“It’s true, they recruited us both. An old childhood friend of ours was putting together this department in the War Office and called on us to join him, because we both spoke German fluently, you know, having spent our summers there at my brother’s estate. But I was deemed unsuitable for fieldwork. They never told me why, of course. I suppose I can guess.” She picks up the bottle and refills her glass. “But there it is. Not only am I not in a position to parachute into Germany—even if I were so inclined—I’m apparently unfit for the job to begin with.”

“Nonsense. You’re exactly the kind of person—”

“And there’s the plain fact that it’s against department policy. Don’t you see? I’d have to go against my own superiors.”

“You’re already going against your superiors, hiding me here.”

“That’s different. That’s for Benedict’s sake.”

I lean forward. “Don’t you want to save him?”

“What a thing to say. Of course I do.”

“Then why won’t you do anything about it?”

“Do what? Don’t you see? There’s nothing one can do. You’ve got no idea. Sunning yourself in the tropics. You don’t have the slightest clue what war’s like, you little fool. We’re trapped here, we’re rats in a cage, waiting our turn to die. We’re no better off than Benedict.”

“What if I refuse to wait?”

“We already know the answer to that. You decided to take matters into your own hands—bold, clever girl that you are—and now look. Your little scheme of blackmail has failed, and now you’re in just as much danger as he is. Whatever it is you’ve got against them, it’s more than your own life is worth.” She busies herself with knife and fork, cutting the rabbit. I have the feeling she’s hiding her eyes from me. She chews for a bit, tremendous concentration. Drinks her wine like she’s dying of thirst.

I push the meat around the plate. There is the music of cutlery, the damp, cramped smell of despair. A siren wails from far away. Margaret cocks her head to listen. Her eyes narrow with knowledge, with some ability to decode the keening. After a moment, she shrugs and returns her attention to her dinner.

“This is really quite good. Where did you learn how to cook?”

“My mother taught me. She’s Italian, it’s in her blood. And we didn’t have much money, so I learned to make do.”

“Neither did we. All Mummy’s money went into trust, and I haven’t the slightest idea what became of it. Bad investments, I suppose. Whenever I asked Granny, she wouldn’t answer. She liked to pretend Mummy didn’t exist. The shame, you know.”

“She was so beautiful.”