As she and Berthold had not the slightest desire to spend long weekends killing animals and birds, increasingly long periods went by without her having Zelda’s lively companionship. And without Zelda’s companionship, Berlin weighed heavy on her.

Vicky hated its military trappings. She disliked the Column of Victory, its shaft made of cannon captured from the enemy in German victories over Denmark, Austria and France. It indicated an enthusiasm for war that left her feeling deeply unsettled, especially when she remembered her father’s remarks about Germany’s bullish attitude towards France and Russia and the sinister way in which the country was building up its naval strength.

It wasn’t only monuments that were a constant reminder of Germany’s love of all things military. Foot Guards, Grenadier Guards, Dragoons and Fusiliers regularly marched or galloped through the streets. Zelda regarded such parades as part of the glamour of Berlin life and revelled in them, just as she revelled in the brass fanfares that announced the arrival of the Kaiser whenever he rode down Unter den Linden.

‘It’s the most vibrant city in the world,’ she said time and again to her. ‘How can you hanker for village life in Yorkshire, Vicky, when you have so many opera houses, concert halls and art galleries on your doorstep? If it wasn’t for the cachet of being able to entertain on an even grander scale at Schloss Niedernhall than I can in Berlin, I swear I’d never leave it.’

Paul broke her train of thought by walking up to her, his whip-and-top in his hands. ‘Have you some coloured chalks with you, Aunt Vicky?’ he asked. ‘I want to chalk a new pattern.’

He was wearing knickerbocker trousers with a sailor-suit top, his shining dark hair cut short, his hazel eyes solemn.

Obligingly, she opened the bag she had brought with her and took a cardboard box of chalks out of it, reflecting on how much of a Berliner his mother had become.

‘Thank you, Aunt Vicky,’ he said, sitting down cross-legged at her side, Wastl running rings around him.

As he rubbed the old pattern off his top with a handkerchief and a little spit, it occurred to Vicky that Zelda hadn’t so much become a Berliner, as that by character and inclination she had always been one. Like the city, she glittered with a hard, shameless glamour. Her direct manner, uncompromising tongue and scepticism were all typical Berliner traits. All Berliners looked at life without illusions, living it to the full, sparing no one in the process. Only Berthold, of everyone she had met, seemed the odd one out. Dearest Berthold, whom she loved with all her heart.

With a sigh she returned her attention to her bag, taking a paper cone of mint humbugs from it. As she offered one to Paul he smiled and thanked her for it and, not for the first time, she noticed that his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

She watched him as, hampered by Wastl, he began chalking a new pattern on his top. A year or so ago he hadn’t always been so solemn. A year or so ago he had been as light-hearted and boisterous as any other little boy.