‘I was a child.’ He exhaled noisily. ‘The toy was important to me. I don’t see how that has any bearing on my life today. Do you think I’ve been pining after that ridiculous toy soldier for the past fifty years? As I grew older and understood the gravity of our situation, I was grateful we’d all got out alive.’

Silence filled the room.

Gessen waited for Vidor to puncture the dead air with a pithy utterance, but he wasn’t one to chat. They might sit like this for days and Vidor wouldn’t blink. In the hearth, a burning log collapsed into coals, sending up a shower of sparks. Every hour with Vidor, Gessen mused, was like trying to scale a tower of glass. With no way to get a purchase, he kept sliding to the ground. At this rate, with Vidor stonewalling at every turn, it could take years to make a breakthrough. Neither of them had that kind of time.

It wasn’t in Gessen’s nature to go rogue and do something unethical, but the previous afternoon, after mentioning his frustration to Ursula, she had floated an interesting idea. It skirted the edge of what he could live with in good conscience, but her suggestion was an excellent one. Brilliant, in fact, and he’d promised her he would give it some thought.

Vidor stood and approached the hearth, where he picked up the iron poker and prodded the coals. ‘Are we done here? I’d like to go back to my room.’

‘Why don’t you tell me about a time your father disappointed you.’

Vidor stared into the flames. ‘He never disappointed me. My father was peerless.’

‘All young children revere their fathers.’ Gessen considered his next words, well aware of their portent. ‘When we’re small, our fathers are indeed gods. All knowing, all powerful. After about the age of nine or ten, however,’ Gessen said, lacing his fingers together, ‘that belief begins to fade, until it is replaced with a more realistic view. The father loses his godlike power and is seen for what he is: human, and thus fallible. A hard truth to learn as a child, but an important one.’

‘My father was a god to me,’ Vidor countered, turning to face him, ‘right up until the day he died.’

‘And when was that?’

Vidor focused on a spot behind Gessen’s left shoulder. ‘In nineteen… I was twenty-six, so, it would have been 1976. No, 1977, rather.’ He scratched the side of his neck. ‘I’d been living in England for several years at the time but made frequent trips across the Channel. We were always close, my father and I, with none of the rivalry you often find between fathers and sons.’

‘What do you mean by rivalry?’ Gessen waited, alert to every twitch and flicker. Vidor tightened his jaw. If he grew angry enough, something of substance might finally burst forth.