Maria listened for Peter’s footsteps on the stairs, and as soon as she heard them, she rushed out to intercept him. The bathroom was occupied so she led him into the cramped toilet and closed the door, locking it with the hook before telling him what had happened.

“If Galina tells Raisa, she will go to the NKVD. There’s nothing surer.”

He exhaled a long, slow breath, but didn’t say anything at first.

“Maybe we should throw the jewels in a canal tonight,” Maria said. “If only I’d listened when you suggested it before.”

“Where are they now?” he asked.

“Here.” Maria showed him. “In my pocket.”

“Give them to me.” He held out his hand. “I’ll dispose of them. Start dinner without me.”

Maria put her arms around him and pressed her body against his, resting her head on his shoulder, breathing in his scent. It was going to be all right.

She opened the toilet door and stepped into the corridor only to see Raisa waiting for her, Galina’s hand in hers and an accusing expression on her face.

“Why would two factory workers have a bag of glittering jewels?” Raisa began. “That’s the question I’ve been asking myself, but I can’t think of an answer. Perhaps you will enlighten me.”

Peter was calm. “Glittering jewels?” He smiled. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful! We would not have to worry about electricity bills then, would we? No, I’m afraid there are no jewels—just some old rock samples I picked up in the mountains many years ago. How is your husband, Mrs. Krupicha? I hope he is prospering at the paper mill?”

Raisa was not going to be fobbed off so easily. “What were you two doing in the toilet?” she asked.

Maria spoke. “I was asking Peter to speak to the man in number eight about the length of his baths, just as you requested. He is on his way now. Aren’t you, darling?”

Peter took a step toward the stairs. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Raisa lifted a hand to stop him.

“What about these rocks? Can I see them for myself? Galina was convinced they were jewels, weren’t you?” She yanked her daughter’s arm.

The girl looked nervous and did not reply.

“Why don’t I go to number eight first, then bring them to your apartment later?” Peter suggested, his tone reasonable. “After supper. I don’t know about you, but I am ravenous.”

“I am here on your floor already,” Raisa insisted. “Why not show me now? It will only take two minutes and will save you a journey later.” She folded her arms, clearly not about to budge.

Maria felt a tight band constrict her chest. Her brain felt so fuzzy she couldn’t think.

“Where did you put them, darling?” Peter asked her, heading to their apartment door. “Are they in the usual place?”