And she would lie in bed until Sam had gone to sleep, and when he had done so, she would get up and take down the picture of Mummy from the wall. She would open the blackout curtain next to her bed, and if the moon was out, she would look at the picture for a long time, tracing her little fingers over her mummy’s smiling face. And when she got tired, she would fall asleep clutching the picture, feeling the hardness of the frame on the pillow next to her.

Sometimes, Aunt Ellie would get up in the middle of the night, and check up on them. Each time, she would find Amy clasping the picture, and she would attempt to remove it, release it from her niece’s grasp as gently as possible. But Amy’s grip was too strong, and Aunt Ellie, try as hard as she might, found that there was no way she could take the picture of her sister away.

Chapter Two

NOVEMBER 1943

Oberstleutnant Walther Dietrich lit a cigarette, put his feet up on the desk and closed his eyes. It had been a long night, chasing partisans all over the hills. They had shot two of the bastards as they were running from the arms dump, but God knows how many had escaped. Three of his men had been killed, and he wanted blood. It didn’t matter whether it was the blood of the partisans or the civilians—they were all in it together. He had already issued the order to take thirty hostages, but before he shot them, he would have breakfast. Never go to work on an empty stomach, his mother had always told him. Perhaps he would have a snooze as well. What was the time? Nine o’clock. Yes, that would be good: a quarter of an hour for breakfast, a couple of hours’ sleep, and then up in time to kill the rabble. He was too tired to hear all that pleading and wailing. It would only make him irritable.

His orderly brought in coffee and boiled eggs. Their shells were too hot and he dropped one of the eggs back on the plate with a small ouch. He blew on his index finger, waggling it in the cooling jet of air. That was better. He then bashed the eggs with the spoon and gingerly unshelled them with a few more ouches. Their yolks were slightly runny—just how he liked them. He took a swig of coffee and belched gently. He noticed how foul his breath smelled with its mixture of coffee, egg and tobacco. If Rosa was here she would have complained and refused to kiss him. Oh well, that was one of the benefits of being away from her, not having to worry about domestic niceties. Whores never complained.