His eyes met hers and she saw the change in them. ‘There are ways. Milos knows about them. He has them ready for any of us who need them.’

‘He’s told me about them.’ Cradling her swelling hand, she took short breaths to alleviate the pain. ‘So you were thinking about it.’

‘We all think about it. It’s a way of keeping sane. But it’s the last, last resort.’ He spoke with great tenderness. ‘If I do this, I need to get the papers, which will take a few days. I’ll have to hide. Milos will have told you about the train from Prague to Vienna on Tuesdays.’ As he sometimes did, he used his thumb to smooth the frown from her forehead. ‘The guard on the Tuesday train can be bribed. But you must do something for me.’

‘Anything.’

‘Kočka.’ Tomas swallowed. ‘Get word that…’ There was desperate sadness. ‘Get word that he should be taken to the vet. The money for it is in the clock on the wall. He’s too old. He won’t thrive without me. We’ve been through too much together.’

She smothered her own tears. ‘I’ll do it.’

‘Listen.’ Tomas was keeping a weather eye on who was in the street. ‘Gmünd … repeat the name.’ She did so. ‘Gmünd is the boundary station on the Austrian border and the most dangerous point. The station after Gmünd is where you should pick me up. Give me a day’s grace just in case.’

She realized then that he was going to be with her.

‘You must be so silent on this. Not a word.’

That was easy. ‘Of course. Never.’

He looked over her shoulder. ‘Things can be got out of you.’

She inhaled a shuddering breath.

‘Don’t listen to what anyone might say about me. Do you understand? Promise me?’

She laid her hand against his cheek, feeling the heat of his skin warm hers. ‘Of course.’

A mother with a baby in her arms was plodding towards them. Her grey cotton skirt had a large wet stain on the lap area. The baby was crying, and she was preoccupied and weary. As she passed, she glanced at them before moving out of sight.

‘I’ll be there, waiting. Waiting for you. For as long as it takes.’ Wincing, she scrabbled in her rucksack. ‘Do you need money? Take this.’ She thrust notes into his hand. ‘Will you have the clothes, the right papers?’

‘Milos knows the right seat to book, the right station, what to say.’

‘I hope your name won’t be Wilhelm.’ She was snatching at a straw. ‘I refuse to love a Wilhelm. It should be Viktor for Victory.’

There was both too much, and too little, to say.

In the distance, a church bell chimed and the sound of additional police sirens.