“I’ll have to talk to my husband,” she said.

“I knew you’d say that. Women always do.”

“It will mean leaving him alone a lot.”

“This happens to all spouses of members of parliament.”

“But my husband is special.”

“Indeed.”

“I’ll talk to him this evening.” Rebecca stood up.

Claus stood too. “On a personal note . . .”

“What?”

“We know each other quite well.”

“Yes . . .”

“This is your destiny.” He was serious. “You were meant to be a national politician. Anything less would be a waste of your talents. A criminal waste. I mean it.”

She was surprised by his intensity. “Thank you,” she said.

She felt both elated and dazed as she drove home. A new future had suddenly opened up. She had thought about national politics, but had feared it would be too difficult, as a woman and as the wife of a disabled husband. But now that the prospect was more than a fantasy she felt eager.

On the other hand, what would Bernd do?

She parked the car and hurried into their apartment. Bernd was at the kitchen table in his wheelchair, marking school essays with a sharp red pencil. He was undressed and wearing a bathrobe, which he could manage to put on himself. The most difficult garment, for him, was a pair of trousers.

She told him immediately about Claus’s proposition. “Before you speak, let me say one more thing,” she said. “If you don’t want me to do this, I won’t. No argument, no regrets, no recriminations. We’re a partnership, and that means neither of us has the right to change our life unilaterally.”

“Thank you,” he said. “But let’s talk about the details.”

“The Bundestag sits from Monday to Friday about twenty weeks of the year, and attendance is compulsory.”

“So you’d spend about eighty nights away in an average year. I can cope with that, especially if we get a nurse to come in and help me in the mornings.”

“Would you mind?”

“Of course. But no doubt your nights at home would be all the sweeter.”

“Bernd, you’re so good.”

“You have to do this,” he said. “It’s your destiny.”

She gave a little laugh. “That’s what Claus said.”

“I’m not surprised.”

Her husband and her ex-lover both thought that this was what she should do. She thought so too. She felt apprehensive: she believed she could do it, but it would be a challenge. National politics was tougher and nastier than local government. The press could be vicious.

Her mother would be proud, she thought. Carla ought to have been a leader, and probably would have been if she had not got trapped in the prison of East Germany. She would be thrilled that her daughter was fulfilling her defeated aspiration.

They talked it over for the next three evenings, then, on the fourth, Dave Williams arrived.

They were not expecting him. Rebecca was astonished to see him on the doorstep, wearing a brown suede coat and carrying a small suitcase with a Hamburg airport tag. “You could have called!” she said in English.