"No, I can't recall-" Erika's eyes widened in surprise. "Wait. There was a car idling a few doors down, but I didn't think anything of it-"

"What sort of car?"

"Oh, one of those big square ones. Like a Land Rover."

Gemma felt as if all her muscles had turned to jelly. "Thank God for that cabbie."

"Gemma, what on earth is this about?" Then the penny dropped, and Erika looked frightened. "Does this have something to do with that poor girl?"

"It might do," said Gemma. "I think I'd better start from the beginning." She reconsidered, and said, "Or better yet, I need you to start from the beginning." She sipped at her water, warm as a bath straight from the tap. "Erika, why did you never tell me that your husband was murdered?"

"David?"

"Unless you were married more than once," Gemma answered a little tartly, and realized she felt hurt by Erika's silence.

Sinking into the chair across from Gemma, Erika said, "It never occurred to me. It was so long ago, and I thought that part of my life long buried-why should I have burdened you? And why should it matter to anyone now?"

"Would your husband have read the Guardian the day he was killed?"

"My article." Erika closed her eyes. "Yes. David would have bought the paper. It was my first published piece, and David was dutiful, if not deeply interested. But I still don't understand."

Gemma pulled the print Melody had made her from her bag and handed it across the table.

"Oh, dear God." Erika stared at the page. "Where did you-How did you-"

"It was in the Guardian, on that very same day. In the society page."

"But this-" She looked at the photo again and pushed it away, as if it were contaminated. "That's Joseph Mueller. Why does it say his name is something else?" She had gone pale as the white lilies in the vase on the kitchen table. "I never thought to see that face again."

"Who was he, Erika? How did you know him?"

"He was German," Erika insisted, her voice shaking. "What is he doing in an English newspaper, with an English name?"

"He is English," Gemma assured her. "His name was Joss Miller. He was a financier, and an art collector, and he just died two years ago."

Erika stared at her, her face contorted, then turned her head and spat. "That is lies, all lies. This man was a German, and a trafficker in human lives. He took money from Jews, promising to get them safely out of Germany. And if we had no communication with others he said he had helped escape, we assumed it was because they didn't dare write to us. But now I wonder if anyone whose money he took ever came out of Germany."

"But you did," said Gemma, frowning.

"Only by the grace of God and the kindness of a German farmer. I went back, after the war, but I couldn't find the farm. Perhaps it was destroyed. Perhaps my memory was faulty. I never knew the family's name, but I fear they cannot have gone unpunished."

"Punished for what? I don't understand."

"No. You could not." Erika seemed to shrink into her chair. "But I suppose I must tell you, because it has to do with the brooch, and if my silence is in some way responsible for that girl's death-"

Gemma bit her lip. She had never had the chance to tell Erika about Harry Pevensey, but now was not the time. "Please," she said, leaning forward and touching Erika's hand. "What happened?"

Erika gripped Gemma's hand, then let hers fall to her lap. Her eyes lost focus. After a moment she began to speak, so softly that Gemma had to strain to hear.

"I told Kit, just a little. About how my father's work was patronized by the wealthy Germans, and how he did not believe that we would be touched by the madness being spouted by the Nazis. But by 1938, it became evident even to my father that things were out of control, that there was no surety of safety for any Jew. And I had married David.

"David had been a lecturer at the university, in philosophy-we Germans had always been great believers in philosophy, much good it did us-and after the Nazis banned Jews from faculty positions in all the German universities, David tutored students privately. Many Jewish professors did-it was a way round the restrictions."

Gemma thought of the difference in ages between Erika and her husband. "You were David's student?"

"Yes." Erika gave a ghost of a smile. "The age-old story. Naive young girl falls in love with wise older man. And David was a radical, who spoke out against Hitler's regime, and that recklessness made him all the more appealing. As for him, I think he was flattered by my attention, and he saw himself as furthering my political and intellectual education. I don't think he was ever in love with me, but of course I didn't know that then.

"But David's outspokenness made my father even more concerned for our safety, and he made arrangements to get us out of the country. It would cost, we were told, but there was a man who would take us out through the Netherlands and from there into England. My father said we should go first, and that he would follow when he knew we were safe.

"There was another couple, older, friends of my father's, who would go with us. They vouched for this man, Mueller"-Erika did not glance at the photo-"and they paid him handsomely, as did my father.

"When we parted, my father gave me the diamond brooch, the last thing he had made, to keep secretly. Not even David knew of it."

Now she looked up and met Gemma's eyes. "He was a big, handsome man, this Mueller, with a Berliner accent. He said he had many connections. He had a small van, with the markings of a carpet firm, and he had papers showing that he and his helper were salesmen. We rode in the back, with instructions to cover ourselves with the carpets if we were stopped.

"The first night we stopped at a traveler's hotel. We were allowed out only to relieve ourselves in the darkest part of the night, and once back in the van we were given a little black bread. David and the other man, Saul, began to complain, but when they saw Mueller's face, they stopped."

Gemma had to still the impulse to stand and move about. She didn't dare even to drink from the glass of water, for fear of halting Erika's story.

"The next night," Erika went on, "we stopped at a farm very near the Dutch border. As I said, I was never sure of the exact location. Once it was dark, we were taken out of the van and led into the barn. We thought we would be fed and allowed to sleep in the straw. But that was not the case." Erika paused, clasping her hands together, and Gemma held her breath, fighting a wave of nausea.

When Erika continued, her voice was a thread of sound. "Mueller had a gun. His helper held the gun on the others while Mueller raped me. Then Mueller held the gun. Then they did the same with Sarah. When Saul tried to stop them, Mueller shot him. When they were finished with Sarah, he shot her."

Gemma swallowed. The smell of the lilies was sickly sweet, overpowering. She realized she had tears running down her cheeks, but Erika's eyes were dry. "And David?" Gemma managed to croak.

"David did nothing," Erika said without intonation. "Mueller found the brooch when they stripped me. To this day, I don't know why they didn't shoot us then. Perhaps they weren't finished with me. Perhaps they enjoyed humiliating David. Or perhaps, having found the brooch, they thought they might somehow get more money from my father if they kept us alive.

"They tied us up, on the floor of the barn, beside Saul's and Sarah's bodies. I suppose they went into the farmhouse to drink. We heard laughter and shouting."

She took a little gulping breath. "David didn't speak to me. Not a word, all that night. Just before dawn, the farmer came out and untied us. He gave us some money and told us in which direction to run, towards the border. I have always been afraid that he and his family must have died for his kindness.