The commotion was over—until the next time.

He turned away from the window, his face in slight shadow. It wasn’t the face of a man to be trifled with. Always handsome, his handsomeness now had a hard, inscrutable quality that even she, who had known him since she was a schoolgirl, found intimidating. There was nothing of Hugo in him. In looks, though not in weakness of character, Hugo took after Berthold. Max didn’t take after Berthold at all. And nor, since Ilse had left him for Nicholas Schulenburg, was Max any more the devil-may-care, affable personality he once had been. There was no laughter in his eyes any more. It was as if he had somehow turned in on himself. Always someone who kept his own counsel, now, as far as his private life was concerned, he was positively Sphinx-like.

‘Wherever the Schimmels go, they’ll need papers.’

‘Papers aren’t a problem.’

She considered the oddness of the fact that despite Max’s continuing close relationship with Claus, neither she nor Hugo had any qualms about trusting Max with information. ‘If it ever comes to it, Hester, you can trust Max with your life,’ Hugo had once said to her, and she believed him.

‘Has Hugo made any suggestions where the Schimmel family are concerned?’

She shook her head. ‘No, but that’s because he didn’t want me getting involved with making arrangements for them. As the arrangements are going to have to be made speedily—and as the visa process always takes so long with America and Britain, I thought perhaps Switzerland?’

He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘You can forget Switzerland, Hester. In order to prevent their labour market being flooded, the Swiss are refusing to grant any more permanent resident permits to German Jews.’

She didn’t ask how he knew. If he told her it was so, then it was.

‘Where are Jews to go, then?’ she demanded tautly. ‘Where are we to go when country after country is closing its borders to us? Even those countries accepting us as immigrants are lowering their quotas. Hitler is driving us out of Germany, but how can we go if no other country will take us in?’ Tears of pain, frustration and anger filled her eyes. ‘What are people like the Schimmels to do, Max? Are they to remain passively in a country where the Gestapo have unlimited powers of arrest? Where anyone can be taken into protective custody for any reason and be held for any length of time without a trial simply because it is thought that they may commit a crime? They’ve already been robbed of their livelihood. Mo Schimmel can’t practise as a dentist any longer, just as my father can’t practise as a doctor. Every Jew I know is fast being reduced to poverty. What a few years ago was discrimination is now full-scale persecution. How much longer will it be before it becomes state-condoned terrorism?’

He didn’t tell her he thought the answer could be measured in months, not years. Instead, he said, ‘Tell the Schimmels to try Trinidad.’ He glanced at his watch, knowing he must be on his way. ‘I’ve been told it’s still relatively easy to get visas for the British West Indies. And tell them to move their son out of the house to somewhere safer.’