Hello Dear, is that you? You’re late this morning. I was beginning to get worried.

It’s not Joseph. It’s the lady from three doors down. I only know her slightly. You know, Good morning at the shops or maybe a chance meeting in the street. Now here she is, without even a knock, standing before me in my kitchen, not a trace of a smile on her face.

He’s not coming home. Nor is Max. They’ve been taken.

What do you mean, taken? They’re privileged, the Gestapo can’t touch them.

It’s not the Gestapo. It’s the SS from Vienna, and they don’t care about status, all they want is Jews. And they picked them up last night from the factory. I don’t know where they’ve taken them, lots of them. Miriam is trying to find out.

I’m sorry, I don’t know you and I don’t know Max and I certainly don’t know Miriam.

I’m afraid that’s going to have to change, and change very quickly if we are ever to see our husbands again.

That’s how it started, how I found out that my lovely husband – and best friend – had been snatched away from me and might never return to the home we had been building in the hope that one day children would come into our lives and make us complete as a family. After a moment’s petrified silence I choked back a scream, looked at my neighbour and decided that whatever it might take I was going to fight ...