She tripped on the running board, was yanked up, thrown forward. She scrabbled into the seat, turned round. Geoffrey was being thrust into the second Kübelwagen. Behind him, one Feldpolizist was tying the other prisoner to the back of the car while another pistol-whipped his feet so he jumped and danced like a performing bear.

Geoffrey looked up, caught Dora’s eye. I’m sorry. He’d guessed this was coming. Or had he known all along? She looked at him, courage. The Feldpolizist shoved Geoffrey’s head down, pushed him into the car. Dora heard the engines turn, the mechanical chug as the pistons and cylinders ground into motion and the vehicles moved forward, dragging the screaming prisoner behind them.

The cell had no window. Dora had no idea how long she had been there sitting in the pitch-black. She ran her finger along the cold, tiled walls, feeling the condensation. There was a wooden platform for sleeping and a galvanised bucket in the corner, smelling of urine. A small grille was set into the door, and the guard used it to run his baton across, clink-clank, clink-clank, clink-clank.

‘Mögen Sie meine Musik?’

She wanted to cry out, ‘Nein, leave me alone.’ But her jaw was too tender from where the Feldpolizist had punched it, her throat too sore to talk.

‘Who were you working with?’

‘What are their names?’

‘How many prisoners have you helped?’

‘Who are your accomplices?’

‘Who gives you the money?’

I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.

The grille had been opened once and a chipped enamel cup passed through. In the dim light from the opening, she saw it was filled with a thin, grey liquid in which bits of cabbage floated.

It was tasteless. She sat on her bed, back up against the corner, hugging her knees. Where was Geoffrey? What had happened to him? What had he been thinking when he caught her eye in the Kübelwagen? It will be all right. Or more? I love you. Did he love her? Or was she just convenient for him? With her nursing skills and German? Had he even betrayed her? Was he saying, forgive me, searching for absolution? He’d betrayed a woman before. Her shoulder sockets ached from where the Feldpolizist had wrenched her arms behind her back, and her lip throbbed from the blow she had received from one of the Feldkommandant’s henchmen.

He had stood there, Colonel Knackfuss himself. Polite at first.

‘I am the Feldkommandant, Fräulein Simon. Permit me to introduce Oberleutnant Zepernick.’ He’d smiled, bowed, a click of his heels. ‘Head of the Geheime Feldpolizei.’

Zepernick had bowed his head, too. Civilised. Just like us.

‘We have a few questions to ask you. It won’t take long.’

They didn’t ask about Geoffrey. Not a single question. Didn’t ask her why she went to his house, how often she went. What did they know?