He glanced down at the front page of the Herald. The headline was fairly innocuous: ‘Mussolini Watches as Italy Wins First World Cup in Europe’. Accompanying the news report was a photograph of the Italian football team giving the Fascist salute before beating Czechoslovakia 2-1 in Rome. British news was that fierce fighting had broken out at a rally held at Olympia by Sir Oswald Mosley’s black-shirted Fascists, and in the United States six billion dollars in aid had been voted for farmers in drought-stricken areas.

The only reference to events in Germany was the news that the Reichsbank had put a six-month moratorium on German loan payments. There was nothing about the arbitrary arrests taking place in Germany; no mention of the civil liberties being taken away from Germany’s Jewish population; no mention of the way German society was becoming completely Nazified.

As the Herald was one of the most conscientious of newspapers it indicated how little true awareness there was, outside Germany, of just what was going on inside it.

Der Stürmer, he knew, would be far different, but he didn’t want to be sickened as yet by the contents of Der Stürmer. He would read Streicher’s anti-Semitic, vile and vulgar rag later, when he had a glass of brandy to hand to help wash the taste of it away.

Tucking both papers under his arm he turned left into Unter den Linden and, as always, instead of keeping to the pavement he headed towards the wide gravel walk that, flanked by a double row of linden trees, led down the centre of the boulevard.

It was, he thought, the most beautiful walk in the city, probably the most beautiful walk in any European city. The buildings on either side were all magnificently neoclassical in style, as was the Remer mansion. He paused before leaving the gravel path to walk towards its great, gilded gates, wondering for how much longer Josef and Zelda would be able to retain it as a family home. Many of the other mansions that had once kept it company were now no longer family-owned.

That his uncle had managed to steer the House of Remer so successfully through the great financial upheavals that had beset the country since the war years was, he had to admit, something close to an act of genius. And if it was true that the House of Remer was again covertly producing armaments, this time for a Nazi government, then it was no wonder his uncle and Claus were wearing gold and black swastikas in their lapels, for the profits to be gained would be enormous.

When he entered the house it was to find his aunt was fully appreciating the lovely day. Lying lazily in a hammock slung between the low-growing branches of a giant cedar, she turned her head at his approach, a smile curving her glossy red lips.

‘Max! How lovely!’ She sat up, swinging long legs over the edge of the hammock, but making no attempt to jump down from it. ‘Pull up a garden chair or sit on the grass. It’s a perfect day for grass sitting.’