He grinned. ‘From Yorkshire, and you’re clever and funny and brave and I want every bit of you.’

Stupidly, she asked, ‘Would you go back to Lucia?’

‘Stop it.’

Puzzled, she tried to pick her way through the raw, angry places that this conversation had exposed to find the flaw in his argument. ‘But that’s to be how the State wants you. Acquiescent. I thought rebellion took place in the heart, not just the streets. If you want me, you must do something.’

‘I’m tempted to say that you don’t know what you’re talking about. But, then, you do.’

He continued to stroke her hand, taking care over every joint, exploring the lines running down her palm.

She could disagree. She could be angry. She could beg… but, in a revelatory flash, she saw a way through, using politics. ‘You’re on record as saying you want a new Czechoslovakia, the rule of law, an independent judiciary, free elections, a market economy, social justice… and, as a result, you could be arrested at any moment?’

‘True,’ he seemed indifferent. ‘Although things are happening, the movement is gathering, it’ll be years before the system cracks.’

‘Are you in danger?’

After a moment, he nodded reluctantly. ‘Probably. The warning about the telephone was a clue.’

A flicker of cramp went through the big toe of her right foot as she scrunched it down. ‘Then you must get out. I’ll help you.’

He flung himself back on the grass and slotted his arm across his eyes. Destabilized by the impact, dust sifted towards the river. ‘How do you say in English? Don’t go there?’

‘You can. You can fight ideology and isms by escaping.’ Her confidence stuttered into life and the way forward seemed clear. ‘You know the right people who forge papers?’

‘I do. Not easy and people have been caught. And what happens when I get out?’

She heard her own voice: warm, cajoling, determined. ‘You marry me and then you can get British citizenship.’

He shifted his arm and squinted up at her. ‘I’m doing what I’m doing here. I’m not a deserter.’

‘True desertion is to give up on your country. Whether you are here or there.’ Love had sharpened her insight into him. He would be doubting himself, his future. ‘You’re thinking that, if you came over, no one would know who you are. A rock star with no audience. A nobody. That’s hard after being a somebody here.’

A boat with a lantern at its prow glided across the water, barely breaching the surface, and Laure caught her breath at the sight. ‘But you can, and would be, somebody elsewhere.’