‘That’s all I can let you have this evening, I’m afraid,’ the man calls to someone inside. ‘I might have some more leftovers tomorrow, if you want to come by at closing then?’

They clear the door and someone wearing a hat pulled low over his forehead exits, holding a bunch of lilacs wrapped in brown paper. He strides away, the flowers tucked under his arm.

All other movement in the street freezes.

The pavement lists.

It cannot be.

‘Walter?’

He turns, and stares, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Flashes of Ingrid, the Gestapo. I wasn’t prepared to see him now. Should I run? But I’m frozen in time and space and he comes to me.

‘Hetty! H-how did you find me?’ He seems hesitant, restrained.

‘I never thought I’d actually see you…’

‘Oh?’

‘I mean, what were the chances?’ I whisper.

There’s an awkwardness between us and he shrinks back, rests his shoulder against the wall.

‘Why didn’t you come the last two Sundays?’ he asks after a beat.

‘I wanted to. But so much has happened since we met in the city.’ I stop. We’re so exposed, here on this main thoroughfare. ‘Is there anywhere we can talk? Properly talk? There’s something you should know.’ I remember my resolve. But somehow, in Walter’s presence, everything solid turns to liquid and I feel it slipping away.

Walter nods and shrugs himself off the wall. ‘I know a place. My friend, Lena – her family owns a café. She’s completely trustworthy,’ he adds, turning and walking quickly down the street.

I trail after him. We turn off the main street and, after a couple more turns, we’re standing in a shabby backstreet with ramshackle old houses and a run-down looking café on the corner. A bell tinkles as Walter pushes open the door. I tie Kuschi to a lamp post and follow Walter.

A solitary man sits smoking at one of the tables, his head hidden behind a newspaper. The only other person inside is a dark-skinned young woman of suspect racial origins, serving behind the bar. Walter indicates for me to sit opposite him at one of the tables.

‘Good evening,’ he says, smiling at the girl. ‘Two teas, Lena, please.’

‘I’ll be right with you,’ she answers, clattering around behind the counter.

Walter glances at the smoking man and leans across the table. His face softens. ‘Tell me why didn’t you come on Sunday?’

‘I was afraid we’d been seen in Salamander’s. Now I know we were.’

‘Who saw us?’ His words are calm, but his body tenses.

‘Our maid, Ingrid.’

‘Shit.’

‘Yes.’ We stare across the table at each other.

‘I don’t suppose she remembers you. And even if she does, she doesn’t know you’re a…’ My words fade out.

I think about my resolve. Now. Do it now.