Turning into the entrance, she found herself in a courtyard, similar to the one the Kobes occupied, surrounded by three-storeyed apartments with ironwork balconies. It was an unexpectedly peaceful place filled with plants.

Not that Laure paid much attention. Struggling to bring herself under control, she perched on the edge of a stone trough and smoked another cigarette. How did Czechoslovakians manage to exist in this way? With such continual anxieties?

A few minutes later, Tomas walked in through the courtyard entrance. Pale, sweaty and clutching at his shoulder. She uttered a cry of distress and ran over to him. ‘They’ve hurt you.’

He flinched at her approach. ‘The goons were after someone who probably got away. That puts them in a bad mood and I didn’t want to give them the pleasure of spotting me. But they did and decided to give me a beating up to prove how much love they feel.’

‘Lean on me.’

His features were drained from the shock. And pain? ‘It’s not too bad. Probably only bruising. I sent you in the other direction because I didn’t want you involved.’

Relief gave her daring. She reached up and pulled his head down to hers and kissed him passionately. ‘You taste of tobacco,’ he said.

‘And you of beer.’

They stood apart. Of the two, it was Laure was trembling with the shock of it. ‘They beat you up for no reason?’

Above, a window banged shut and a trickle of mortar slid down the wall.

‘Do you want to sit down?’

He shook his head. ‘Let’s get out of here’ He put his good arm around her shoulder and they walked into the street, Tomas stumbling ever now and again.

‘I’m going to give you some advice, Laure. If you’re taken, be prepared. They know the answers before they put the questions. It’s an old trick.’

‘And?’

He was talking more to himself than to her. Rehearsing what lay ahead of him, she realized with a new terror.

‘I would be asked what I believe in and I would reply that I believe in peace and equality and whoever is questioning me will almost certainly laugh. And you can see why. Their isms are not mine. The trouble is they reserve the right to make you agree with theirs.’

Apart from a woman with a bulging string bag, the street was empty.

‘They will ask me about the songs and I’ll reply that I’m not prepared to answer as I do not consider the questioner to be a representative of an enterprise that creates my sort of music. They will also put it to me that the music creates anti-social agitation and I will again reply that I have nothing to do with agitation as I find it repellent.’

‘I think I understand.’