He pulled away from the kerb while Marc was still perched awkwardly on top of the briefcase.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Age had shrivelled Yvette Doran, but years of farm work had kept her fit and her movements were swift and precise. Each night she made Hugo and Paul share a tin bath and inspected them for cleanliness afterwards.

‘Nails,’ she said firmly, as the two boys stood in front of her wearing pyjama bottoms donated by a neighbour.

Hugo held out his hands and Yvette brushed her calloused thumb across the youngster’s soft skin. It had been many years since the old lady had looked after kids and the podgy softness of the six year old’s hands made her smile.

‘Not bad,’ she said fondly, as she kissed Hugo on the forehead. ‘And you combed your hair so it doesn’t tangle. Now show me those teeth.’

Hugo opened up proudly.

‘I’ll make a gentleman out of you yet,’ she said. ‘But you need to get around the back more with the toothbrush. Don’t just clean at the front.’

Hugo leaned forwards and gave Yvette a kiss on the cheek. ‘Goodnight,’ he said fondly, before bouncing up the wooden staircase on his bare feet.

Paul was five years older and the old lady took a quick glance at his nails and made him lean forwards to check behind his ears.

‘How come you don’t do this to Rosie?’ Paul asked.

Yvette laughed. ‘She’s almost a woman. I don’t trust you boys.’

At first Paul had found the inspection a little embarrassing, but he knew that the old lady had a good heart and a week had been enough to get used to her eccentricities.

‘I’ll miss you and your sister when you go,’ Yvette said.

‘We’ll write to you from England,’ Paul said brightly, but the prospect of leaving made him sad. The Dorans’ cottage was a comfortable refuge from the war and much as he wanted to fulfil his father’s wishes and return to Britain with Mannstein’s documents, he wasn’t relishing the prospect of more refugee-strewn roads and a potentially dangerous sea voyage.

‘You can stay down here and draw for an hour if you want before bedtime,’ the old lady said.

Paul shook his head. ‘I’ll just say goodnight to the Father, then I’ll go upstairs and help Rosie pack.’

He walked from the kitchen to the living room, but found the retired priest asleep in his armchair with a newspaper strewn over his lap and reading glasses balanced on the tip of his nose. Paul didn’t want to disturb him, so he crept upstairs and found Rosie. Strands of wet hair hung down her nightdress as she arranged clean clothes inside a suitcase. Hugo always seemed to find a second wind around bedtime and he was jumping energetically on the bed.