‘That’s right. Who did you deal with?’ She winced, as if the memories were painful; as if she hadn’t brought them to mind for a long time and now had to fight through a fog for them.

‘Did you know? Did Lorelei say?’

‘ “My uncle has been in touch.” ’

‘What?’ Tibbot replied.

‘She used to say it. “My uncle has been in touch.” ’

‘When did she say that?’

‘When the orders came.’

‘Where did they come from? What uncle?’

She sighed again. ‘Uncle Sam. Her joke.’

My breath caught in my throat. I had thought that Lorelei – possibly Nick – had been involved with some underground or dissident group, maybe one of the ones distantly encouraged by the Americans. But taking direct orders from them was so much more severe. We all knew that they recruited spies and saboteurs on our side, but I hadn’t imagined for a second that was her life, her level of life-endangering belief.

‘Rachel …’ Tibbot began.

But I interrupted him. The only chance now was that Nick had played no part in what she had been doing, or that Lorelei had been the driving force and he had just gone along with it. If so, the courts might possibly be lenient – years in a camp, rather than the rope. ‘Was Nick involved?’ I asked, trying to suppress the panic in my voice. ‘Was Nick …’ And then she was gone. Without warning, we were in pitch darkness. I heard a rushing sound and a brush of wind. ‘Rachel?’ I called out, my nerves like ice.

There was whispering in the dark. Words I couldn’t make out, followed by a thump on the table. I put my hands out, searching with them as if I could grasp the sounds.

‘She’s there!’ Tibbot said urgently.

The whispering became faster.

‘Rachel?’ I called out. ‘Rachel?’ I probed again with my fingers but found only empty air. Then something appeared: a spark in the black to my side. Another spark. A fire-glow piercing it to create a face that flickered in the light. Tibbot was holding a steel cigarette lighter that cast a pallid glow over Rachel, pressed against the wall with a terrified look on her face. She was repeating something to herself over and over, as if reciting a prayer. I eased myself from my bolted-down chair to approach her, but she flinched away. ‘It’s just a power cut,’ I said, with my hands open. ‘Just the electricity gone out, that’s all. Just the power for the lights.’ She seemed as though she were trying to crawl into the wall. I wondered what happened there in the dark to make her so afraid of it.