Dora had watched Vati shave from when she was a little girl, standing by the basin in the bathroom as he pulled his face this way and that. ‘It’s not hard, Doralein,’ he’d said. ‘Thirty-degree angle, down, up.’

It had been one of the most private moments of the day, just she and Vati. They had their best talks then, shared their deepest secrets.

‘Go on,’ List said. ‘There’s plenty of hot water. Soap.’ He smiled.

Dora picked up the facecloth and ran it under the hot tap so it steamed. She returned, laid it on his face. Fetched the soap, and the blade, tying the strap to the bedpost as she prepared to strop it.

‘You’ve done this before,’ List said, his voice muffled by the steaming flannel.

‘I used to watch my father,’ Dora said. ‘But I’ve never shaved anyone.’

He pulled her close. ‘It is one of the most intimate things you can do for a man,’ he said. ‘Despite my better judgement, this is what I want from you.’

She rubbed the soap onto his face, lathering it with her fingers. The soap the women had to use was made from lye and scoured the skin. But this was soft and fragrant, tender as foam in her hand. She felt its balm anoint her own skin, its goodness seep through as she massaged it into his cheek with gentle circular movements.

She took the knife and laid it flat against his skin, pulling it back at an angle, stretching the skin as she remembered her father doing and running the blade down his cheek. Her hand was shaking, so she held the shaft tight. Keep steady.

‘You could kill me,’ he said.

‘Then I’d die too,’ Dora said. They’d execute her, for sure.

‘But would you die inside?’ He took her hand and pushed it against her chest. ‘What do you feel there, in your heart? Do you see a monster, or a dutiful man?’

‘Not a monster,’ she said, after a moment.

‘Don’t you want to kill me?’

She shook her head. ‘No.’ Her voice was soft. ‘No. I want you to live.’ This man who shielded her from the other men when he visited. And frightened her. Could danger be enchanting? Did she thrill to that? Did that make his love elusive, enticing? Exotic, even?

He smiled. ‘Carry on.’ He shut his eyes as Dora scraped, lifting his face, left, right, up, down, before patting it dry. He rubbed his hand around his chin. ‘You have just been promoted,’ he said. ‘Barber to the Kommandant.’

He took her hand and led her to the bed. ‘Make love to me,’ he said. ‘As if you care.’

Dora smelled the scent of the soap, the delicate, freshness of violets.

Afterwards, they lay together in bed. He watched her, stroking her skin with his fingertips.

‘Why don’t you sing me a Swedish song?’ he said.