Petr forked up sticky meat sauce. ‘Why do you wish to know?’

The words were uttered pleasantly enough but there was an undercurrent. Of what? She wasn’t sure. Laure felt herself colour up. ‘Just curious.’

Eva patted her hair which was twisted into an unsuccessful bun. She was looking a lot less smart than she had in Paris. ‘A family lived here for many generations, but they vanished during the war. Lots of people did. They left without taking any of their possessions. Afterwards, Potio Pharma acquired this and other places because they thought it would be a good home for its workers.’ She turned to Petr. ‘And so it is, isn’t it, darling?’

‘That’s right,’ said Petr, his gaze levelled directly on Laure’s face. She had a feeling that she was being reassessed, clinically and unemotionally, which was unpleasant. Then he smiled in his friendly fashion and everything changed. ‘How were the children today?’

‘I took them to a marionette theatre in the Old Town Square. It was good. Sleeping Beauty.’

Eva drank a mouthful of water. ‘Is that the company which that group, Anatomie, is involved with?’

‘Possibly.’

‘Anatomie?’ asked Laure.

‘A rock group. They’re well known in the country,’ said Petr. ‘Eva went to see them perform and came back in love with the lead singer.’

‘Petr, I did no such thing.’

Petr’s grin lit up his eyes. ‘Yes, you did.’

Eva seemed alarmed. ‘Be careful what you say.’

Laure must have looked puzzled and Petr helped her out. ‘Rock stars are considered deviants and subversives. It’s unwise to get mixed up with them.’

Eva looked out of the window. Then she began to laugh, an unpleasant, even unhinged, sound.

‘Eva, you’re tired.’ He leapt to his feet. ‘Why don’t you go and have a bath?’

‘I don’t want one.’

‘I insist,’ he said, ushering his wife out of the room.

Having washed up, Laure went to her room to read. She could hear the murmur of her employers’ conversation in their bedroom opposite. At one point, there were raised voices and feet padding down the corridor. Then, she could she could have sworn she heard Eva cry out. Wooden doors were not exactly soundproof. She wondered if Eva was wearing one of the French nightdresses that made up part of her tasks to launder and which were so much more sophisticated than anything that either Laure or her mother possessed.

A little later, needing the bathroom, she let herself out into the corridor. The door to Petr and Eva’s room was ajar and, like it or not, she found herself peering through to the bed framed in the doorway.

Her nightdress streaked with blood, Eva was lying on her side with Petr bent over her. He had imprisoned her wrists and Eva was resisting. Not very effectively.

He shifted position and Laure saw that his hands were covered in blood too.