Betty opened the gate. ‘Stay here,’ she said. She walked up the garden path, knocked on the door. The hall light was off and the front room was in the dark, its curtains undrawn. Her father liked to keep the curtains open. We have nothing to hide. He was frugal with the electricity and the heating, never lit a room or warmed it unless he was using it. This was one thing she had agreed with him on. The English didn’t know how to heat their homes.

The house was silent inside. She knocked again, expecting to hear his impatient voice, Hold on, hold on, I’m coming. She peered through the letter box. There was a light in the kitchen.

‘No reply,’ she called to John, standing by the gate blowing on his hands with the hood on his duffel coat up. ‘I’m sure he’s there. I’ll try the back door.’

‘Let me come with you,’ he said, adding, ‘I won’t come in.’

She opened the gate, sidling past the dustbin. John was close behind her, breathing hard. She tried the handle on the door. It opened. She stepped inside, wiping her feet out of habit on the mat. The kitchen was empty, no traces of cooking, no cups on the draining board, bread on the dresser. That was how her father liked it, without the footprint of the living.

She held out her hand, reaching for John, as she walked into the hall, flicking on the light. The dining room was on her right, the door shut. She peered through the keyhole. The room was in darkness.

‘Perhaps he just forgot to lock up,’ John said.

‘You don’t know my father,’ she said. ‘He always checks and double-checks.’

‘Not if he left in a hurry,’ John said.

She twisted round. ‘Why do you say that? Do you know something?’

John put up his hand, palm outwards. ‘Of course not,’ he said.

She breathed in. ‘Vasily,’ she said. ‘Do you think—’ She broke off, unsure what she thought. ‘Kidnap?’ she said. ‘If the Russians want him, why don’t they just take him?’

‘That’s ridiculous, Betty,’ he said. ‘Governments don’t do that sort of thing.’

‘But they did,’ she said. ‘At the end of the war. The British took my father.’

‘They didn’t kidnap him,’ he said. ‘He came of his own free will. You’re letting your imagination run away with you. There’ll be a simple explanation. Perhaps he’s ill. Or asleep. Where’s his bedroom?’