‘You have three bullets left: make every one count. There seem to be about eight soldiers. I should have six shots. It’s our only chance.’

Looking through the window, Flors saw the soldiers creeping forward on their bellies; the sound of the shot must have made them take up this position. Glancing at Cyrus, she saw him riffling the body at his feet. When he stood up, he held a hand-grenade. Hope seeped into Flors, but then she realized that the other soldiers must have these weapons too, and her hope died.

‘As soon as they get near, fire.’

She couldn’t answer. Peering towards where the Germans were, she saw a hand come up. ‘He has a grenade!’

Another shot almost deafened her as the sound ricocheted off the walls. A crack shot, Cyrus had hit the arm of the soldier wielding the grenade and had stopped him from throwing it. Within seconds an explosion saw the bodies of four soldiers – those surrounding the one who’d dropped the hand-grenade – do a hideous dance in the air, before coming to rest, never to move again.

Cyrus pulled the pin of his grenade and threw it among the remaining soldiers. Another deafening explosion, and then nothing – no sound, no movement, nothing. Not even a bird tweeting broke the silence.

‘Stay where you are, Flors. Keep watching.’

Cyrus’s voice sounded muffled and a long way away, but she did as he bade her and kept her eyes peeled.

A gun being cocked and pointed through the window and into her face shocked Flors. ‘Lassen sie ihre Waffe fallen!’

Flors dropped her gun and raised her hands. Sheer terror shook her body as the soldier ordered more of his men to come round to the front of the building. The realization hit her that the Germans must have split up and surrounded the building. Her own death stared her in the face.

Her life flashed through her head and she saw her happy family laughing and joking on a balmy evening at the beginning of summer. Part of her wanted to smile as she remembered the antics of Freddy and Randie, as they shook a bottle of the new fizzy wine that their vineyard had produced and sprayed each other. Mayhem had broken out, but happy, funny mayhem. The thought faded as more commands came from the German: ‘All of you, drop your weapons and stand back from the window and the door. NOW!’

Flors jumped back. She beckoned to Ella to run into the toilet area, but Ella didn’t move; she stood, as if frozen, against the wall. Lonia’s eyes were as wide as saucers and her mouth dropped open, spit dribbling from her mouth.

‘It’s all right, Lonia. We’ll take care of you.’