Whatever the explanation, Petr Kobes could not have been more pleasant or more anxious to help Laure to find her feet. But, it was unsettling not knowing whether to giggle or recoil over the contrast between the man who ensured that the strap on her rucksack was mended and the man who indulged in disturbing and messy acts in his bedroom.

Neither Jan nor Maria slept well in the heat, with the result that they were often fretful by the afternoons and keeping them on an even keel tested Laure’s basic childcare skills. She considered encouraging them to make a model village (something she had loved doing) but there was no cardboard or paints to be had. Card games were more successful but they had their limits.

During the day, they went for walks, sometimes to seek shade down by the river, sometimes up into the orchards and woodlands of Petřín Hill. The days were spent aimlessly and lacked routine. Jan frequently asked when they were going home to Paris and Laure promised to find out from his mother.

It was laundry day. Maria was having her post-lunch rest and Jan had been dispatched to his room with orders to read a book. Outside, the sun pulsed brazen yellow.

An ironing board had been set up in the utility room where clean washing was stacked. Eva sat at the window with her sewing box, mending a tear in Maria’s yellow cotton dress (purchased in Paris) and Laure tackled the ironing. An aroma of hot, clean clothes and starch filled the room.

Laure had considered anxiously what she was going to say. She put down the iron. ‘Jan is worried that you won’t be returning to Paris.’

Eva’s expression revealed nothing. Her stitching was painful to watch. In with the needle, a prolonged tug, out the other side, an inept pull of thread. ‘Is he now?’ she replied.

As she spread one of Jan’s shirts over the ironing board, Laure said, ‘The children see themselves as French.’

‘Don’t ever say that.’ Eva’s head snapped up. ‘They are good Czechs. Good socialists. You don’t know anything about it.’ She savaged the thread with her teeth and thrust the mended dress at Eva. ‘When you’ve ironed this, put it away. Maria mustn’t wear it here.’

Laure happened to know that it was Maria’s favourite dress but didn’t say anything. The rebuff stung. For the first time, she wondered if she had been too hasty in agreeing to come to Prague. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. It’s just they talk about Paris a lot. They miss the park and their friends.’

Eva lowered her voice as if the walls might be listening in. ‘Jan and Maria are Czech. Not Slovak, mind you, Czech. Their home is here. They must understand that and so must you.’