Romy rubbed her cheek on a scratchy pillow. She drifted in and out of sleep, listening to voices outside her window. Russian, Polish, German, Japanese and Shanghainese accents came and went, and she tried not to think about the mounds of rubble outside. She knew she should go and help. But every time she thought of Papa’s face—his grey cheeks and crushed limbs—or Shu’s rosebud lips, she found herself unable to move.

Shadows crept across the ceiling as the sun came and went.

Plates were left beside her bed. A thin soup—water with small cubes of turnip. Later, pot stickers and a few drops of dripping. A warm Kaiser roll remained untouched because it reminded her of Wilhelm.

How many cups of tea had she sipped these last few days?

She sat up, and by the rusty glow on the ceiling she could tell it was dusk. The smell of fish stock and chrysanthemum tea drifted in the window and her stomach rumbled.

‘How long have I been here?’

‘A week. It’s the shock.’ His voice was kind. It was the voice of his father.

‘I’m sorry, I was cruel. I didn’t realise…’ Her voice faded. She didn’t realise he had been looking out for his sister. For Shu and Romy. His sense of duty was as strong as ever.

She felt tears slide down her cheeks and he reached out and put his palm against her cheek, wiping away her tears with his thumb. ‘Shhh, Romy,’ he said as he wrapped her in a hug. ‘To tell you I used my position with the police to get close to the Kempeitai would have placed you all in danger. We couldn’t be sure of who supported the resistance. I didn’t trust Wilhelm. I didn’t trust anyone…only Li.’ Jian’s voice was sad.

Romy swallowed.

‘But Wilhelm’s a good man. The father of my sister’s baby—my family. I had to help him flee. Chang Wu suspects I was connected to Wilhelm. He’s put a bounty on my head too.’ Jian sighed. ‘I’ll be leaving for Chungking at first light tomorrow. I won’t be able to come back to Shanghai. Not under the Japanese occupation.’

‘You can’t leave!’

‘It’s all arranged. I depart tomorrow before dawn.’

Romy pictured Dr Ho’s severed head on a spike in Frenchtown and fell back on the bed.

‘If they find out what you’ve done, they’ll kill you too,’ Romy said softly to the ceiling.

‘Come with me,’ Jian urged.

Romy shook her head. ‘I can’t. I can’t leave Nina now. Besides, they need me at the hospital—there’s so much illness and malnourishment. I have to help.’

Jian nodded, understanding at once.

They lay on the pillow together, breathing in sync.

Jian was shirtless and Romy longed to press her cheek against his smooth chest and trail her fingers along the faint line of hair disappearing beneath his cotton trousers.

Her body was filled with yearning and confusion. For so long she’d dreamed of being with Wilhelm. She loved him still. Perhaps, if she hadn’t been so cautious, so keen to be with him the right way, to find the right space—if she’d lived more in the moment and worried less about rules. If she’d been more like Li…

She’d dreamed of kissing Jian when she was younger.

But what she felt now was far more primal, more powerful. Any residual doubt and confusion she’d had about Jian’s role in Li’s death had vanished. Wilhelm had been gone for weeks. Romy was overtaken by a desire to feel alive. To feel something other than loss.

She lay staring at the ceiling in the stifling room, listening to every breath.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Jian start to doze. How many hours had he lain awake watching over her, waiting to protect her from an intruder?

She tentatively rested her head on his chest and went back to sleep.

When she awoke, Romy rolled over and moved close to Jian, gently tucking her head under his neck so her chin rested on his chest. He took a breath, and wrapped his arm around her. It was sticky and dripping with sweat.

She traced a line down the centre of Jian’s ribcage. His eyes remained closed, but his chest twitched. Something shifted beneath his pants. He sighed, and she felt his hot breath exhale into her hair.

She kept exploring his sticky torso with her hands, tracing the lines of his abdominal muscles, running her fingers over his dark nipples and watching them harden. Something was stirring in her stomach and lower in her groin and she wanted to press against him. Feel connected. Blot out her loneliness and loss.

She took a deep breath and rolled on top of Jian, straddling him and sliding her dress above her thighs so she could feel him through her cotton underwear. She moved as if she were in a half-dream, not daring to believe she would do this if she were awake.

He groaned and opened his eyes, putting his hands on her shoulders.

‘Romy,’ he said, dark eyes locked on hers. ‘We can’t. You’re hurt. This is shock.’

She moved above him with a shy grin and he dropped his head back on the pillow as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close for a hug. His hands lingered at her shoulders, as if trying to make a decision.

They both took deep breaths, rocking gently against one another. Giving in to his instinct, Jian ran his hands down the length of her back and rested them at the base of her spine. He pressed her downwards against him, before bringing one hand back up to brush her damp hair away. Jian stretched up for a lingering kiss.

He tasted of black tea. The kiss was gentle. Soft, but thirsty. She kissed him deeper and harder as they pressed against one another, clinging for comfort.

Slowly, she reached down and untied the knot of his pants then slid them off, after which he gently, reverently, slid the dress over her head as she held her arms in the air.

She shivered with nerves.

‘Romy,’ he whispered as he buried his head in her breasts and unfastened her bra at the back. She wriggled out of her sagging grey underpants.

They rocked together, finding a natural rhythm.

Jian brushed the hair off her face, paused and asked: ‘Are you sure?’

Romy nodded. She loved Jian. She wanted him—she always had.

He looked deep into Romy’s eyes as he threw his head back and groaned, never breaking her gaze. ‘Romy, I love you—I always have,’ he said as the moonlight rippled across the ceiling.