Lotti’s backing band, the Weintraub Syncopators, a jazz band that played in clubs all over Berlin, launched into the opening riff of ‘Mack the Knife’.

It wasn’t something she could ask. It wasn’t something she should even be thinking about. All that mattered, right here and now, was that she and her friends and Max were in a carefree group watching Lotti perform, and when Lotti had made her second appearance of the evening they would all go in a large group to the Schwanneke Artists’ Club or the Romanische Café for a noisy, boisterous supper.

She wondered, if she telephoned Hugo and Hester and Claus and Nancy, whether she would be able to tempt them into joining them. Then she remembered that Claus was in the Ruhr and, even if he were not, there was no way she could bring him into contact with her friends, for if she did so their uninhibited conversation would immediately freeze. The small circular swastika badge Claus habitually wore in his lapel would see to that. As for Hugo and Hester—neither of them were night owls. Only Nancy would be up for a late-night supper invitation.

A storm of applause brought her out of her reverie. After following ‘Mack the Knife’ with a huskily sultry version of ‘Stormy Weather’ and an even sultrier version of ‘Smoke Gets in Your Eyes’ Lotti had finished her first set with Irving Berlin’s ‘How Deep is the Ocean’.

‘Wunderbar!’ Vladimir was shouting, beating Max, Nicholas and Giuseppe to be the first up on his feet and applauding. ‘Wunderbar!’

Lotti blew him a kiss. Vladimir gave a whoop of delight.

As Lotti ran trippingly from the stage, the band began playing dance music and Nicholas Schulenburg leaned across the table towards Ilse. ‘May I have the first dance?’ he asked, uncaring of Vladimir, who was still on his feet and still clapping with gusto.

‘In a moment. I’m just going to telephone Nancy and ask her if she’d like to join us for supper. Where do you think we’ll be going? Schwanneke’s or the Romanische?’

‘I think we’ll be going anywhere you want to go.’

‘Then we’ll go to the Romanische.’ Picking up the little gold evening bag that matched her gown she left the table and made her way across to the phone booths.

‘The Romanische? Tonight?’ Even though it was nearly midnight, Nancy’s voice was as bright and crisp as always. ‘I’d love to, but I can’t. I’ve been to another God-awful Nazi rally and have to write a piece about it by morning. Sorry, sweetheart.’

‘Never mind, but let’s try and meet up another time while Max is in town.’

‘Definitely. There’s a lot I’d like to talk to my brother about. Have a nice evening, coz. I’ll speak to you again soon.’

Ilse put the telephone receiver on its hook and walked back through the crowded nightclub, drawing admiring male glances every step of the way.

Vladimir rose to his feet at her approach and strode towards her. ‘As I’m your escort for the evening, Nicholas is going to have to wait his turn for a dance,’ he said, beginning to lead her away from their table. ‘And as it is a foxtrot, you’re going to find that I’m almost Fred Astaire standard. Something Nicholas most certainly is not.’