‘I believe that he has been passing information to you about aircraft development, which you have been passing on to Soviet agents here.’

‘No.’

‘I am informed that that’s exactly what you’ve been doing.’

His hand shot out to the door handle.

‘Wait, Joel, please. I am not interested right now in whether or not you are the leak at this camp. Or in the identity of the person to whom you passed any information. All I’m interested in is finding my brother.’

It took him a full minute to think about that.

‘Help me,’ I said, and even I could hear in my voice how much it meant to me, ‘and I will say nothing to anybody about your involvement.’

Did he believe me? Would he trust me?

‘You have no proof,’ he pointed out. He sat back in his seat and considered my offer.

‘No, but I have an informant. I could start them investigating you. I realise that there are two distinct factions of Communist allegiances in this country. There are the French Communist Party activists like my brother, Isaac, who cause trouble with strikes and industrial demands but who are not actual traitors.’

He turned his face away at the word traitor.

‘Then there are the Communists who are agents of the MGB and report directly to Moscow, feeding them stolen technical, military and political secrets.’ I paused. His gaze did not return to my face. We both knew which one he was. ‘There must be somewhere down here, some house or barn, where at times the agents and their handler meet together to plan their next move. Somewhere they might have taken André. A safe house.’

I took a deep breath and hung my heart on my next words. ‘Do you know of one?’

He brushed a hand across his mouth. I felt the minutes ticking away and André’s life ticking with them. Finally he nodded.

‘If you swear to keep your mouth shut, I’ll drive you there. I don’t want your brother to be killed.’ He looked at me in the dark and I could feel his sadness. ‘I am not a bad man, Eloïse, but I believe Communism is the only decent way forward for mankind.’

I quickly sidestepped that issue. ‘I’ll follow you in my car,’ I said.

He opened the door, turned up his raincoat collar and ran through the pouring rain to his car, which was parked further down the street. But instead of slipping into the driving seat he seemed to have opened the boot and was bent over it, rummaging inside for something. What was he doing? It was hard to see. I peered ahead through the rain, the windscreen awash with the downpour, the noise hammering on the roof and I felt panic rising in me. Something was wrong.