Oh God, Lonia has mentioned Paulo. My son, my darling son, is in danger!

‘Where is your son? Paulo Rennaise? Oh yes, your child told us that he has a different name from her. And do you know what else she told us? She told us all about her family. That she has an aunt and uncle and a cousin living in Poland, and that you are sad because you cannot get any news of them. Aunt Calek and Uncle Abram. And she told me that she thinks their surname is Wronski. Ha! I have news of them. I wired my comrade who is on the occupying force in Poland, and they are dead. Dead, like you will be! You are a Wronski. YOU ARE A FILTHY JEW!’

Ella had wanted to scream out the pain of hearing this news, which she’d prayed so hard not to be true, though the fate of her darling Calek had been preying on her mind.

‘Answer me!’

‘No! No, we are British . . . I have a British passport. Calek and Abram . . . they are friends. I – I went to Poland as a girl. I made friends with Calek. I – I have always said to Lonia that Calek is like the sister I never had.’

‘LIAR!’

This time the blow to her head was more severe, making her ear smart and jarring her neck on her shoulders.

‘We will make further enquiries. Your child will tell us so much more, if we start to slap her.’

‘No-o-o . . . No, please don’t hurt her.’ Between rasping sobs, with tears running from her eyes, Ella had gasped out, ‘I – I am of Jewish descent. I’m not a practising Jew. I . . . was brought up in Britain and never knew my family in Poland. Then, I – I discovered my father had married again. He had a daughter, Calek. I visited her. But not with my daughter, she has never been. She is British. Sh – she has a British father.’

‘Ah – so, Jew, you talk when you know your child may be hurt; well, we can hurt her to get to the truth, especially now that we know she is a Jew, like her mother.’

‘No . . . Please, please . . .’ Oh God, help me – help me! ‘I will tell you everything you want to know.’

‘Lies, you mean.’

‘No . . . If you promise not to hurt my child, I will tell you the truth. Please . . . Oh God, please don’t hurt my child.’

The questions and the torture had gone on for hours, until finally they took Ella back to her cell. Lying on the stone floor next to Lonia, she had taken comfort in seeing a glass that had once contained milk lying empty on the floor. But no comfort alleviated the hatred that she felt for herself. She had sacrificed one of her children to save the other.