He showed the photograph to Dave’s mother, Daisy. “Well, now, what a beautiful baby!” she said.

Walli smiled, though in his opinion no babies were beautiful, not even his own.

“I think she has your eyes, Walli,” Daisy went on.

Walli’s eyes had a slight Oriental look. He figured some long-ago ancestor must have been Chinese. He could not tell whether or not Alice’s eyes were similar.

Daisy continued to gush. “And this is Karolin.” Daisy had not seen her before: Walli had no photos. “What a pretty young woman.”

“Wait till you see her dressed up,” Walli said proudly. “People stop and stare.”

“I hope we will see her, sometime.”

A shadow fell over Walli’s happiness, as if a cloud had hidden the sun. “So do I,” he said.

He followed the news from East Berlin, reading the German newspapers in the public library, and he often questioned Lloyd Williams, whose specialty as a politician was foreign affairs. Walli knew that getting out of East Germany was ever more difficult: the Wall was being made larger and more formidable, with more guards and more towers. Karolin would never try to escape, especially now that she had a child. However, there might be another way. Officially, the East German government would not say whether legal emigration was possible; indeed, they would not even say which department dealt with applications. But Lloyd had learned, from the British embassy in Bonn, that about ten thousand people a year were given permission. Perhaps Karolin would be one of them.

“One day, I feel certain,” said Daisy; but she was just being nice.

Walli showed the picture to Evie and Hank Remington, who were sitting in the drawing room, reading a script. The Kords were hoping to make a movie, and Hank wanted Evie to be in it. They put down their papers to coo over the baby.

“We have our audition with Classic Records today,” Walli told Hank. “I’m meeting Dave after school.”

“Hey, good luck with that,” Hank said. “Are you going to do ‘Love Is It’?”

“I hope so. Lenny wants to do ‘Shake, Rattle and Roll.’”

Hank shook his head, making his long red hair swirl in a way that had caused a million adolescent girls to scream for joy. “Too old-fashioned.”

“I know.”

People were constantly coming and going at the house in Great Peter Street, and now Jasper came in with a woman Walli had not seen before. “This is my sister, Anna,” he said.

Anna was a dark-eyed beauty in her middle twenties. Jasper was good-looking, too: they must be a handsome family, Walli thought. Anna had a generously rounded figure, unfashionable now that all models were flat-chested like Jean “the Shrimp” Shrimpton.

Jasper introduced everyone. Hank stood up to shake hands with Anna and said: “I’ve been hoping to meet you. Jasper tells me you’re a book editor.”

“That’s right.”

“I’m thinking of writing my life story.”

Walli thought Hank was a bit young, at twenty, to be writing his autobiography; but Anna had a different view. “What a wonderful idea,” she said. “Millions of people would want to read it.”