‘That too.’ There was amusement in Zelda’s voice. ‘And the baby is going to be a boy, Vicky. Don’t wish a daughter on me. I don’t want one. Not yet.’

Five days later, accompanied by Max, his nanny, Paul, Josephine and a mountain of luggage, Vicky boarded a train en route for Ostende and the ferry to Dover.

Saying goodbye to her, Berthold was nearly in tears. ‘If you waited another few months, Liebchen, I could go with you,’ he said as the whistle blew. ‘It wouldn’t look so bad then, my leaving Berlin. Now is a difficult time. Josef has a major contract with the navy to put into operation and wants me to show my face at lots of meetings with admirals and government ministers.’

‘In another few months we’ll have another baby,’ she said, half hanging out of the train window as he reached up to grasp her hands. ‘And babies are like wine, Berthold, they don’t travel well.’

She was near to tears too, at parting from him, but her craving to have Yorkshire air in her lungs was so deep she didn’t even come close to changing her mind about her trip. She had to go to Yorkshire. She had to. Then, after a few weeks of life at Shuttleworth Hall, she would be able to face living in Berlin once again.

The whistle blew a second time and, amid billows of steam, the train began edging along the platform.

‘Auf Wiedersehen, Liebchen!’ he shouted as their hands were torn apart. ‘I love you!’

‘I love you too!’ she called back. ‘Goodbye, Berthold darling. God bless!’

Only when his figure was no longer discernible did she move away from the window.

‘Uncle Berthold will be lonely without you,’ Paul said, slipping his hand into hers as she seated herself next to him.

‘Yes, he will.’ Tears of guilt burned the backs of her eyes. ‘But it’s only for a few weeks, Paul, and he will have lots of things to keep him busy.’

‘Seeing admirals?’

‘Seeing admirals,’ she said, wondering what on earth admirals had to do with a major contract for steel.

‘Welcome ‘ome, Miss Hudson! Welcome ‘ome!’ the elderly stationmaster at Little Ridding said jovially as she and her little party descended from the Harrogate train. ‘And who’s this grand little chap?’ He beamed down at Paul. ‘It’s never Mrs Gould’s little lad, is it?’

Paul beamed sunnily back at him. ‘Yes, it is.’

The stationmaster clapped his forehead with a gnarled hand in pretend wonderment. ‘Well, I nivver. Tha’s growed so’s I’d nivver ‘ave known thee.’

‘I’m not Miss Hudson any longer,’ Vicky said, not wanting the stationmaster’s misunderstanding to continue. ‘I’m Mrs Berthold Remer now—and Mrs Gould is Mrs Josef Remer.’

‘And this is my cousin,’ Paul said proudly, indicating Max, cocooned in a shawl in his nanny’s arms. ‘He’s nine months old and it’s his first visit to Yorkshire.’

‘Then ‘e’s a lucky little chap an’ e’s very welcome.’

‘He most certainly is,’ boomed another, very different voice. As her father strode across the platform towards them, Vicky gave a gasp and, uncaring of being pregnant, ran to meet him, throwing herself into his arms.