Afterwards, when he had finished, she watched him walk down the road with that halting gait of his, and felt lonely. But I can never allow myself to fall in love with him, she said to herself. I’m finished with that.

The orchestra was going through a period of particular energy and enthusiasm. They were working on a programme for a concert they were going to give in December which was ambitious and some of the members found difficult. La attended every rehearsal, and watched Feliks playing his flute. He smiled at her, almost in conspiracy.

‘You get on well with your Polish flautist,’ said one of the cellists. ‘A good discovery, from every point of view.’

La said nothing, but smiled. Orchestras always liked to gossip; people always liked to gossip.

The conductor said to her, privately, at the end of a session: ‘It was a good idea, La, getting that man along. He has a lovely playing style, doesn’t he? The flutes are a joy now.’

She felt proud of her discovery. When December came, after the concert, which proved so popular that two performances were arranged, she invited Feliks back to the house for a meal. He accepted, and they sat in the dining room, Feliks somewhat uncomfortable in a suit that she had not seen before, a grey affair with wide lapels.

‘When this is all over,’ she said, ‘what are you going to do, Feliks? When you have Poland back?’

‘If we have Poland back,’ he said. ‘There are many people who might not want that.’

She was silent. ‘But it’s going our way. It really is. Look at Sicily. Look at Italy.’

He looked thoughtful. ‘We can play Italian music again,’ he said, ‘and not feel uncomfortable about it.’

She laughed. ‘I never felt uncomfortable. Mussolini and his gang don’t belong there. This is not what Italy is about.’

He smiled. ‘You are British,’ he said. ‘You believe that everybody is good. I’m Polish. We look at things differently.’

She inclined her head. She was not sure whether he had paid her a compliment, or otherwise. But he had not answered her question, and so she posed it again.

He shrugged. ‘I shall see how things are. I’m comfortable here, in this country. I like not being frightened of people in uniform. I like warm beer that tastes like …’ he made a face. ‘I like your little orchestra.’

La listened.

10

They knew before it happened. It was clear enough, although there were setbacks, when the Allies met with resistance and things slowed down. But it was obvious now how things were going to end, and people felt a quiet satisfaction – just that. There was no triumphalism – people were too tired, too worn down. But soon it would come to an end, and the nightmare would be over.

Feliks had long since paid for the flute with his work in the garden, but he insisted on coming still, especially now that it was spring, or almost, and the garden needed a lot of work. La watched him from her sitting room, and took him mugs of tea.