‘This reminds me of Zelda and Josef’s wedding, Berthold,’ she said, her voice full of gentle affection. ‘And now here we are, about to attend the marriage of their daughter to the son of their best man. It’s very satisfying, isn’t it?’

‘It is indeed, Liebchen,’ he said, using his old endearment for her. ‘The only thing marring the occasion is that our daughter is not here to be a bridesmaid.’

Under the circumstances, with Claus seated in such close proximity to them, it was not the most tactful of remarks.

‘And how is Nancy, Aunt Vicky?’ Claus said, destroying her hope that he hadn’t overheard. ‘I’ve heard rumours the International Brigade is to be withdrawn from the fighting and repatriated. Are there rumours to that effect in London?’

Vicky shook her head, knowing full well that even if there had been, it was unlikely she would have heard of them in Yorkshire.

‘What about you, Hugo?’ Claus persisted, his pale blond hair gleaming beneath the lights of the chandeliers. ‘Do you know if there’s any chance Nancy will soon be home from Spain?’

Hugo, well aware that Hester’s eyes would be fixed on Claus’s swastika badge and nowhere else, said coldly, ‘I’ve heard nothing to that effect. And even if she were to leave Spain, I doubt she’d return to England—not unless there was a war and she joined the armed forces.’

Vicky could practically feel family gaiety seeping away. ‘No more mention of anything to do with the international situation,’ she said swiftly. ‘We have the rare opportunity to be together at a happy family occasion. Don’t let’s spoil it.’

Much to her relief, it was advice that was taken. Though the tension and strain never left his face, Max began cracking jokes and behaving as if the pre-wedding dinner was an ordinary event instead of being part of the wedding celebrations of the woman he loved. Claus also made great efforts to behave as if there were no great political and ideological differences between him and nearly everyone else present. By the time the evening came to a close it was nearly possible for Vicky to believe that they were a normal family with no very great tensions dividing them.

Almost, but not quite, for by the end of the evening the personally engraved swastikas in Berthold’s and Claus’s lapels gleamed and glimmered just as brightly as they had done at the beginning of it.

Chapter Twenty-One

Yorkshire, London and Berlin, August 1939

‘Elderberries,’ Violet Ramsbotham said, triumph in her voice as she deposited a basket full of them on Vicky’s kitchen table. ‘They’re a little early. My trees aren’t usually ready to be picked until the beginning of September, but this lot are beautifully ripe and I thought you might like to make some wine with them.’

Vicky stopped what she was doing, which was making a pot of tea, and stared at the elderberries as if she had never seen any before.

‘What’s the matter?’ Violet demanded, her rocking-horse nostrils flaring. ‘If the bunches hadn’t been ready to pick, they would still have been upright on the tree and they weren’t. They were hanging down. I’ve already made a couple of good jellies with them.’