Cyrus had taken them back to the safe house, after the terrible incident. This one was also a farmhouse. The farmer had converted the roof space of his barn into a hiding place. It was accessed through a hatch that was so cleverly done. It lifted out, rather than being on a hinge, and was cut to precision, so that when the hatch was in place, it was difficult to see the joins and discern that there was anything different about the wooden-beamed ceiling, especially as the hatch was situated above a beam, which gave it even more camouflage. Access was by a ladder, which they climbed up into the loft, pulling the ladder up with them by the rope attached to it, before replacing the hatch.

Inside the loft the floor was covered by straw, to deaden the sound of movement, and contained a chair and two beds piled with blankets, as the only warmth came from the sun through a skylight that couldn’t be seen from the ground. At night it was bitterly cold. A bucket was the only sanitary arrangement. This was lowered in the morning and emptied into the cesspit, then cleaned out, using the only access they had to water – a tap in the farmyard.

The farmer would whistle a certain tune when all was clear, and periodically he’d bring them some food and drink. There was another tune if danger was in the vicinity, but luckily that had never been whistled.

Flors, though happy that Cyrus was unharmed, and in awe of his bravery and the skills he’d shown, had suffered deeply from what had happened to her at the hands of the soldiers. All the heartache that had happened in her life took its toll and she had been taken ill. Weeks had passed, during which the emotional trauma had ripped them both apart, leaving a schism in their relationship.

It was one they both tried to ignore and pretend wasn’t there, but Flors knew it was. She knew the look on Cyrus’s face, which spoke of his feelings at coming across his wife being raped. They couldn’t broach the subject, but it was there like an invisible cord holding them apart.

When Flors’s health had recovered, Cyrus came to her as she lay in bed and told her that he’d been back to the bunker and had found that their cases and Ella’s were still in the long grass where they’d thrown them. ‘Everything is as it was – no dampness or anything. I’ve opened Ella’s case and taken out the money that she told us Arnie had placed there, and I’ve put it into yours. We can pay it back, but it will greatly help our cause.’

With her heart breaking, Flors had asked, ‘Was there anything personal in there – any mementoes?’