It was Nick, a contemporary of Lockhart’s at Oxford, who now worked for SIS, liaising with Resistance groups on the continent. Lockhart had been badgering him every week for news about Anna, and so far Nick had always disappointed him. But here he was, saying that he had good news. It was enough to instantly dispel any feelings of weariness.

“Yes?” said Lockhart, his tone impatient, suggesting that Nick should wait no longer.

“Well, it’s good news and bad news. We think she’s alive.”

“How…how do you know?”

“This is where the bad news comes in. We also think she’s being held in Vught concentration camp in Holland.”

“What?”

“It appears that Anna has been helping to run an underground press for the past several months. It was raided over a fortnight ago, and she was among those who got arrested. I’m sorry, John.”

“But…are you sure it’s her?”

“As eggs is eggs.”

“How come you hadn’t heard about this press before?”

“Please, John, you know we’re not perfect.”

“What else do you know? How do you know it’s her?”

“One of our agents over there was told that an Englishwoman was arrested, a woman called Anna. It has to be her, John—I can’t see how it couldn’t be.”

Lockhart didn’t say anything. This was both the best and the worst news possible. That she was alive should have given him the greatest sense of joy since Amy was born, but instead he felt utterly dispirited. The words “concentration camp” cut into him, twisted in his gut, causing him to feel panicky.

“John? John? Are you still there?”

“Yes. Yes I am. What do we know about Vught?”

“Not very much, I’m afraid. It’s a pretty small place, mostly political prisoners, as well as criminals.”

“Jews?”

“We don’t think so. They go east.”

Another pause.

“I’m sorry, John. That’s pretty much all we know.”

Lockhart breathed in and out heavily.

“Nothing else?”

“Sorry.”

“Is there any way I could get in touch with her?”

“There might be.”

“That sounds like a no, Nick.”

It was Nick’s turn to stay silent.

“Do you think it’s worth a try?” asked Lockhart.

“Perhaps we could try something. I can’t talk about it over the phone.”

“Yes, of course.”

“I’m sorry, John—I’ve got to go.”

“You around for dinner this week? I owe you. My shout—at the club.”

“Next week’s better.”

“Tuesday?”

“Tuesday’s good.”

“Eight o’clock?”

“Fine—I’ll see you then.”

“Bye, Nick.”

“Bye, and I’m sorry once again. If I hear any more, I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks.”