‘It would be provocative to have put the photo of the SS officer in the paper,’ Barbara went on. ‘But the photograph I showed you was of a woman not in uniform. It wasn’t obvious that she was German. Of course, she could have been someone’s wife or mistress, but I thought I’d risk it. When I heard you were a nurse too, I wondered if perhaps you knew my mother, or recognised the woman, or the officer. Especially after I heard your accent.’

Dora smiled, tempted to say, I was on the British side, not the Germans. No, she told herself, keep your counsel, for the time being.

‘I believe my mother was in Jersey during the war,’ Barbara went on. ‘I just don’t understand why she lied to me.’

She wasn’t the first German to lie after the war, Dora thought.

‘May I show you one more photograph, please?’ She produced an envelope from her bag and passed it to Dora.

‘I need my glasses,’ Dora said. She could feel the blood draining from her face. Fight or flight. She knew she didn’t want to see this new photograph. ‘And light.’ She took the picture to the kitchen window and stood with her back to Barbara.

Nurse Hoffmann, in the uniform of the Deutsches Rotes Kreuz, the German Red Cross, arm in arm with Maximilian List. Dora put her hands to her mouth, stifled a cry. Had she given herself away?

Dora didn’t hear Barbara walk up behind her and jumped as Barbara placed her hand on Dora’s arm.

‘I am sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you. Do you know her?’

Dora stared at the photo again. Compose yourself. ‘No,’ she said.

‘Are you sure?’

Dora shrugged. ‘I may have seen her. In a general way. You know, out and about. We’d often see German nurses in their uniforms. But I didn’t know her.’

Barbara took the photograph from Dora and studied it. ‘You see, this woman was my mother.’

‘Your mother?’ Dora had no idea what to say. She thought she’d heard the last of Hoffmann long ago, and now her daughter was standing in front of her. Barbara didn’t look anything like her mother, that was for sure. A relief, too.

‘I believe the man is Maximilian List,’ Barbara said.

Dora swallowed. ‘And why did you think I may know him?’

‘Just because your photo and his, the studio shot of him, were together, in that box. You know,’ Barbara said. She leaned forward, narrowed her eyes. ‘I’m not really interested in you. I should have made that clear. But I am interested in him.’