She unlocks their door and walks in, checking the top of the dressing table for dust as she reels off the arrangements for dinner and breakfast. She reminds them to ensure the curtains are drawn in good time for the blackout and warns them each room will be checked before sunset. She leaves them be with an indiscreet wink.

Jack sets down the case. Gwen drifts towards the window, pushing aside the sheer curtain to look out onto the pretty high street of black-and-white Tudor buildings crammed amongst Georgian brick and Victorian render.

Jack clears his throat. ‘Shall we go for a walk by the river?’

Gwen spins around. ‘Yes, please.’ Her gratitude is tangible.

They walk down shop-lined streets, then wind their way through the town until they reach the river, the evening sunlight spangling its surface. They amble beside it, past the locks and into the meadows, watching swimming coots leave sparkling chevrons in their wake. They turn back as the draining light swathes the landscape in drab grey. By the time they reach the town, the blackout is in force. The trees stand inky black against the sky and the river is reduced to a lead ribbon. Streetlights stand idle, and the few cars that rumble down the narrow streets have shades fitted to their headlamps. Jack catches Gwen’s arm as she trips on the edge of the pavement. They take a wrong turn and end up down a side street of timbered properties, the white plaster glowing in the dim light.

‘This way,’ Jack says at last, recognising a shop front, and instinctively he reaches for Gwen’s hand. She makes no attempt to resist.

They eventually find their way back to the hotel, laughing with relief that their little adventure is over. The landlady apologises that the kitchen has closed. She offers to make sandwiches, but neither of them has any appetite and so they politely decline.

‘Well, I’ll leave you to head for bed then,’ she says, vanishing out the back, having unknowingly whipped the wind from their sails.

They climb the stairs side by side. They hesitate at the top, both struggling to remember the way back to their room through the jumble of crooked corridors, laughing as they each suggest opposite directions. The moment of levity is welcome relief to the building tension that neither wishes to acknowledge.

At last, they find their door. Jack is clumsy fitting the key into the lock. The blackout curtains have been drawn on their behalf and the features of the unfamiliar room are barely discernible. All levity is lost.

He leaves the door open allowing the dull glow from the landing light to guide Gwen safely to the bedside lamp. When she shunts the bayonet across, Jack closes the door.

‘I’ll take the floor.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. I’ll go for a walk, let you get sorted, like. Fifteen minutes?’

‘Ten is plenty.’