His face, as she had known it would be, was a picture of incredulity.

‘Gustav Gründgens? The Gustav Gründgens who has just taken over as director of Berlin’s Staatstheater?’

‘If the Staatstheater is Berlin’s principal theatre, then yes. The very one.’

‘Good God!’ He was utterly appalled. ‘Gründgens will have her on his stage in the blink of an eye!’

‘So Ilse is hoping.’ There was merely amusement in Vicky’s voice. ‘She wants to be an actress. Apparently, her ambition was to be a pupil at the Max Reinhardt Theatre School, but as Reinhardt—and most of the actors and actresses who worked for him—have left Germany for the United States, Gründgens is now the most influential man in the world of Berlin theatre. I imagine that at the moment he’s simply been bowled over by her beauty and is now waiting to see whether or not she can act.’

‘And Josef and Zelda are allowing this?’ Max ran a hand through his thick thatch of curly hair. He wasn’t often stupefied, but no other word could describe his reaction to his mother’s news. ‘How come their attitude to Ilse going on the stage is so different to their attitude towards Lotti being on the stage?’

His mother regarded him fondly. ‘For an intelligent, worldly, sophisticated young man, you can be quite dim at times, darling. Lotti is a cabaret artiste and, as such, her lifestyle is exceedingly rackety and bohemian, as I am sure you are well aware. Ilse wants to become a classical stage actress. There is a world of difference between the two. Even more to the point, though she’s only eighteen, Ilse is a lady from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. She’s begun moving in the kind of social circle that is light years away from the social circle Lotti moves in. Nicholas Schulenburg, for instance, is a scion of the ex-reigning House of Hohenzollern.’

Max tried to look suitably impressed and failed. He was far from being a fuddy-duddy, but he would have preferred Ilse to be going off to university rather than being stage-struck and partying with the likes of Nicholas Schulenburg.

As he kissed his mother goodbye it occurred to him there was an upside to the news he had been given. Via Ilse, he would now have entrée into yet another of Berlin’s social circles—one he wasn’t yet on intimate terms with and one which, when he was, would be exceedingly useful to him.

Max flew into Tempelhof and then took the train to Friedrichstrasse. It was a beautiful day and, a change for Berlin in midsummer, not too hot. A light breeze was blowing and as he walked out of the station he unbuttoned his shirt at the neck, loosened his tie and then, his jacket hooked on his thumb, he slung it over his shoulder and strolled along Friedrichstrasse in the direction of Unter den Linden.

The familiarity of the city made his arrival in it seem almost like a homecoming—almost, but not quite. He paused at a news-stand to buy a copy of the International Herald and, for professional purposes, Der Stürmer, reflecting that if it hadn’t been for his mother’s insistence on giving loyalty to Britain throughout the war years—and then remaining in Britain—Berlin and the mansion on Unter den Linden would truly have been his home.