No longer would he be a mere clerk, or even a chauffeur as he had been when that couple had come over from London in September. At last he would have some standing: it would mean he would qualify for better accommodation, perhaps even in one of those very pleasant blocks in Charlottenburg. And Peggy – the pretty WRAF girl at RAF Gatow who walked with a bit of a limp – might even be interested in him now, despite the fact that he was quite a few years older than her.

His boss had said he could use the Humber Snipe over the weekend, so on the Sunday morning he drove over the Havel to Grunewald. He’d telephoned Peggy on Friday and Saturday and left messages for her: would she be interested in accompanying him? He could collect her and drive her back. In fact, to his slight embarrassment – he hadn’t wanted to come across as desperate – he’d actually rung four times on the Friday and twice more on the Saturday, but he imagined someone had failed to pass on the message – or that Peggy was busy.

Once he’d been walking in the forest for an hour, though, he was grateful she hadn’t joined him. He doubted she’d have managed the rough terrain with her limp, and it would have been an awfully long time to keep up a conversation. He was enjoying the tranquillity of the place, the strange silence afforded by so many trees so close together.

He was wary of losing his way, so avoided going too deep into the forest and made sure the path to his left remained just in sight. It was then that he noticed the couple walking along the path, seemingly keeping pace with him. He didn’t think much of it at first, but after a while, he was unsettled by their presence – not because there was anything suspicious about them, but because it made him feel inhibited: when he was sure he was completely out of anyone’s earshot, he liked to talk to himself or sing out loud. He didn’t want these people to think he was odd.

He decided to move a bit deeper into the forest, out of sight of the path, and continued like this for a while until he heard twigs snapping behind him and turned round to see the couple just yards from him, smiling apologetically as if they’d disturbed him. They seemed to be in their seventies, both short and smartly dressed as if on their way to a social engagement. The man had a fine head of silver hair and a well-tended beard. He looked like an academic. The woman had a gold brooch on the lapel of her coat and wore a pair of smart leather gloves.

‘We are terribly sorry to bother you, Mr Bemrose.’

Bemrose’s first thought was that from now on – if there was to be a now on – he would make sure he always carried a pistol. Someone in the office had mentioned it, and he hoped his failure to do so wasn’t something he’d regret, though of course it might be too late for that.