'Though you'd rather see me undressed.'

The forwardness of that took him aback. 'A schoolteacher's pay must be good under the Reich.'

'Well, I wouldn't know,' she said.

'You gave up your teaching? What are you doing now?'

'Oh, you know, this and that. A bit of translating; there's plenty of opportunity. It's just all so different now, Ernst. I mean, to be a teacher in the middle of all this – how is one meant to explain the war to a child?'

'You used to say teaching was the highest calling.'

'Well, we all say things that don't stay said, don't we?' There was a slight edge to her voice. 'Are you staying here, in the hotel?'

'Oh, no. This is much too grand for me. I've lodgings for the night, a "bed-and-breakfast.' He used the English phrase. 'And you?'

'I'm in a sort of hostel. Look, if we want to go somewhere the hostel will probably be best. The people are discreet – you know.'

Again that seemed oddly forward. He glanced around the bar, hoping that nobody was overhearing. The man with the newspaper sipped his drink, his face concealed.

She reached out to take his hand. 'Oh, let's not be shy. Look, I've been longing to see you. I got all your letters. I kept them.'

'You did?'

'What an extraordinary time you've had. You should turn it into a book one day.'

'Well, it's not over yet. Besides – I meant those letters just for you.'

'I know. I imagined you thinking of me, even under such circumstances. I was touched.' She was looking into his eyes; she was as lovely as ever.

Yet there was something insincere about her. He saw it, in that moment. He pulled back.

'Why, Ernst, what's the matter?'

'I'll tell you what's the matter.' The dapper civilian at the next table folded up his newspaper. 'He's smelled my aftershave on you, that's what.' It was Heinz Kieser.

'Heinz, you bastard, what are you doing here?'

'Spying on you. What do you think? I wanted to see if the lovely Claudine really existed. There are no secrets in the barracks, you know! And now here she is, and well, well.'

'Look, just leave us alone, will you?'

'And guess what,' Heinz went on, 'it turns out I already knew her after all. Except she didn't tell me her name was Claudine, did you, darling?'

'Go to hell,' she said.

Ernst said, 'I don't understand. What are you talking about, Heinz?'

'She's en carte.' He used the French phrase. 'Why don't you show him, Marie? Show him your card. Come on!'

Claudine dragged hard on her cigarette, glaring at him.

Heinz grinned and stood up. 'My work here is done, I think. Look, don't take it bad, son. We've all been there.' He patted Ernst's shoulder, but Ernst brushed him away.

When he had gone, Claudine stared at the tip of her cigarette. 'Well. This is awkward.'

'You don't have to explain. You don't owe me anything.'

She looked up at him, and anger flared in her pretty, blank eyes. 'Maybe you owe me something, though. Shut up and pour me more wine.'

He obeyed.

'It happened after you left for the barges.'

'What did?'

'I was denounced for my relationship with you. Hard-faced bitch at the school, it was. Probably jealous. Or frigid.' She laughed. 'I got my apartment walls daubed with paint, slogans.'

He nodded. 'Such people use the word "Jerrybags, in England.'

'Do they? Well, I hated them, hated those who would speak out against others that way. What did they know of my heart? So I rebelled further. I took another lover.' She looked at his face. 'I'm sorry. Not a lover. I didn't love him… I just did it to get back at those who insulted me, really. A childish rebellion, yes? Still, he was there, and our time together was – acceptable. He gave me gifts, as you did. And after the denunciation I could no longer work at the school.'

'Oh. So he paid you.'

'It didn't mean anything. But then he was posted east, and off he went, bleating about his wife and two boys. I never heard from him again.'

'But you needed the money.'

'Another man came. A friend of the first. He said he had heard Hansie talk of me, and, well… That was how it started. All word of mouth, and all gentlemen, if I may say so. I think they cared for me, each in his way.'

'And then?'

'And then the resistance came. Bastards,' she said with sudden vehemence. 'What brave men they are, to target a woman alone. Much easier than fighting the Germans.'

'You were attacked?'

'They would have cut my face, if I hadn't got away. Well, the police came to me, and when they found out, you know, they passed me to the military authorities. After that it was all very smooth.' She looked at him. 'You're in the Wehrmacht. You know how it works. The army runs the houses. The girls are given their cards. I was checked for infection, and interviewed.' She laughed at that. 'Interviewed! They prefer respectable girls to whore for their soldiers. Well, I passed the test.'

'And you came to England?'

'The authorities are importing French whores for the men here. Think of that! The English are so cold they can't even prostitute themselves properly. Churchill should make a speech about it. And at least the resistance here are leaving the foreign girls alone.'

'So you came for the Wehrmacht,' he said. 'For work. Not for me.'

'No! Oh, Ernst, no. You are so straight in your thinking. It's either one thing or the other with you, isn't it? Nothing in between. Look, I wanted to see you. I still do.' She leaned forward. 'Why don't we get out of this place? We could go to the hostel.

He stood in a kind of panic, shoving back his chair. He tried to calm himself. He took his wallet, drew out some Reichsmarks, and put them on the table, under the wine bottle. 'Will you be able to get back by yourself?'

She looked confused. 'Yes – there are taxis – oh, Ernst, don't go.'

He looked down at her, so beautiful, her bright red lips still shining bright. 'I'm sorry.' He turned on his heel and walked away.

XVII

9 November

The prisoners were woken by bugle blasts.

They gathered for the morning appell. The Nazi flag and the flag of Albion snapped high on their poles, lifted by a chill breeze under a bright blue sky. Bundled in their shabby greatcoats, the men stamped their feet and blew on their hands.

The camp commander announced briskly that the regular Sunday work details would be suspended. Muffled cheers. Once again it was some kind of memorial day. But then Danny Adams announced the British troops would hold a parade and a minute's silence at eleven a.m.

'Oh, it's not just any old memorial, old chap,' said Willis Farjeon, standing beside Gary in the rank. 'This is Armistice Day, when we all down tools to remember our fathers who fell in the War to End Wars. Nice clean military memorial, the kind the Nazis embrace to their bony little hearts-'

'Put a sock in it, Farjeon,' murmured the SBO in his broad scouse. 'And besides, I suspect you and the other superior-breed types might not be spending the day with us after all.' He nodded over to where the commander and his senior aides had been joined by a couple of SS officers, who were, in the usual German fashion, consulting lists.

The men whistled at the SS officers, and called out obscenities in a variety of languages, and those nearby nudged Gary and Willis. The stalag standing joke was that all SS men were in fact raging faggots, and that the racial selection processes had actually been about looking for pretty boys. 'Don't worry, Wooler, I hear Himmler's pecker is even smaller than Hitler's. You won't feel a thing.'

Willis camped it up in response. Gary just stood there.

But it turned out it wasn't all the stalag Aryans who were asked for today. The SS party came over to the British group and spoke briefly to the SBO. He turned and beckoned to Gary. 'Just you, Wooler.'