‘I can see they’re ripe, Violet. It’s not that. I was just overcome by a strong sense of déjà vu. This time last year, when elderberries were in season, we were on a knife-edge in case war broke out over Hitler’s demand that the Sudetenland be handed over to Germany. And here we are again, in just the same kind of situation, only instead of Czechoslovakia being the country about to be overrun, it’s Poland.’

‘And this time there will be no Mr Chamberlain waving a piece of paper and promising us peace for our time,’ Violet said grimly. ‘This time, if Hitler does what he’s threatening to do, there really will be a war. It’s unavoidable.’

Vicky, fully sharing Violet’s pessimism, gave a heavy sigh. If the future had looked nightmarish a year ago, it looked twice as nightmarish now. A year ago, it had generally been believed that Hitler would be content with being handed the Sudetenland and that he would make no more territorial demands. Then, six months ago, his jackbooted armies had invaded what was left of Czechoslovakia.

‘And the rest of Czechoslovakia isn’t German-speaking and never has been,’ Hugo had said to her over the telephone, his voice raw. ‘This time he’s occupying territory not inhabited by people of German race and so you can forget the “he’s only trying to weld all ethnic Germans into one huge nation” argument, because it won’t wash. And what he’s done once, he’ll do again. Danzig will be his next demand, on the grounds that before Versailles it was a German city, but even if Danzig were returned to Germany he wouldn’t be content with it. It’s Poland itself he’s after.’

She pushed the memory away, not wanting to dwell on it. ‘Let’s take our cups of tea and drink them in the sunshine, on the terrace,’ she said, adding a plate of biscuits to the tea tray. ‘I assume you’ve already been approached about accepting evacuee children? My letter arrived this morning. I’ve been told that in the event of war at least six children will be billeted here.’

Violet made a snorting sound as she followed her out of the kitchen. ‘Have you, indeed? And have you room for so many now that Heini is permanently here and you’ve got two Jewish families in the west wing of the house?’

‘At a squeeze.’

‘Take my advice and don’t tell the authorities. They’ll billet another half-dozen on you and it’s not accommodating them that will be the problem. It’s the looking after them that will be the hard work.’

They walked out onto the terrace and Vicky put the tray down on a circular wrought-iron table. ‘It’s reminiscent of when we turned our houses into convalescent homes, isn’t it?’ she said as Violet arranged her prodigious weight on a chair that was far too small for her. ‘Only this time, instead of being inundated with wounded soldiers, we’ll be inundated with children.’

‘And not only children,’ Violet said darkly as Vicky poured the tea, ‘because I suspect some of the little blighters will have mothers in tow—and how East End Londoners will fit into our kind of country lifestyle I can’t begin to imagine.’