All love,

Zelda

‘Well, at least she’s being careful,’ her father said when Vicky showed the letter to him. ‘She’s used an initial when the name in question was unmistakably German and her mention of a military preparatory school could be taken to mean an American military preparatory school.’

He gave the letter back to her without saying anything about Zelda’s reference to Berthold. Berthold’s docile handing over to Josef of all House of Remer steelworks and factories had so appalled him he now very rarely mentioned Berthold’s name. ‘If he’d behaved differently, Germany wouldn’t have quite so many armaments and battleships. He was in a position of great responsibility and he should have shouldered it and not walked away from it,’ was all he ever said on the subject.

It was how she felt herself, but wifely loyalty ensured she never said so.

‘You’re not going to take any notice of her nonsense about Paul, are you? He’s well settled at St Dunstan’s. It would be a shame to move him,’ her father said.

‘I should take notice of her wishes. She is his mother after all.’ She paused and then added mischievously, ‘I rather think, though, that Harrow may not take him, Papa. Not when they know his mother is a German citizen.’

Arthur’s bushy eyebrows shot high and then he bellowed with laughter. ‘No, indeed. Clever thinking, Vicky. It’s a trick almost worthy of Zelda herself.’

On Christmas Eve, all the able-bodied patients helped Paul, Max and Hugo decorate an enormous Christmas tree.

‘Who’s going to put the angel at the top of the tree?’ Hugo asked as even the patients in wheelchairs joined in the fun, decorating the lower branches with glittering baubles and tinsel and holly.

‘I’ll hold you up, laddie, then you’ll be able to reach,’ a thirty-year-old veteran of Mons said with a grin.

Even at four years old, Hugo knew when he was being teased.

‘Silly,’ he said, giggling. ‘You only have one arm.’

‘Well, if I’m ready to give it a go, I don’t see why you aren’t. What do you think, Mrs Remer? Shall I hoist him high?’

‘I think that might be a tad unsafe, Will,’ Vicky said, laughing. ‘What you could do, though, is to take a plate of hot mince pies round to everyone.’

‘Can I do it with him, Mama?’ Hugo was always eager to show that, like Max, he was a big boy too.

‘Yes, of course, but let Josephine put mince pies on a smaller plate for you. Then you’ll be able to carry it a little easier.’

‘And then are we having carols?’ Max asked, tinsel streamers garlanding his neck.

‘We are. And you and Paul are going to sing “Away in a Manger” as a duet. I know you’ve been practising. Grandpa told me.’

‘I’m going to put the angel at the top of the tree!’ Paul called out, climbing a strategically placed stepladder one-handed, the angel held tightly in his free hand.