‘Auf Wiedersehen,’ he said, and kissed her on the cheek.

‘Give my love to my brother,’ she said, knowing he was scooting back to Unter den Linden to spend time with his father and that he would also be seeing Claus. She turned away from him and began walking up the steps, adding as an afterthought as she reached the front door, ‘And tell him one Nazi in the family is enough. We don’t need two.’

When the door was closed behind her, she leaned against it, suddenly exhausted. She’d nearly given herself away when he’d asked her to give his regards to her boyfriend. It would never do for him to know there wasn’t one. She had her reputation as a sexily decadent chorus girl to preserve.

She slipped off her high heels and began the long climb to the fourth floor. The lack of boyfriends wasn’t because of the lack of offers. She spent her life knee-deep in men and could have her pick. The problem was that after the first couple of dates they all lost their appeal. The only time she never got bored with a man was when that man was Max—and the problem there was that not only was he her cousin, he was also her best buddy. When it came to sex, Max went elsewhere—and if the number of different girlfriends she saw him with was anything to go by, did so frequently and with great variety.

Although Lotti’s apartment was a good distance from Unter den Linden, Max didn’t trouble to try and find a taxi. The city was beginning to stir with early morning noise and activity. Cleaning women were everywhere, hurrying off to offices and private homes. The occasional bus passed by him. Trams could be heard more frequently. Shouting could be heard as well. In any other city it was shouting that would have struck a discordant note—that would perhaps indicate police sirens might soon be heard. In Berlin it was shouting that attracted barely any attention. There was always violent shouting; always the sound of brawls and fights.

A squad of stormtroopers zipped past him in a truck. The shop window he was approaching had been defaced by an ugly placard on which was written, in scarlet paint, ‘DON’T BUY FROM JEWS.’ A little farther along the pavement were marks that looked suspiciously like dried blood.

He slid his hands into his trouser pockets. Though he intended spending the day with Claus—whose high-ranking Nazi friends were of even more interest to him than Fritz—he was also anxious for a tête-à-tête with Hugo. Hugo, he knew, was trying to persuade Hester that the time had come for her to leave Germany for good.

‘Transferring to a different embassy is no problem for me, Max,’ he had said every time the subject had come up between them. ‘The problem is Hester’s parents. They resolutely refuse to even consider leaving Germany. And unless they leave, Hester won’t.’

The shouting suddenly came to an abrupt, sinister end. Max’s mouth tightened. He was extremely fond of his gentlenatured sister-in-law. Far too fond of her to want to see her end up in Dachau.