‘It comes from the war, Paris – Fresnes prison to be precise. That’s where the Nazis banged up the Resistance people. This was written by a young guy they’d arrested in Bordeaux. They suspected him of blowing up a troop train and they were right. They shipped him up to Paris to make an example of him. The death sentence was a formality. They knew that and so did Marcel. He’s in his cell. Tomorrow, at dawn, they’ll take him down to the prison yard and put him in front of a firing squad.’

‘So, what does it say?’ I’ve touched a nerve here. I can tell.

‘You speak French?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then you’ll have to wait. In fact, we can go one better than that. After I’ve finished, you can explain what it was all about.’

He nods, and smiles, and I sense he’s pleased to be given a role. By now we’re approaching the line of offshore buoys. The skipper slips the engine out of gear and brings our little boat to a halt. The swimmers, perfectly choreographed, form a wide semicircle off the landward side. On the beach, I can see the young reporter raising his camera for yet another shot.

‘Enora?’ Bill wants me to perform.

I peer down at the letter. I’ve read it so many times, I’m word perfect, but this is a very special occasion and I’m determined to do it full justice.

‘This comes from a young man who knows he faces certain death,’ I glance up. ‘Under the circumstances, I imagine he might have something important to tell us.’

I bend to the text and begin to read. I’ve no idea how many of this tiny gathering can follow my French but in a sense it doesn’t matter because Sylvester’s translation will come later. What’s more important is getting the delivery right, that subtle, complex balance between raw emotion and something close to solace. By the time I’ve finished, both Beth and Presley are in tears. Neither of them, as I later discover, can understand a word of French.

‘And now for what it all means …’ I turn to Sylvester. He, too, has been visibly moved.

‘Extraordinary,’ he begins. ‘What a perfect choice.’

‘So what’s he saying? What’s this young man telling us?’ This from Nathan.

‘He’s alone in his cell,’ Sylvester says. ‘His name is Marcel. He’s a Resistant and tomorrow he will be shot. He has no quarrel with the verdict. He hates the occupation, he’s no friend of the Germans, but he understands the brutal logic of the Occupation. C’est vrai?’ He’s turned briefly to me.

‘Exactement.’