She glanced at her watch again, her mind racing. With preparations for war going full ahead in Britain, France and Germany, boat and train services were most likely in a state of chaos. Certainly, they would be severely restricted.

As she was thinking she was running to the bedroom. She couldn’t tell Hugo of the telephone call. For one thing, getting a personal call through to him at Whitehall was next to impossible, and for another, if he knew of her intention of leaving immediately for Berlin, he would physically prevent her from doing so.

She tugged a soft-sided bag from the top shelf of their wardrobe. She would leave a note for him, for when he returned home. By then, he would be unable to do anything. By then, she would be halfway across Germany.

She threw a change of underwear into the bag, some toiletries, a nightdress.

War, or no war, she wasn’t going to allow her sick parents to remain in Berlin one hour longer than necessary. War hadn’t been declared yet and, despite Hugo’s certainly to the contrary, might not be declared at all. She had contacts who had been forging documents for nearly two years and they would certainly forge a couple of passports for her parents. Somehow or other she would get her parents into Switzerland and then, financially assisted by Paul, into either Britain or America.

She yanked open her dressing-table drawer, taking out the British passport she had acquired on her marriage to Hugo, and then she opened their bureau, taking out the emergency English and German currency always kept there.

Lastly, she scrawled a note for him.

Dearest darling,

Had a phone call, 9.28, from a Frau Debuss. Parents ill—Vati a suspected heart attack. Don’t be cross, darling. I have to go. Max is in Berlin and will give me assistance. Love you with all my heart,

Hester

With her handbag in one hand and her travel bag in the other she paused for a brief moment at the door, gave a last look around the flat to make sure everything was as it should be—and five minutes later was in a cab, heading towards Charing Cross station and a train to Folkestone.

‘Going the wrong way, ain’t you, love?’ the booking clerk at the ferry office said to her as she made enquiries about the next sailing to Calais. ‘Old Hitler’s about to finally upset the apple cart, or didn’t you know?’

Forcing a smile and saying she was going to Paris, she bought a ticket for a boat about to sail and spent the voyage pondering what plan of action to take if she was prevented from entering Germany. The most obvious people to call would be Ilse and Lotti. Even if she couldn’t get to her parents, Ilse and Lotti would be able to.

She stepped off the ferry at Calais wondering why she hadn’t thought of contacting Ilse and Lotti before she had left London. The answer was pretty instant. It had been because she’d been panicked—and she was still panicked. What if her father was dead? How would her mother cope? What if even with false passports they couldn’t get into Switzerland? What if war was declared before the attempt to enter Switzerland could be made and she, Hester, was trapped in Germany?