He’d already indicated that Steiner should take a seat on a large sofa; now he sat opposite him in the leather chair the young girl had been in. Over the years, Steiner had got to know most of Bormann’s mistresses, some of whom were quite sweet. They saw him as some kind of father figure, and he’d had to arrange abortions for most of them. He didn’t like Bormann’s main mistress very much but still felt obliged to ask after her.

‘And how is Manja, may I ask, Herr Reichsleiter?’

Bormann shrugged and pointed to the door through which the girl in the cocktail dress had recently left. ‘Not as lively as her.’

‘What’s her name?’

‘How the hell should I know?’

‘And Frau Bormann and the children?’

‘What do you think, Wolfgang, the whole fucking—’ He stood up shaking his head in despair, and brought the cognac bottle over. ‘I’m sorry, Wolfgang, I’ve hardly been in the Parteikanzlei in recent months. The Führer barely leaves the bunker these days and he relies on me more and more. With the way the war’s going, he doesn’t trust the generals any more. He hardly trusts anyone.’

‘I understand; in fact I—’

‘He was never the most trusting of people, which in many ways is one of his strengths, but now – you understand I’m speaking frankly with you, Wolfgang – now he’s not in a good state. Some would say he’s paranoid: he shouts and rants, and God knows what drugs he’s taking. He only listens to Eva, and she’s in a pretty bad state herself. The party won’t survive this. In fact,’ he leaned towards Steiner and a grin appeared on his face, ‘you could say the party’s over! Do you get it, the party’s over!’

He stood up and paced the room, laughing at his own joke until tears formed in his eyes. ‘The party’s over… I must remember that. I’d use it in the bunker if there was anyone there with a sense of humour, but it’s full of Bavarians and Austrians.’

Steiner stared at the floor. He’d never seen Bormann like this. He was normally a calm man, always in control; now he was bordering on the hysterical. And he’d aged, too. He was in his mid-forties and had always taken care over his appearance, but now he looked nearer sixty.

‘I’m sorry, Wolfgang, I forget you’re Austrian.’

‘Don’t worry, sir, I wasn’t offended.’

‘And how are you keeping?’

Steiner felt relaxed and allowed Bormann to fill his glass. It was clear this was a social occasion and his concerns had been misplaced. He muttered something about these being difficult times for everyone, but hopefully… He stopped because he could tell Bormann was staring at him but no longer smiling.

‘I understand you’ve been making arrangements, Wolfgang?’

Steiner hesitated, puzzled at what Bormann was getting at, and at the sudden change in mood.

‘I beg your pardon, sir?’

‘I said I understand you’ve been making arrangements.’

He realised he must have looked as shocked as he felt. This was clearly no longer the social occasion he’d thought it was. There was an undoubted air of menace in the room, as if one of the windows had been opened and the wind was blowing in from the Wannsee.