‘Lucas. Oh, Lucas.’ She stood, let her hand be taken in both of his, and reminded herself to speak in English. ‘It’s so good to see you.’

‘Yes, it is. Good to see you, I mean.’ He grinned, plunging her memory back to that first day in Zürich. ‘And this is my friend Rupert. Rupert Forrester, meet Gavriela Wolf.’

‘Good to meet you, Dr Wolf.’

‘Um, thank you.’ They shook hands.

‘So you’ll have another sherry? No? And Luke, the usual for you.’ Rupert smiled at them both. ‘Why don’t you catch up, and I’ll take my time chatting to Susie.’

That would be the barmaid.

‘Let’s sit down,’ Gavriela said.

Lucas looked at the book and raised his eyebrows.

‘Interesting,’ he said. ‘I do hear neurotic people can be helped with such techniques. But how are you, dear Gavi? It’s been a frightfully long time.’

To her inexpert ears, his English accent was perfect.

‘It’s been—Oh, it is so different back there.’

‘I was in Denmark when it all fell apart.’ He reached inside his jacket, and withdrew an ID card. ‘This is who I am now.’

The name read Luke Cross. But he was still the same Lucas Krause who had captivated her attention so long ago.

‘You remember my first day at the ETH?’ She pronounced it eh-teh-ha, then caught herself, remembering the English. ‘I mean the ee-tee-aitch. Professor Möller with the wire basket.’

‘And Florian Horst the trusted assistant. Did you see him in Copenhagen?’

‘No, he and Elke were gone.’

She did not want to say the rest: that no one knew whether they were in hiding or had returned to Germany. She had thought that Florian detested the Wehrmacht; but she might be wrong. So many beliefs had turned to twisted rubble.

‘Oh. Well.’

‘Well.’

There was so much to say between them. Gavriela stared at his face, and no words came to her, none at all. When Rupert returned, they both looked at him.

‘So, Luke,’ he said, setting down pint glasses. ‘Have you shared your good news?’

‘Oh, no.’ Lucas raised his left hand, smiling. ‘Look. At last.’

It took Gavriela a moment to notice the gold.

‘That’s a wedding-ring.’

‘It certainly is.’

‘He’s on his honeymoon, strictly speaking,’ said Rupert. ‘So we don’t expect you to hang around very long, do we, Dr Wolf?’

‘Er, no. Congratulations, Lucas. Well done.’

‘And they’ll be gone by the end of the week.’ Rupert tipped an invisible hat in salute. ‘A cross-Atlantic cruise.’

‘Not exactly a cruise. And Mary hates the heat.’

Rupert raised an eyebrow.

‘Sorry,’ added Lucas. ‘We’re off to the States to live. It’ll be . . . interesting.’

The structures of Gavriela’s life had been swept away. This was just one more disorienting transition.

‘So.’ Lucas downed half of the pint very quickly. ‘Rupert will show you to your digs. It’s a good place.’

‘Digs?’

‘Your lodgings,’ said Rupert. ‘It’s all arranged.’

‘Oh.’

‘You told the officers in Edinburgh that you want to help the war effort, didn’t you?’

‘Yes.’ She had disembarked from the trawler there, and been surprised when policemen seemed to know her name already. ‘I meant it, very much.’

‘Then we’ve something lined up for you.’

‘Oh.’ She looked at Lucas, then at Rupert. ‘You’re not just a friend of Lucas, are you?’

Those same police officers had plied her with sweet tea, taken her to stay in lodgings - no one called them digs - at a house belonging to the station sergeant’s mother. Finally they had told her about Lucas Krause waiting to meet her in Oxford, and the train journey, lasting overnight, had been an epic of anticipation, as she imagined their reunion.

But he was off to live in the United States, with his new wife.

‘Not just a friend, no,’ said Rupert. ‘Call us distant colleagues, and Luke a very impressive boffin.’

‘You’re too kind.’ Lucas took several more swigs of bitter. ‘Gavi’s brain is bigger than mine, I assure you. Razor sharp.’

‘That’ll be interesting to see.’ Rupert took a tiny sip of his beer. ‘We’ll find plenty for you to do, Dr Wolf, now our new prime minister’s shaking things up.’

Lucas tipped back the last of his drink, and put the glass down. Foam slid inside the glass, the motion catching Gavriela’s attention. Bubbles were an interesting phenomenon, caused by—

No wonder he never looked at me. He didn’t want a physicist to talk to; he wanted a lover.

Her throat clenched.

‘Are you all right, Gavi?’

‘Sure, Lucas. Sure.’

‘Then . . . I have to go.’

He stood up; Gavriela and Rupert did likewise.

‘Good luck,’ she said. ‘And congratulations once more.’

This time they hugged instead of shaking hands; but there was none of the electric contact that had featured in her imagination.

‘Take care, Gavi.’

He went out, carrying his hat and overcoat, squeezing past the regulars, and disappeared through the blackout curtain. A second later, the door to the street clicked shut.

‘You don’t like sherry, do you, Dr Wolf?’

‘I—’ Gavriela looked down, then at Rupert. ‘Actually, I hate it.’

Rupert laughed.

‘Do you want something else?’

‘No, thank you.’

‘Then I’ll show you to your lodgings.’

‘If you call me Gavriela, I’d be happy to walk with you.’

‘Um . . .’

She swallowed.

‘I’m sorry. Your customs are—’

‘That’s not why I hesitated,’ said Rupert. ‘I’d prefer to call you Gabby, if that’s all right. We thought it sounded similar enough that you’d respond, er, be comfortable with it.’

‘Gabby.’

‘You’re Gabby Woods, and in the morning you’ll have the paperwork to prove it. Does that suit you?’

‘And if you’re a Forrester, what does that make you? My keeper?’

She knew forest and forester by chance, for they were nothing like the German.

‘Luke was right. You are sharp. So, are you ready to go?’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘Let me take your case.’

As they were leaving, she noticed again the man sitting alone with his notebook, the pages dense with words but also some runes. Once they were outside, in the darkness of St Giles, she asked Rupert about it.

‘He looked as if he was writing code.’

‘Not so you’d know. He’s an interesting fellow, but we know who he is.’

‘Oh.’

‘He writes about habits, or something. And how’s that book you’re carrying, Gabby?’

It took her two full seconds to respond to her new name.

‘Sorry. Er, I’ve not really read it yet.’ She looked at the mesmerism book. ‘I think it might be interesting.’

‘Hmm. Well, come along. It’s a short walk in peacetime, but making one’s way without streetlights tends to slow one down.’

‘There’s a quarter moon.’

‘Luckily, or we’d more than likely be tripping onto our faces.’

Banbury Road was quiet, with only a few souls walking home at this time, in darkness. They passed University Parks - ‘Many a rugger match I’ve played in there,’ said Rupert - and then had to explain what he meant by that. Such inconsequential chat sustained them until they reached a big old house, no grander or spookier than its neighbours. Their feet crunched on gravel, and then Rupert was tapping on the front door.

‘Hello, Mrs Wilson. We’re here.’

It was strange for someone to open their door in darkness.

‘Come in, Master Forrester. Come on in.’

Rupert touched Gavriela’s arm, and led her inside. Once the front door was closed and a heavy drape pulled across, Mrs Wilson switched on an electric light.

‘Into the front room, my dears.’ She was white-haired but lively-looking. ‘We have chicory coffee or acorn tea, your choice.’

‘Whichever’s best for you,’ said Rupert.

He beckoned Gavriela to a well-stuffed green armchair, and sat in its counterpart.