‘He was requisitioned by the 2nd SS Panzer Division. Das Reich. It was an elite unit, the pride of the eastern front, and it had a very specific set of orders. It was given the task of wiping out the Maquis. Obliterating the Resistance. And after the Normandy landings they had only one goal. They were to maintain order, no matter what the cost. So they made examples. Villages that sheltered members of the Maquis were viewed as one entity. Be you man, woman or child, you were a Maquis sympathizer. And therefore you were liable for the consequences.’

I realized Cordy’s hand was tightening around mine. I didn’t really feel as though I was in the room any longer. I was in a brightly lit square in a French village, listening to the rumble of tanks.

‘They wiped out whole communities. They mowed villagers down for sport from the backs of their vehicles. As they passed through rural France they left nothing but misery and grief and at the centre of it all, standing by the sides of the SS commanders, was this local man who had discovered a talent for brutality. Favre. He liked them to watch. Enjoyed nothing more than the screams as he slowly went about his work in full view of villagers whose only crime was to offer bread and beer to the men and women fighting for their country.’

‘You sound like he sickens you,’ said Cordelia, and there was surprise in her voice.

‘Of course it sickens me,’ he said, and he displayed a touch of annoyance at her doubting him. ‘They were acts of evil. But his crimes were small beside the atrocities committed by Das Reich. June seventh. A place called Tulle. 100 men between the ages of sixteen and sixty were hanged in the main square in retaliation for the actions of some Resistance members. Favre hurt people for the sport of it. A sharp curved blade and a furnace full of coins.’

Cordelia said nothing. Just stared.

‘June tenth, 1944,’ said Christopher, looking at nothing. ‘Das Reich pressed on into Limousin. They rounded up the inhabitants of a small village. 650 people. They were herded into the square and separated into groups. The women were taken to the church and the men to the barns. The order was given for the soldiers to open fire. The church was set alight. There were only a handful of survivors. The entire place was destroyed.’

‘The gold,’ said Mr Parker, softly, from his armchair. ‘It dripped like candle wax.’

We turned as one. He was stroking the head of the dead bird. He was all folded into himself – tucking in his elbows like they were wings.

‘You were there,’ said Cordelia, and her voice was so quiet it would not have disturbed a candle-flame held to her lips. ‘You’re the man …’