‘Is the House of Remer capable of fulfilling the new contracts that have just been signed, Herr Remer?’

Though a Bavarian by birth, Göring’s upper-middle-class accent was immaculate.

‘Of course, Herr Reichsminister,’ Josef said, grateful to be dealing with a man he regarded as being socially, as well as politically, acceptable, but puzzled as to Göring’s interest in House of Remer business matters. ‘We have sufficient furnaces. Our steelworks are the equal of any in Germany. Every single House of Remer factory is geared to the kind of production required.’

‘And it is your desire to see the Fatherland armed and the military equal of all other nations?’

‘Good God, yes!’ Josef’s affront at even being asked such a question was genuine and deep. ‘Chancellor Hitler and President Hindenburg have my wholehearted support. I took out Nazi Party membership as long ago as 1928.’

Göring walked to the window, looked out, pondered a moment and then walked back to his desk, sliding his rump onto it, one jackbooted leg swinging free.

‘And your desire is for a racially pure Fatherland?’

‘But of course,’ he said emphatically. ‘No Jew now works in any capacity for the House of Remer.’

‘And miscegenates?’ Göring asked silkily.

The room was very still. Through the open window Josef could hear a tram creak and a car horn blare.

‘And miscegenates—when miscegenation is known, of course,’ he said, keeping his voice steady with difficulty, certain, now, of what it was Göring wanted with him.

The panic he felt was overwhelming. He could feel sweat on his forehead and fought the desire to reach for his handkerchief.

‘The contracts in question are huge, Herr Remer,’ Göring continued musingly. ‘They are worth millions and, as you can appreciate, could only have been agreed upon with an Aryan-owned company.’

‘But of course. Naturally.’ To prevent his hands from shaking, Josef put them on his knees.

‘Would it surprise you to know, then, Herr Remer, that we have evidence of non-Aryan blood in your family tree?’

Josef swallowed hard. ‘It would be more than a surprise,’ he said, unable to think of any course of action other than continuing to try and bluff things out. ‘It would be an impossibility. The Remers’ Aryan bloodline is traceable, untainted, as far back as the fifteenth century.’

‘Oh, until recently it was, Herr Remer. It was. A careless marriage can, however, bring dung to the best of families and, when it is brought in, it must be rooted out.’

‘There is absolutely no instance of any such marriage within my family…’ Josef began, panic beginning to bubble in his throat.

Göring picked up a sheet of paper from his desk and handed it to him.

It was a copy of Zelda’s father’s birth certificate. Under the entry for mother’s name were written, in brackets, the words ‘Reservation Indian’.

‘Exactly,’ Josef croaked, as if Göring had kindly proved a point. ‘My wife’s family are one hundred per cent American. There is no Jewish blood whatsoever…’