“It’s not unusual,” Bernd said. “Men who survive battles feel remorse because others died and not them.” Bernd had got the scar on his forehead during the battle of Seelow Heights.

“I felt better after Carla and Werner adopted me,” Rebecca said. “Somehow that made it all right. Parents make sacrifices for their children, don’t they? Women suffer to bring children into the world. Perhaps it doesn’t make much sense, but once I became Carla’s daughter I felt entitled.”

“It makes sense.”

“Do you really want me to go to bed with another man?”

“Yes.”

“But why?”

“Because the alternative is worse. If you don’t do it, you’ll always feel, in your heart, that you missed out on something because of me, that you made a sacrifice for my sake. I’d rather you went ahead and tried it. You don’t have to reveal the details: just come home and tell me you love me.”

“I don’t know,” Rebecca said, and she slept uneasily that night.

On the evening of the next day she was sitting next to the man who wanted to become her lover, Claus Krohn, in a meeting room in Hamburg’s enormous green-roofed neo-Renaissance town hall. Rebecca was a member of the parliament that ran the Hamburg city-state. The committee was discussing a proposal to demolish a slum and build a new shopping center. But all she could think about was Claus.

She was sure that after tonight’s meeting Claus would invite her to a bar for a drink. This would be the third time. After the first he had kissed her good night. The second had ended with a passionate clinch in a car park, when they had kissed with mouths open and he had touched her breasts. Tonight, she felt sure, he would ask her to go to his apartment.

She did not know what to do. She could not concentrate on the debate. She doodled on her agenda. She was both bored and anxious: the meeting was tedious but she did not want it to end because she was scared of what would happen next.

Claus was an attractive man: intelligent, kind, charming, and exactly her age, thirty-seven. His wife had died in a car crash two years ago, and he had no children. He was not good-looking in the movie-star sense, but he had a warm smile. Tonight he was wearing a politician’s blue suit, but he was the only man in the room with a shirt open at the neck. Rebecca wanted to make love to him, wanted it badly. And at the same time she dreaded it.

The meeting came to an end and, as she expected, Claus asked her if she would like to meet him at the Yacht Bar, a quiet place well away from city hall. They drove there in their separate cars.

The bar was small and dark, busiest in the daytime, when it was used by people who had sailboats, quiet and almost deserted now. Claus ordered a beer, Rebecca asked for a glass of Sekt. As soon as they were settled she said: “I told my husband about us.”