‘Good luck,’ the Australian soldier called as the barge drifted away from the shore.

‘If a man with a silver hand asks to cross then stop him,’ Aimee cried. But most of her words were swept away with the rumble of guns, the hammers, saws and axes of the bridge builders, the shouts of soldiers working or the cries of the wounded being unloaded.

‘A brass band?’ the Australian laughed. ‘Crazy kids.’

And Sergeant Grimm began to limp down the hill to find a boat.

They hadn’t escaped. They had just slipped through the hunter’s net for a little while.

As the boy and girl hurried through Peronne they were unsure where to turn or where to hide. Half the houses had burned and were still smoking and the choking air stung their eyes and throats. Most of the others had lost their roofs and none had any windows.

‘We could stay in one of the ruined houses,’ Marius said. ‘Maybe he’ll go past and miss us.’

Aimee shook her head. ‘Not for long. I did that in the wood at the top of the ridge. He won’t fall for it again.’

They reached a fine house near the centre of the town. Its walls seemed strong but there was no roof. Smoke dust drifted from the windows where there had once been glass. A woman was trying to drag a wooden chest on to a cart that was pulled by a donkey. ‘Can I help?’ Marius asked her with the little French he had learned from Aimee.

The woman was aged over fifty, with thick face make-up and deep-red lipstick. Her hat and coat looked expensive and she even wore silk stockings. ‘The servants have all left me. We were sheltering in the cellar when the shelling started. As soon as it was over they cleared away the rubble and set us free. I thought they’d help me move my precious things. But what did they do? They loaded some sticks of furniture then ran off to find their families.’

Aimee tried not to show a sour smile as she said, ‘Poor you.’

‘I can’t stay here... and I can’t go without my treasures.’ The woman looked sharply at Marius and Aimee. ‘Not treasures... not gold or jewels. Just things that are precious to me. Things like...’ she began, then stopped.

‘Photographs?’

‘Yes, photographs,’ the woman lied.

‘Ornaments? Letters and diaries?’ Aimee went on.

‘Exactly. I mean, I am not a rich woman. But if you help me load this trunk on to the cart I’ll reward you.’

Aimee grabbed one end of the wooden trunk and Marius the other. ‘Put it on the seat so I can sit on it to drive the wagon,’ the woman said.

They did as she asked. ‘Heavy photographs,’ Aimee muttered as the coins in the chest rattled. Aloud she went on, ‘Where are you going?’