‘It’s a nice place you have here,’ she said. ‘You were out earlier, so I took the chance to have a long walk by the sea.’

She had an accent that Joe couldn’t place. ‘You need to be careful,’ he said. ‘When the tide comes in, it can cut you off.’

‘You are expecting me? May I come in?’

Joe looked behind him. Geoffrey sat oblivious to what was going on. He couldn’t hear a word.

‘It’s not convenient, right now,’ Joe said. ‘I’ll walk you to your car.’

He stepped out, shut the door behind him.

‘That’s a shame,’ Barbara said. ‘I go back to London tomorrow. I came here especially. Were you the boxer?’

‘That I was,’ Joe said. ‘That I was. Yes.’

German. Her accent was German, though her English was good, colloquial. Her mother must have come from Jersey, for how else would she have a connection here and know of him? That would explain her English. Perhaps her mother had had an affair with a German, gone back with him at the end of the war.

‘This is such a beautiful place,’ Barbara was saying. ‘How did you find it?’

‘I’m the caretaker,’ Joe said. It wasn’t true, but it would do. ‘It’s Geoffrey’s place.’

‘Geoffrey?’ Barbara said.

‘The old man. You saw him. As a matter of fact, it was he who recognised the photograph.’

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘May I talk with him?’

‘Presently,’ he said. ‘Presently.’

They had reached the car, and Joe opened the door for her. In the distance, he heard the unmistakable bray of Pierre’s engine as he changed gears for the steep hill down to the farm.

‘I am expecting a visitor,’ Joe said. ‘I can’t talk now.’ Or never. Why did she want to churn up the past?

‘Some other time,’ Barbara said as she lowered herself in her seat and put the key in the ignition. ‘I’ll be back, later this summer. Goodbye then. It’s good to put a face to a name. Perhaps I could talk to Geoffrey, too?’

She started the vehicle, put it into reverse, then forward. Turns on a sixpence, Joe thought. But that’s a modern motor for you. She stopped, wound the window down again.

‘I almost forgot,’ she said. ‘I bought you a small present, from Germany.’ She held out a small package. ‘Butterkäse. Cheese. Delicious on potatoes. I hope you like it.’

What was she doing bringing presents? Joe took it, because he couldn’t think what else to do, but he wouldn’t be bought.

Jersey: January – April 1943