They’d made it back to her cottage safely enough, and Lillian had sorted him out as best she could. He’d removed his wet clothes and had a bath and she’d showed him where he was to stay when she was out. ‘Don’t flush the toilet until I return, and under no circumstances are you to go anywhere near the windows or the door: you understand?’

She made him a cup of tea and a sandwich before cycling to work. She hurried out of school during her lunch break – something she rarely did – and walked briskly to the nearby small parade of shops. From a telephone box, she called a London number. Uncle Andrew is much better. He arrived home from hospital early this morning. He’ll be visiting you as planned, hopefully very soon.

On her journey home after school, she stopped at a farm she only rarely visited and bought some eggs, vegetables and a rabbit. She resented paying black market prices and wasn’t convinced the rabbit was as fresh as they said it was.

Back at the cottage, she prepared supper for them both. ‘I made the call. They know you’re here.’

‘Good.’

‘How do you feel?’

‘I am fine, thank you. I managed to sleep. I have barely slept for many days.’ His accent was appalling.

‘You don’t need to give me any details, but what identity do you have?’

‘I don’t understand…’

‘Your papers – what nationality are you supposed to be? I hope to goodness you’re not pretending to be English?’

‘My papers show I am a Dutch refugee. I am an engineer, travelling to London to work. I specialise in electic, is that how you say it?’

‘You mean electric – electricity. I’d better write it down for you. Do you speak any Dutch?’

‘No. Do many people in this country speak Dutch?’

She assured him they didn’t, but she couldn’t help thinking it was obvious he sounded decidedly German rather than Dutch. ‘And you will leave tomorrow?’

He shrugged, as if he hadn’t got round to thinking about it. Without being invited, he poured the rest of the stew she’d made onto his plate, some of the sauce dripping onto the white tablecloth. She had hoped it would last another meal.

‘I understood you have to be in London within forty-eight hours of arriving here?’

He shrugged again as he reached across the table and helped himself to bread, which he then dipped into the stew. She tried hard not to show her disapproval.

‘There is a station in the village: a train leaves tomorrow morning at eight o’clock. Maybe twenty minutes later it arrives at Willoughby. From there you can catch another train to London, to King’s Cross.’

‘Maybe I go Wednesday.’ He shrugged again, drinking from his glass of water while still chewing, wiping his mouth with an already heavily stained sleeve.