It was so warm he wanted to open a window, but knowing how acrid the air then entering the room would be he resisted the impulse. Though it was essential for him to spend long periods of time in the Ruhr, he was never there longer than necessary. As far as he was aware his father had never done so either, except for the period when, for reasons still unknown to him, his father’s relationship with his mother had been under strain.

That strain was, though, now a thing of the past. It was as if relinquishing proprietorship of the Remer steel empire had righted whatever was wrong between the two of them, which was odd, because for as long as he could remember his mother had been as fiercely ambitious for the House of Remer as his father had always been.

He looked down at his watch. He’d arranged to have a one o’clock lunch with the director in charge of mining and armaments, but it was still only twelve-thirty.

Restlessly, he walked back to his desk and sat down again. If he’d been in Berlin he would have been anticipating lunch with Paul, for his half-brother was making one of his rare visits to Berlin. As he stared broodingly at his telephone he wondered if Paul’s visit had been occasioned by anxiety over their mother so suddenly and inexplicably opting for life in an apartment in Charlottenburg, instead of in the family mansion on Unter den Linden. Whatever the reason, Zelda would be pleased to see him. Though she never said so, he rather thought she regretted her vow to never again step foot on English or American soil. It had meant she hadn’t seen as much of Paul when he was growing up as she otherwise would have done; neither had she seen as much of Vicky as she could have.

That she had caused herself so much heartache in the past and continued to suffer it for the same reason even now, was, he knew, due to nothing else but stubborn pride.

His mouth tightened.

That kind of stubbornness—the refusal to change any stance or opinion once taken—was one that ran in the family. Lotti could be as stubborn as a mule, but even Lotti’s brand of stubbornness was nothing compared to Nancy’s.

From outside the closed windows there came the sound of sirens indicating to Remer workers that the hour’s lunch break had begun. As a sea of men began streaming towards whichever canteen was nearest to them, Claus remained at his desk, his eyes still on his telephone.

He glanced down at his watch again, saw that he was now ten minutes late for his lunch and rose to his feet. He wouldn’t ring Nancy. Why should he? She was the one who was at fault. She was the one who was always at fault. There were times when he didn’t know why on earth he needed her so much. He certainly didn’t need anyone else. Like his father, he was hard-headed, coolly self-sufficient and, if the occasion arose, merciless.