He would know perfectly well where she was. Eva and the children had gone to visit their grandmother and she and Petr were alone in the apartment. Nevertheless, she was glad to take a break. Wiping her top lip, she asked, ‘Is there something wrong?’

‘I always regret how many people ask me that.’ He sent her one of his attractive smiles and added wryly, ‘I wish people would ask me what was right.’

She nodded politely.

He leant against the windowsill. Despite the temperature, he was formally dressed in well-cut trousers and a light-blue linen shirt. ‘Have you been in touch with your mother? Does she agree to you staying on?’

‘Actually, Petr, it was my decision.’

She appreciated the boldness of that last statement, which suggested she had – finally – taken a grasp on her life. In truth, since she was only permitted a three-minute telephone call to England, it was difficult to ascertain what her mother thought but she had seemed encouraging. ‘She’s fine about it. She’s thinking of returning to France to live some time in the future.’

‘Would you mind if she did?’

‘No. I’m half French and a big part of me feels at home there.’

He seemed to approve. ‘Feelings for one’s country are a good thing.’

The iron was a heavy, old-fashioned one and, increasingly, given to spasms of rebellion. She adjusted the dial and picked up one of Maria’s frocks.

‘I appreciate that you are in a very different country here and it must be hard for you.’

Where was Petr going with this? She thought rapidly and decided to blind him with knowledge. ‘I understand that this is a country where a social contract between the State and the people works very well. The State promises to deliver economic growth, a high standard of living and free health care and education. In return, the population agrees to conform to the rules and regulations.’

Highly amused, he laughed. ‘Dear Laure,’ he said, ‘you really don’t have to cite such things to me.’ He considered for a moment. ‘You have left out one thing, which is the passion felt by the people who believe in this doctrine but have to work hard to deliver it.’

She glanced sharply at him. This man appeared to be so easy with himself, so kind, so undoctrinaire and, yet, he was favoured by the authorities. Also, she reminded herself, avoiding the good-humoured gaze, this was also a man who had held down his struggling, bloodied wife by her wrists.

‘Is Eva quite well?’ she asked, thinking perhaps she might get some clarity on the situation. ‘I mean, does she have bad dreams?’

‘She does.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘About that time when you saw… I think perhaps you imagined you saw something sinister.’

Laure felt herself colouring up. ‘I didn’t imagine.’