Before the outbreak of the War, the Soviet Union had signed a peace agreement with Germany and had stuck to it, watching while the Nazi soldiers marched into Warsaw, Brussels, Paris and, finally, in 1944, London. That was when the Royal Family had fled to safety in Northern Ireland, then exile in Canada a month later, for it seemed all was lost. Six months after that the Red Army’s twelve million fresh troops had overrun the over-stretched German lines to claim all that territory for themselves; and the Soviets’ ensuing advance up through Britain had been halted only when the Americans had arrived in the North. The Royal Family had followed and taken up residence in Holyrood, their Edinburgh home. But, in the drizzle outside the Herne Bay Party meeting, it was explained to me that, while the glorious arrival of the Red Army was to be frequently celebrated, no reference was ever to be made to the Soviet Union’s prior agreement with the Nazis. It was no longer history. Well, I had my misgivings, but I tacitly agreed. After all, the past was less important than the future.

As I drew close to our house now, I saw someone on our doorstep: Charles. I felt such a rush of relief. We were hardly friends but here was someone who knew Nick, who would sympathize and help. Maybe he even knew something about why they had taken Nick, or what could have happened to Lorelei, and could lead me through the confusion.

‘Mrs Cawson. I have been calling for an hour. Is Dr Cawson here?’ he asked as soon as I was within earshot.

‘Oh, God, he’s been arrested,’ I said.

He stopped, confused. ‘The police?’

‘NatSec.’

Confusion turned to amazement. ‘They took him to Great Queen Street?’

‘Yes. They –’

‘No.’ He looked around to see if anyone had overheard. ‘Tell me inside.’

I was gabbling, I knew, as we hurried to the parlour. Charles had a limping gait, the result, Nick had once told me, of taking a round to his hip on D-Day, and I was rushing ahead of him. ‘Lorelei. She’s …’ The shock came back to me as we reached the room. ‘I found her dead.’ His mouth fell open. ‘In her home.’

‘Her home?’ He could only repeat what I had said, as if it couldn’t be true.

‘The bathroom. She drowned.’

‘Why?’ he asked after swallowing hard. ‘What –’

‘I don’t know. I don’t know. They’ve taken Nick. Why do you think they did that?’

He stared at me. ‘I have no idea. Was he there?’

‘No,’ I said, fighting back tears.

‘What happened to her?’

‘They’re trying to find out. Can you think of anything about her, why it could have happened?’

He shook his head, scratching that rash on his hand until it became an angry crimson. ‘What did they tell you?’