The room is cluttered, with old-fashioned furniture, embroidered cushions, dark tapestries, a burnt-orange rug and lamps. A pair of brass candlesticks stands on the mantelpiece beneath a gilt-edged mirror while a silver samovar sits beside the fireplace below. The wallpaper is dark green and the curtains are red velvet. A polished mahogany piano stands against one wall, stacks of sheet music piled on top of it and heaped in a basket next to it. A circular, dark wood table with sculpted legs occupies the middle of the room, and sports a vase with a single, wilting rose.

‘Tea?’ Eva offers.

‘Thank you.’ Marina sits and listens to Eva moving quietly in the kitchen. She notices the bookshelves. There are volumes of poetry and other works written in Polish. Before Marina is tempted to investigate further, Eva reappears carrying a yellow-flowered teapot, matching cups and saucers and a plate of sweet pastries on a tray. She sets the tray on the table, next to the vase, and takes a seat at the piano stool.

‘Thank you for agreeing to see me,’ says Marina.

Eva bows her head elegantly and looks at Marina with eyes the colour of chestnuts. ‘Ron said you were writing an article about the abandoned baby.’ She speaks quietly, but there’s an eagerness underlying her tone.

Marina feels a pang at not telling the truth and as with Ron she is tempted to explain to Eva, but something is holding her back, a desire not to prejudice people’s view of her. ‘That’s right.’

‘What made you decide on it as a topic?’

‘Well, I’m interested in moving into journalism. I heard about this story and thought I might be able to come at it from a different angle. I hoped you would be able to help.’

‘I was three, so I’m not sure what use I can be.’

‘Yes, I know,’ says Marina gently, ‘but perhaps you heard your parents talking about it through the years. It must have been a huge story in the house.’

‘My father had died by then.’ Eva speaks simply, clasping her hands together.

Of course. Ron had told her that. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I don’t remember him, actually. He had an accident. A car knocked him down. We were in Oxford Street at the time.’

‘You witnessed it? That’s terrible.’

‘Yes, but it’s all right. I don’t remember that either.’

‘Even so. How tragic.’

‘It was worse, obviously, for my mother. They were trying to make a new life here . . . You know, after the war.’

Marina takes a breath. ‘Where did she meet your father?’

‘In London. They were in a similar situation. They married and had me.’

‘Do you have brothers or sisters?’

‘No, my mother had a miscarriage shortly after my father died.’ Eva hesitates. ‘Apparently, I saw that too.’ She gives a hollow laugh. ‘Bad timing.’