Dragging the manhole cover back into place proved too much for her. She had collapsed into a heap. The world around her spun and, as it did so, Ella had sunk into a deep, dark hole that welcomed her into its depths.

More time had passed – Ella had no notion of how long it was – and she had found herself in a hospital bed, surrounded by doctors and nurses. Not daring to speak, she had waited. A nurse said, ‘You have had pneumonia. Do you know what that is?’

‘Yes . . . I – I am a nurse.’

‘You are?’

‘Where’s Lonia, my child – where is she?’

‘She will join you tomorrow. You are going to a camp for the British.’

Ella had felt gladness enter her, as she’d realized that perhaps her troubles were over.

On the journey, she’d sat in the back of a truck with two soldiers. She could feel their eyes on her. Pulling her coat around her, against the bitter cold coming in from the top half of the truck’s door, she made sure the blanket they’d been given was tucked around Lonia.

Lonia hadn’t spoken a word to her. She hadn’t smiled, and neither had she cried; nor had she shown any emotion on seeing her mother, after Ella didn’t know how long apart.

Now the huge gates swung open. The man attending them seemed too old for the German uniform he wore. Ella stepped inside and looked around her. In front of her was a building that looked like a hotel. To her left, she could see two ladies playing tennis on a court that appeared to have a green carpet covering it. Groups of women sat around chatting to each other, and children played nearby. Ella’s heart lifted. She and Lonia were safe. Interned, but safe. There is a God.

A bitter wind cut through Flors as she stood with Cyrus on the landing strip prepared by the Resistance workers. Trying to get some warmth from the nearness of him, she followed his eyes heavenwards. They were hoping against hope that the pilot of the plane that had a drop for the Resistance would be able to fly them into Switzerland.