She took his left hand in hers. For a minute, they simply looked at each other, lost for words to fill in the gap. Their lives had changed so dramatically; neither of them was the carefree, besotted young idealist of their days together in the Swiss mountains.

‘I heard something,’ he said at last.

Miriam nodded again. ‘Yes, I know. Dr Kuhn made a terrible mistake but fortunately one of her colleagues pointed it out to her. She then went to great lengths to make contact with me. She had confused me with another woman named Miriam with similar features and is deeply apologetic about her error. She told me that you were in the British Army, and they said you were on secondment here.’

‘That doctor told me that you were a greifer. A catcher of Jews.’

‘I can promise you that wasn’t me. I was in Zurich long before those events. I got married in December 1943; my husband was an Italian businessman who had sought asylum in Switzerland.’

It was information he didn’t want to hear. Nor did he want to hear about her child. ‘How did you get out of Germany? The Red Orchestra got you out?’

‘An underground group of anti-Nazis. I don’t know what name they went by. It’s a long story, for another day.’

‘Maria Dienstag told me they helped you. I didn’t know what to think.’

‘You have spoken to Maria? She is still alive?’

‘She has had a bad time. Her husband was arrested by the Gestapo and executed. Then her baby died. I found her outside your old house, half crazy with grief, trying to find help for the child – but he was already long dead, there in the pram.’

‘Dear Maria, she took me in and saved my life. Where is she now?’

‘I got her to a British military hospital, where she was helped. When I left her, she had finally accepted that her child was dead. She found lodging and food, in return for helping at a church. Hopefully life will improve for her.’

‘Oh, you will give me her address, won’t you?’

‘Of course.’

‘And you, Mo? Your family?’

He tried to tell her they were all dead, but he couldn’t speak. The words stuck in his throat and the tears welled up; for the first time in all these years of war and horror, he wept.

*

When Wilde regained consciousness, he was aware of only one thing – the stench of fire, smoke and metal. Then came the roaring in his ears. He was trying to speak but if any words emerged he couldn’t hear them. Last of all, he saw the face of a woman, Paula, also moving her lips without sound.

He pointed at his ears. ‘I can’t hear,’ he said, though he wasn’t certain the words had actually come out of his mouth.