for the job. He saw the carving knife and tried that instead. Within a minute, he had cut through the cords. ‘There. That is better, yes. But what has happened to your fingers? They are covered in blood. And your head is bruised.’

She clasped her hands lightly against her chest.

‘That woman . . . Her husband was torturing me. I escaped.’

The Pole looked anxious. ‘Is he still around?’

‘He went away – but he may be back. I don’t know.’

‘I think we had better get you away from here, Fräulein . . . What is your name?’

‘Dietrich. Romy Dietrich.’

‘I am Slavo Olkowski. Everyone calls me Slavo the slave.’ He laughed out loud. ‘Come, we will get you to safety. We need to find bandages for your fingers. Do you know this area? Could you find a doctor to help you?’

‘If we can find clean water and a clean cloth I can deal with it myself. I am a nurse and midwife by training. But I am worried about you, Herr Olkowski. If you are a forced worker, you will be in danger by leaving your post.’

‘Oh, please do not concern yourself on my behalf. I worked on a farm thirty kilometres from here. But I have had enough of this country. I am walking home to Warsaw. If I’m shot on the way, well, so what? Better than being worked to death like a horse at the wheel.’

Romy tensed again. ‘Shouldn’t you take the armband off?’

He shook his head. ‘Nobody takes any notice of the foreign workers. But if someone says hello thinking I am a German and I reply with a Polish accent, then I will have trouble.’

She put her uninjured hand on his arm. ‘Thank you for helping me.’

He nodded towards the unconscious Frau Kalt and grinned.

‘That one looks like a witch. Now tell me, dear lady, where is safe for you – where do you want to go? You want to come to Warsaw with me?’

‘Berlin. I have to get to Berlin.’

She said it without thinking. Back to Berlin? Was that really the best idea? Switzerland or Sweden would be safe – but, of course, she had no way of getting there. And in Berlin . . . well, a woman could lose herself there. The irony of the idea did not instantly occur to her; that she had tried to lose herself in Berlin very recently, and had ended up having her fingernails drawn out millimetre by agonising millimetre.