‘You are looking well, Victoria.’

She looked into eyes as chilly as the Baltic, wondering why Zelda was so besotted with him.

‘Thank you.’ She hated his habit of always referring to her by her full Christian name. No one else ever did. Now, though, was not the time to make an issue of it.

Biding her moment, she curbed her patience as other meaningless, polite trivialities were trotted out. Not until they were seated at the table and the soup had been served, did she say coolly, ‘Berthold tells me you have secured a mammoth contract from the navy, Josef. A contract for two battleships.’

‘Yes.’ If he was surprised or annoyed by her comment he didn’t allow it to show. ‘And the House of Remer has also acquired a new coal mine in Lorraine. We have cause for great celebration. Perhaps we should be drinking champagne, not this rather fine Riesling.’

Berthold dabbed nervously at his mouth with a napkin. ‘I think Vicky is eager to talk to us about Yorkshire. You had a wonderful time there, Liebchen, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, but I don’t want to talk about it now, Berthold.’ She laid down her soup spoon. ‘I want Josef to know how unhappy you are about the navy contract. I want him to know that as head of the House of Remer you are going to renege on it.’

Zelda’s soup spoon clattered into her plate. Berthold choked into his napkin. Josef remained perfectly motionless, his soup spoon in mid-air, and then he began to laugh.

Vicky regarded him steadily. ‘It isn’t a joke, Josef. Berthold doesn’t want his family name to become synonymous with war. He’s aware there will be a heavy price to pay in compensation, but—‘

‘The House of Remer’s business affairs are nothing to do with you, Victoria,’ he said, still visibly amused. ‘As for you, Berthold. Are you too inept to keep her in order?’

Vicky’s nails dug deep into the palms of her hands. ‘Berthold isn’t inept. He’s simply allowed you too much authority in House of Remer affairs. From now on he’s going to take charge of things himself and the first thing he is going to do is to extricate the House of Remer from all armaments contracts.’

Josef quirked an eyebrow. ‘Really? You think so, do you?’

‘Yes,’ she said curtly. ‘I do.’

‘Then perhaps you need a little educating.’

Despite the insulting smile, the Baltic eyes were still icy. Seated beside her, Berthold remained paralysed in horrified silence. Opposite her, Zelda bit her lip so hard she drew a fleck of blood.

‘Even if Berthold were to choose to take charge of things himself,’ Josef continued silkily, ‘it would not be possible for him to do so.’

‘Why not?’

There was a change of atmosphere in the room that she didn’t understand. Berthold was screwing his napkin into a ball. There was perspiration on Zelda’s upper lip.

Signalling that the maid who had been waiting on them should leave the room, Josef pushed his chair away from the table and rose to his feet. Resting his hands on the table and leaning towards her slightly, he said, ‘Because, though at my father’s death Berthold became the formal owner of the House of Remer, he has never, as Chairman of the Board, been anything other than a figurehead. And because, though he is continuing to be a figurehead, he is no longer the owner of the Remer steelworks or any Remer factory.’