‘Because…’ He swallows hard, and for a moment I think he is going to cry. ‘This is my city, my girl, and I should have as much right as the next man to walk about in the open with her. I’ve thought about it a lot. I’ve spent too long creeping in the shadows. This feels like the right thing to do. It’s defiance against a giant wall of despair. With you at my side, Hetty, I feel strong. You give me that.’

People are bustling all around, but where we stand, his fingers tight around my arms, there is absolute stillness. As though we two, in the midst of this crowded city of strangers, are alone in an invisible oasis of calm.

My thrumming heart slows. ‘It’s going to be fine,’ I nod.

‘Yes, it really is.’ He releases my arms and smiles. ‘Now, I’m starving. Let’s eat.’

‘We’ll never find anywhere.’ I look around the busy square. Every table is taken.

‘All two hundred thousand fairgoers are here, getting lunch,’ Walter observes. ‘Come on, let’s go somewhere quieter.’

We walk south, threading our way through the throngs, passing the imposing new Government buildings and the law courts. We turn down unfamiliar backstreets where it’s quieter; poorer. I’m reminded of the street outside our old apartment block. Children play in the road, several without shoes. An old woman sits on a stool in a doorway, shelling peas. A man pushes a barrow, knocking on doors, trying and failing to sell kitchenware. Skinny, mangy dogs sniff in the gutters.

‘Time for a joke, I think,’ Walter says. He checks behind us, then speaks quietly, so nobody else could possibly hear.

‘Hitler visits a lunatic asylum. The inmates are all lined up. He passes down the line and comes to a man who isn’t saluting. “Why aren’t you saluting, like the others,” he barks. “Mein Führer,” the man replies, “I’m the nurse, I’m not crazy!”’

I swallow a snigger. ‘Walter, really, you shouldn’t tell such jokes,’ I caution. ‘You’ll be sent to a camp if anyone hears.’

‘Sometimes,’ he says, ‘a little humour is the only thing which makes it all bearable.’

We turn into a wider, busier road. Across the street is a large department store. Salamander’s, I read.

‘Perhaps there’s a café in there?’ I suggest.

We walk through the revolving doors. Just inside the entrance stands a board with a store guide and we look down the list of departments; sure enough, there is a café on the ground floor. A shop assistant points us in the right direction. We wander through the rug and curtain departments. The shop floor is quiet.

I try to ignore the creeping feeling that someone might be following.

‘Hetty?’ Walter studies my face. ‘Are you feeling all right?’

‘Fine,’ I tell him, checking over my shoulder.

‘Sure?’

‘Absolutely.’

I force a smile.

‘Good,’ Walter says. He takes hold of my hand and gives it a squeeze, just for a moment, his skin warm and soft against mine.