‘Yes, sir.’

In an abrupt tone the colonel said: ‘You can refuse if you like.’

Lloyd thought of Daisy in the Blitz, and of the people burned to death in the Peabody tenement, and realized he did not even want to refuse. ‘If you think it’s important, sir, then I will go back most willingly, of course.’

‘Good man,’ said the colonel.

Half an hour later Lloyd was dazedly walking back to the Tube station. He was now part of a department called MI9. He would return to France with false papers and large sums in cash. Already dozens of German, Dutch, Belgian and French people in occupied territory had been recruited to the deadly dangerous task of helping British and Commonwealth airmen return home. He would be one of numerous MI9 agents expanding the network.

If he were caught, he would be tortured.

Although he was scared, he was also excited. He was going to fly to Madrid: it would be his first time up in an airplane. He would re-enter France across the Pyrenees and make contact with Teresa. He would be moving in disguise among the enemy, rescuing people under the noses of the Gestapo. He would make sure that men following in his footsteps would not be as alone and friendless as he had been.

He got back to Nutley Street at eleven o’clock. There was a note from his mother: ‘Not a peep from Miss America.’ After visiting the bomb site, Ethel would have gone to the House of Commons, Bernie to County Hall. Lloyd and Daisy had the house to themselves.

He went up to his room. Daisy was still asleep. Her leather jacket and heavy-duty wool trousers were carelessly tossed on the floor. She was in his bed wearing only her underwear. This had never happened before.

He took off his jacket and tie.

A sleepy voice from the bed said: ‘And the rest.’

He looked at her. ‘What?’

‘Take off your clothes and get into bed.’

The house was empty: no one would disturb them.

He took off his boots, trousers, shirt and socks, then he hesitated.

‘You’re not going to feel cold,’ she said. She wriggled under the blankets, then threw a pair of silk camiknickers at him.

He had expected this to be a solemn moment of high passion, but Daisy seemed to think it should be a matter of laughter and fun. He was willing to be guided by her.

He took off his vest and pants and slipped into bed beside her. She was warm and languid. He felt nervous: he had never actually told her that he was a virgin.

He had always heard that the man should take the initiative, but it seemed that Daisy did not know that. She kissed and caressed him, then she grasped his penis. ‘Oh, boy,’ she said. ‘I was hoping you’d have one of these.’

After that he stopped being nervous.

8

1941 (I)

On a cold winter Sunday, Carla von Ulrich went with the maid, Ada, to visit Ada’s son, Kurt, at the Wannsee Children’s Nursing Home, by the lake on the western outskirts of Berlin. It took an hour to get there on the train. Carla made a habit of wearing her nurse’s uniform on these visits, because the staff at the home talked more frankly about Kurt to a fellow professional.