A familiar pattern of taps at the door of her apartment froze her in her tracks, a glass nearly slipping from her fingers. She set it aside and bolted to the front of her apartment, unlocking the door as quickly as she could.

Trepidation and relief coursed through her in equal measures as the man on the other side slipped in. She glanced across the dim landing and down the stairs, but everything remained silent and still. A dozen questions sprang to her mind but she uttered none of them, instead closing the door as silently as possible after him. It had been months since she’d seen Jerome. Months since she’d even heard from him, though rumours had been flying fast and furious of men and women arrested and carted off to prisons or worse for assisting the enemy.

She put up a hand to silence Jerome when it looked as though he was going to speak. Instead, she bade him follow her deeper into the apartment. She retraced her steps back into the living room and set a record on the gramophone. Only when the music started playing quietly did she speak. She couldn’t be too careful.

“Why are you here?” Even hushed, the question came out more reproachful than she had intended.

Jerome pulled his cap off his head, his hair disheveled and badly in need of a cut. “I was in town. Thought I’d drop by for a drink. Maybe a game of cards. It’s been awhile.”

“That’s not funny.”

He dropped his eyes. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

He looked utterly exhausted, Estelle thought, as she studied him. Dark circles under his eyes, a week’s worth of stubble darkening his cheeks, and a stoop to his shoulders that betrayed his fatigue.

“No,” she said. “I’m sorry. What do you need?”

He looked up at her. “A safe place to stay tonight.”

“And you came here?”

“You have a very nice sofa. Two of them, in fact.”

“Are you being serious?”

“I didn’t know where else to go. We’ve lost three of our houses in the last week, and Diedre’s brother was arrested. This was the safest place I could think of—” He stopped. “You’ve been crying.”

“I have not.” The denial was absurd because she’d never been a pretty crier. Just the threat of tears made her eyes puffy, her nose red, and her face splotchy.

“Is it Aviva? Where is she?” Concern shadowed his face.

“Safe. Sleeping.”

Jerome ran a hand through his messy hair. “Then what is it?”