‘But I haven’t finished—’

He grabbed her hand, leading the way, out of the shop, walking fast. It had been Anatoly, loitering, spying. He had followed them.

‘Slow down a bit,’ she said. ‘I’m getting a stitch.’ He gripped her hand. Never let her go. ‘It doesn’t matter what train I get. What’s the hurry? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

He had to let her fly, to safety, to freedom. He couldn’t keep her, didn’t deserve her. And Anatoly would not have her. He’d destroyed once before. It wouldn’t happen again. Whatever Anatoly wanted of him now, he’d make sure he kept Betty out of it. He strode on, mulling over the words. She’d think him a cad, and she’d be right. One day, perhaps, they might meet again, and he could explain. I had to let you go, and this is why. He could feel his teeth grind against each other, the muscles in his jaw flexing and tightening.

‘John, what’s the matter?’

He didn’t answer, turned into King’s Cross Road. Looked behind him. They hadn’t been followed, not here.

‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Nothing at all. Except…’ He shut his eyes. He hadn’t rehearsed this moment, didn’t have the words, the easy patter of the bounder. ‘Look, Betty…’ He bit his lip, felt the perspiration on his neck. He loosened his tie, undid the button on his shirt. ‘The thing is, it won’t work.’

‘What are you talking about?’ He could see the hurt in her eyes. She wasn’t making this easy. Did she need him to spell it out?

‘You and me. We can’t. It…’ He wiped his forehead. ‘I can’t see you again. I’m sorry. This has to end.’

Her mouth made a zero and the tears sprang to her eyes. Her lips began to quiver and he thought she was going to cry. Please, Betty, no.

‘Is it me?’ she said, her voice breaking. ‘Is it something I did?’

‘No.’ He wanted to pull her towards him, hold her tight, wipe her eyes, it’ll be all right.

‘Tell me. I’m really sorry. I won’t do it again. I—’ She broke off and he saw her struggling for words, her face furrowing. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘It’s just me. I’m not a very good person.’ He put his hands in his pockets so she wouldn’t see them shake, so he wouldn’t give in and touch her. ‘It’s difficult for me. Maybe it’s because of the war or something. I can’t.’

‘Do you want to talk?’ she said. ‘If it’s the war, I understand. Honestly. What people went through, it affected them.’

He shook his head, looking away. He couldn’t hold her gaze.