Laure stared at his expensive French tie. She longed to ask, adult to adult: Are you cruel to your wife? You can be honest, I come from Yorkshire and we take these things on the chin.

Their gazes collided. She detected in Petr’s dark gaze the gratitude of which he spoke and also something warmer and experienced a tiny thrill. Of what, she wasn’t sure.

Petr cleared his throat. His customary composure had deserted him. ‘I… we… really need your help, Laure. You are clever and discreet, and I know you understand.’

‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘That’s what I am here for.’

In her next letter to her mother, Laure wrote: ‘Although things seem to be straightforward in this country, and the Party is in control, it is also complicated and there are some people who are favoured more than others…’

She stared at the garish pennant beside her on the table which Maria had brought home from the lunch and presented to her. ‘Because you are like a princess,’ she said.

Halfway through writing it, it occurred to Laure that the letter might be read by censors and tore it up.

*

Laure’s contract stipulated that she had two nights off each week.

In Paris, that had been no problem and she had spent her evenings with a bunch of friends ensconced in cafes and boîtes. In Prague, she was unsure what to do with her free time. Yet use it she would, and asked to be relieved on the specified night.

As promised, Petr returned in good time from his office to help Eva. Laure heard him call out to her and the thump of his briefcase hitting the floor.

The children had staggered bath times with Jan coming after Maria had finished hers. Laure had already run water into the old-fashioned enamel tub and stuck Maria into it and was sponging her clean when Petr appeared in the doorway. He stayed there until Laure had wrapped Maria in a towel.

‘A nice scene,’ he said. ‘The best.’ He spoke in French and Marie shrieked with pleasure. Petr gestured to the chair. ‘May I?’ He sat down with a towel and Laure deposited the damp package that was Maria into his lap.

Petr blew into her neck before gently patting her dry with the ends of the towel. Laure looked up from the bath. Careful, full of pride for his daughter, he was absorbed in his task. ‘Nice Daddy,’ said Maria.

Laure was thoroughly confused, as she so often was in the Kobes household. Petr’s behaviour as a tender father did not fit in with that of the wife beater.

‘Do you know where you are going this evening?’ he asked. ‘Perhaps you’re meeting someone?’

She felt a tiny pulse start up somewhere deep inside. ‘I thought I would go to the marionette theatre.’