And here he sits in his stolen house? Could it be true?

Walter looks at his watch. ‘We should head back,’ he says. ‘It’s not that I want to, but…’

We’ve reached the end of the field. The path winds into the relative darkness of the woods which lie beyond.

‘Yes. Me too.’

We turn around and retrace our steps. Kuschi lollops past, long pieces of wheat heads sticking from his collar. He looks comical with the yellow fronds waving as he runs. We laugh at him, and the tension is gone. The air is peaceful once more and the morning floats with the sound of birdsong and the ripe, sweet smell of late summer.

Back at the bridge we stand facing each other. I run my fingers back and forth over the rough surface of the stone wall.

‘Well, I guess this is it then,’ he says softly. ‘It was lovely to see you again.’

‘Yes. It’s a shame…’ I look into his face at last.

Those fine blue eyes.

The world tips, just a little.

‘Let’s shake hands and hope that sometime in the future we can be friends again.’ His hand is warm and strong. I fight an urge to step closer and take a breath of him. Shaking hands is too formal.

‘Walter,’ I begin, staring at my feet and his, facing each other on the dirt path, ‘Heaven knows what you must think of me, and I know it’s mad and stupid, and wrong, but can’t we meet here again, like this? There is no real harm, is there?’

‘Hetty…’

His eyes are snug and warm, like home.

‘It would be a total secret. I’ve told no one. I know how dangerous it is for you. I would never tell a soul, I promise. Please, Walter, can’t we?’

He looks away and shakes his head.

There is silence for a long time.

At last he says, ‘Hetty, I would love to see you again. I would love to see you every day. Since we met, two weeks ago, I have thought of nothing but you. But how can it possibly be? Your father is a high-ranking SS officer, for heaven’s sake. I can’t let you put yourself in any danger. As for me, I’d be completely done for if we were caught together. Let’s put a stop to this before we get into anything – anything too hard to get out of.’

He might as well stab me in the heart.

He takes my hand again, and this time, very lightly brushes his lips along the back of it.

Polite.

Old-fashioned.

Somehow, just right for Walter.

‘Fine,’ I say, pulling my hand away. ‘But just in case you should change your mind, I shall walk Kuschi here at first light every Sunday morning from now on, even in winter.’

He stares into my eyes and with a sad smile says. ‘Goodbye, Hetty,’ he says.

I turn quickly and cross the bridge without looking back, Kuschi a comforting presence by my side. And, all the dull and tedious way home, I feel the lingering touch of Walter’s lips on my skin.