By the time the all-clear eventually sounded and she staggered in to Ilse and Nicholas’s apartment, it was the early hours of the morning.

Ilse rushed to greet her in her dressing gown. ‘God! I was so worried about you, Lotti!’ she exclaimed, hugging her hard. ‘Do you want a cup of tea? Soup? Where were you when the sirens went? Were you still working?’

‘Tea. I’d love some tea, Ilse. And no, I wasn’t still working.’ She dragged a black beret off hair grey with ash and debris. ‘I was on my way home. Word is the Ku’damm got the worst of it tonight. At this rate there soon won’t be a department store left standing in the city.’

Instead of hurrying off to put the kettle on for tea, Ilse remained in the hallway, her eyes wide and feverishly bright.

‘It’s to be tomorrow at ten o’clock,’ she said. ‘That’s when Freddie is to receive his Oak Leaves from Hitler. Nicholas got word to me a few hours ago.’

Lotti sucked in her breath and then said unsteadily, ‘I need that tea, Ilse—and so do you. Come on, let’s go into the kitchen and put some wood on the stove. All we can do now is wait and pray.’

Too tense to sleep, they waited and prayed all through the rest of the night. In the early morning Ilse telephoned the film studios saying she’d been taken ill and wouldn’t be on set as scheduled. At nine o’clock, Lotti poured them both large brandies. At ten o’clock, the tension they were under was so excruciating Lotti didn’t know how she was living through it. Five minutes past ten came. Ten minutes past ten.

At half-past ten, Ilse said in a cracked voice, ‘Freddie must have been able to make the attempt. If he hadn’t, Nicholas would have telephoned by now. And if he’s made the attempt and it was a success there will be so many members of the High Command for Nicholas to contact that he won’t have time to contact us for ages and ages. His not telephoning is a good sign, Lotti, not a bad one.’ She was twisting her hands in her lap, her eyes imploring.

‘Of course it is,’ Lotti said staunchly, wondering how soon they would hear if the news was bad and who it was who would break such news to them. Would it be one of Nicholas’s friends? Or would the Gestapo arrive en masse, breaking down the door as they stormed in to arrest Ilse and maybe to arrest her as well?

At eleven o’clock, she said, ‘Let’s put the radio on. There’s bound to be some kind of news soon.’

There wasn’t, or not the news they were waiting for with every fibre of their being.

At twelve o’clock, there was still no news. ‘And why should there be?’ Ilse said, struggling for optimism. ‘The first hour after Hitler was shot would be complete bedlam. Nicholas would have to get in touch with men like General Olbricht and Count von Helldorf. There wouldn’t be a second of time in which he could telephone here.’