Paul hurriedly washed his hands and was pulling his shirt over his head as he stepped out of the bathroom and clattered into Rosie. She was carrying a suitcase of clothes towards the front door.

‘Watch it, bone head,’ she yelled, shoving Paul against the wall.

Stupidly, Paul hadn’t bothered undoing any of his shirt buttons and one of them popped off as he staggered blindly into his bedroom. He threw the shirt and the vest inside it on the bed and glanced around quickly, wondering which of his things he wanted to take. He decided on the alarm clock he’d had for Christmas, all of his clothes – he only had two pairs of long trousers and three shirts anyway – and as much of his painting and drawing equipment as he thought he’d be able to get away with without making his dad mad.

But before he could pack anything, Paul realised he’d need one of the cases stashed under the bed in his father’s room. He spun around quickly, but was surprised to hear his bedroom door click shut and see a man step out from behind it.

Paul dropped his jaw to scream, but within a second a hand was clamped to his face. A fingertip slipped into his mouth and he bit down hard. The man hissed with pain, but it wasn’t enough to stop him shoving Paul backwards on to the bed and pressing the barrel of a pistol against the bridge of his nose.

‘Be silent, or die,’ the man said.

His French sounded fluent, but his accent was unmistakeably German.

CHAPTER FIVE

Marc shared an attic bedroom with twenty other orphans. Their metal bunks were crammed so tight that boys who slept at the far end had to clamber over mattresses to get in or out. To make matters worse Director Tomas had ordered the only window nailed shut after a boy had tumbled out during a mass brawl, and the lack of fresh air left the room with a fragrance you’d be unlikely to find in any Paris boutique.

After Sister Madeline had patched him up, Marc had wiped his eyes and limped up four flights. He’d bloodied several noses to earn the privilege of a top bunk, but Marc’s balls and stomach were agony as he struggled to haul himself on to the mattress. Despite the heat, pain and a couple of little kids jumping between the lower bunks and making a racket, Marc was exhausted and quickly fell asleep.

No boy caned by the director was allowed to eat until the following morning and, having slept through the early evening, Marc woke at nine p.m. and was annoyed to find himself wide awake, headachey and starving, as his roommates noisily stripped for bed.