‘Good luck with that.’

‘I wanted to call him myself, but they won’t give me his number.’

‘You could always intercept him.’

‘Where?’

‘He sometimes wanders about in the garden. Old guy with white hair.’

‘Oh, I think I’ve seen him. Does he have a cane?’

‘That’s him.’

‘I thought he was Giovanni.’

Ron laughs. ‘Giovanni’s thirty years younger than our lovely landlord.’

‘I don’t believe he exists.’

‘Giovanni? He does, I promise you. He’s an interesting guy.’

There’s another crash above them. Marina makes a face. ‘How am I supposed to get any work done?’

She tells him about Agata’s memoirs and he listens, interested.

‘Not an easy read,’ he remarks.

‘Not an easy life. An orphan, alone in another country.’

He nods, agreeing. ‘Do you do much research? Must be difficult.’

‘I trust Agata to get her facts right, though I do check dates and main events. I lived in Poland for a bit.’ She hesitates before she says, ‘I visited Auschwitz.’

‘Shit. How was that?’

She shrugs. ‘I told myself that my feelings were irrelevant in comparison to the suffering that had happened there.’ She shuts her eyes, remembering the visit that no words can really describe.

When she glances at Ron again, he is looking at her thoughtfully. ‘Eva’s parents had a similar experience. I mean they both had to flee Poland.’

‘Did they? You said her mother died not long ago. What about her father?’

‘He died too, when Eva was very small – had an accident I think.’

Ron swirls his wine, stares into the glass and adds, ‘She doesn’t talk about it much, or anything about her past for that matter.’

Marina frowns, sensing the disappointment in his voice.

He continues. ‘Of course, she might talk to you since you’re editing articles about the war.’

‘Not articles,’ she says. ‘It’s a memoir. Although . . .’ She stops and plays with the stem of her glass. She is almost tempted to tell Ron the truth, but resists because a new idea is forming. ‘I’ve been thinking about branching out, you know, from publishing into journalism. I worked in local radio for a while . . . a long time ago.’

‘Impressive.’

It isn’t really. She’s exaggerating. Ruth had known one of the producers and had wangled some work experience for Marina when she’d been at school. It had amounted to making tea and running messages.

‘Anyway, I’ve been looking around for a story to write about.’

‘And you’re thinking about Eva’s? I don’t . . .’

‘No, no. Not that,’ Marina says quickly. ‘A local story, a case that has never been solved, which I could find a new angle on, and take to a local newspaper.’

‘Sounds interesting. Do you have anything in mind?’

‘Well,’ she speaks slowly. ‘I did hear that a baby was abandoned in this house.’