She felt the blood drain from her body, rush to her head. This was it. He had been tricking her, waiting to catch her off guard.

‘I don’t know any,’ she said.

‘No? I heard the Swedes were great singers.’

‘Not me,’ Dora said, adding, ‘I’m afraid.’ Adding, again, ‘You sang a song once. Something like ‘Liebchen, ade.’ Will you teach it to me?’

He smiled at her. ‘You heard me sing that?’

‘In the bathroom,’ she said. ‘I thought it sounded pretty. Far prettier than any song I know. Please sing it to me. You have a good voice.’ She meant it too, she realised.

‘If I teach you the song, will you teach me Swedish?’

Dora swallowed hard. Now she would be caught out. Why did he want to learn Swedish? Nobody spoke Swedish.

‘But you are German,’ she said. ‘The most powerful country in Europe. We must all learn German.’ She warmed to her theme. ‘Swedish will be forgotten.’

Vati had gone to a medical conference in Stockholm once. He learned how to say hello, thank you, goodbye, and Dora practised the words. She was five years old. It was their private code, their special way of saying goodnight, just she and Vati. Hej då, Sverige. Arms round his neck and his moustache tickling her chin. Hej då, Tyskland. Here Vati was, protecting her now, even from the grave. And here she was, sharing those words with a German.

‘Hej då, Sverige,’ she said, raising her arm in the air. ‘Swedish,’ she added.

‘How do I know you’re not insulting me?’ he said. ‘Or Herr Hitler?’

‘Because,’ she had become cunning, ‘you like me, so why would I insult you?’

‘So what did those words mean?’

‘Goodbye, Sweden. I believe you would say, auf wiedersehen.’

He laughed. ‘You learn well,’ he said. ‘Do you like me, Dorachen?’

‘Yes,’ she said. She couldn’t imagine anything else now. ‘Do you like me?’ Love me, even?

He pushed himself off the bed and walked to the bathroom. She heard him wash, watched as he came out and strode towards her. He grabbed her arm and with his free hand smacked her across the cheek. She breathed hard, feeling the smart as the blood rushed to the blow.

‘What am I doing here? With you?’

He yanked her onto her stomach and forced himself into her from the rear, a sharp thrust that made her scream in pain. She lay silent on the bed, quivering, fearful. She felt his hands grip her shoulders and he flipped her on her back.

His eyes were glacier-pale in the half-light. ‘You made me do this,’ he said. He snatched his clothes from the chair, pulled up his underpants, shook the trousers before he threaded his legs through them. ‘Help me dress.’

She felt faint, feeble, her skin clammy. Shock. She knew the symptoms.

‘Now.’