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neighbours, and some of them thinking it’s easy enough to say Aunt, but it doesn’t make every young scallywag who says it your proper lawful nephew. But now, Mijnheer, it’s not just a bit of gossip we’re risking—and God knows the neighbours will always find something to talk about unless one’s as ugly as sin. No, it’s our lives. And you mayn’t value yours, but I’ve got a use for mine.”
    Antony went on washing his hands.
    â€œIf you go on calling me Mijnheer, Anna dear, I’m afraid it isn’t going to be much use to you. Piet Maartens is my name, and I’m the son of your sister Marthe, the one you used to tell us about who was weak in the head and ran away with a no-account fellow from Friesland.”
    Anna threw up her hands.
    â€œIf it stopped at being weak in the head! Mad—that’s what you are, coming along here like this! What do you want?”
    â€œI want to see Cornelius.”
    â€œDragging him into it too, are you? Well, they say shooting’s an easy death. But mind, you and him’ll get that. They’ll put me in one of their filthy concentration camps, I shouldn’t wonder—and by all accounts it’s better to have a bullet in you and be done with it.”
    Antony took no notice. He was drying his hands.
    â€œCan you get word to him?”
    She tossed her head.
    â€œI can, but that’s not to say I will.”
    â€œDear Anna!”
    â€œDon’t you ‘dear Anna’ me! How long do you aim at staying?”
    â€œI don’t know till I’ve seen Cornelius. Look here, if he comes along at the rush hour he can slip out to the back, and who’s going to be any the wiser?”
    She stood there frowning.
    â€œI don’t know. The girl would be here. It’s more than four hands can do as it is—I can’t send her out. There’s my own parlour—if you were there and he came in the back way, you could let him in by the window.”
    â€œIs that the best way?” said Antony, and she jumped down his throat. He might still have been eight years old.
    â€œThere isn’t any best way, I tell you! There isn’t any good way at all. We’ll all end up in our graves more likely than not. He’ll scratch on the window, and you can let him in. But mind you latch the window after him and see there aren’t any creaks. And see that you keep your voices down, and be as quick over the whole business as you can. There’s no sense in asking for trouble.”
    He laughed. “What an efficient woman you are, Anna! Lead me to the coffee substitute.…”
    As soon as he heard the sound that he was waiting for, Antony turned out the light. It was the least possible tapping upon the curtained window of Anna Brandt’s parlour. The light died, the darkness swallowed up the red carpet, the brightly polished tiles, the round table with its red plush cover trimmed with crochet edging. They vanished together with the family Bible, the Delft jars, and the photographs of the late Josef Brandt and of Antony’s parents.
    Antony crossed to the window and opened it, holding back the curtain. He said, “Come in, Con,” and Cornelius came in over the sill. The latch clicked to, the curtain dropped, and the light came on again. There was Anna’s room, with every bit of furniture shinning with polish, and there was Cornelius, looking as impassive as if he had come in by the front door and he and Antony had been meeting every day. He walked to the chair which had been Josef’s and sat down.
    â€œWell?” he said. “Anna said you wanted to see me. What is it all about? I notice she hasn’t provided any refreshment.”
    Antony laughed. “She’s a thrifty soul. I fancy she would say you had come here to see me, not to drink at her expense.
    Cornelius nodded. “Yes—Anna is like that. But she can be trusted, and that’s more