Lucy stood with Mr Lachaise and Max outside the courtroom. Max had his hands thrust deep into his pockets and was staring at the floor. Mr Lachaise said:
‘What we are hearing is a prelude to the argument for ignorance. It is heartbreaking.’
Lucy glanced at the small man with the ever-gentle manner, still wearing the same cardigan. Who was he, beyond his name? She dared not ask. In a peculiar way he frightened her. He spoke with chilling authority.
‘In 1941 Radio Moscow revealed that Soviet Jews were being massacred by advancing Nazi troops. In 1942 the BBC described large-scale transfers of Polish Jews from ghettos to camps. Reports of mass extermination in places like Chelimno got to London in May 1942. The Polish Resistance informed London about the gassings at Auschwitz in March 1943. You cannot annihilate a people without the world finding out.’
Max, with his eyes still fixed on the floor, his shoulders pressed inwards, folding into himself, suddenly whispered, harshly: ‘The Defendant is my grandfather. I’m sorry. You can’t possibly want me anywhere near you… or to come to my studio… I think it’s best if-’
‘I know exactly who you are,’ said Mr Lachaise in the same dry, authoritative voice. ‘And I want to see your paintings.’
The usher pushed open the door to the court and called everyone back. Mr Lachaise took Max by the arm and Lucy followed.