‘Suit yourself, sweetheart,’ the sergeant said. ‘But it’s cosy and warm in here. Where do you want to go? Rouen? We’ll take you, darling. Find you a nice wig.’

She spoke almost no English and did not know exactly what he was saying, but she could guess the import. The sergeant shrugged and disappeared into the depths of the vehicle. The armoured car geared up and gathered speed and soon it was a speck in the distance.

The trees were bare and the vast expanse of farmland was flat and white and bleak. The furrows of the ploughed fields were frozen hard. All she could think of was Nathalie. Her breasts were so swollen, so painful, and her nipples chafed against the blanket. What had Papa done to the baby? His eyes had strayed to the well. He had threatened on more than one occasion to throw her down there.

In mid-afternoon the wind grew stronger and the temperature dropped sharply. It occurred to her that she would die out here and the thought gave her comfort. She had nothing to live for and oblivion had to be preferable to pointless struggle. This would be a good place to die; simply slip away into endless sleep. Her body would disappear into a snowdrift, to be a feast for crows and foxes when the thaw came.

Her progress slowed and became more erratic. What was the point of walking when she wasn’t going anywhere? Darkness fell and she lay down in the snow. It was easy to die, the cold didn’t hurt so much now. The numbness was complete and her eyes closed.

*

In the morning she woke in a hospital bed. A large nurse in starched uniform came over to her. ‘You are lucky to be alive, mademoiselle. A farmer found you and brought you here.’

Lilly said nothing. She had been aware of the farmer, a powerful man with a large handlebar moustache, lifting her gently into his wagon and covering her with a tarpaulin, and then she had slipped back into unconsciousness.

‘I see from your lovely new hairstyle that you are a collaborator,’ the nurse continued.

Lilly did not meet the nurse’s stern gaze, but she had seen her face. It was angry, masculine and strong. She was about thirty and her mouth was set in disapproval and she seemed to be looking down at her from a great height.

‘And from your breasts it seems you have been feeding a baby,’ the nurse continued. ‘Where is the child?’

Lilly turned her face away and buried it in the pillow.

‘Have you killed it? Have you killed your German bastard? Well, mademoiselle, you will be out of here this morning, and good riddance to you. You disgust me.’

*