It wasn’t strictly true. Though Berthold didn’t look ill, he looked far older than his thirty-four years.

‘And you look…Wundervoll!’ The change from the ten-year-old boy who had left Berlin nearly six years ago, to the six-foot-tall sixteen-year-old shaking his hand, was so great Berthold looked positively dazed.

‘And I’m Max…sir,’ Max said, deeply uncomfortable at meeting in such a public place the father he scarcely remembered.

Berthold set Nancy back on her feet and gazed at the dark curly-haired nine-year-old who looked nothing like him. ‘And I’m Papa,’ he said gently and, sensitive to Max’s awareness of the many people around them, didn’t cause him more embarrassment by hugging him, but simply held out his hand.

Max shook it and then, recovering his equilibrium as swiftly as always, said, ‘And this is Hugo, Papa. He doesn’t remember Berlin, but I do.’

Reluctantly, Hugo stepped forward. ‘Hello, Papa,’ he said shyly, keeping very close to Vicky.

‘Hello, Hugo.’ Berthold bent down to him, recognizing himself in Hugo’s slight build, pale straight hair and uncertain manner. ‘Welcome to Berlin. I’ve missed you a great deal these last six years. We’ve a lot of time to make up for, haven’t we?’

Hugo nodded, still reluctant to talk to his strange, German papa.

Berthold straightened up and, his eyes still moist, said to Vicky, ‘I think it is time to take our little family home, Liebchen.’

‘But not without Josephine.’ There was laughter in her voice. ‘And certainly not without our luggage.’

Standing in a little family group they waited for Josephine, who was making her way down the platform towards them, heavily laden porters on either side of her.

‘It’s good to see you again, Josephine,’ Berthold said as porters and luggage came to a temporary halt.

‘Likewise, sir. It’s been a long six years.’

‘It has indeed, Josephine.’

With Vicky at one side of him, her arm tucked in his, Nancy at his other side clinging tightly to his hand, and with his two sons and his nephew walking a few feet behind him, Berthold led the way out of the station to two chauffeured motorcars.

As the luggage was loaded Paul, trying not to sound too disappointed that his mother hadn’t been at the station to meet him, said, ‘Is my mother in Berlin or Baden-Württemberg, Uncle Berthold?’

‘Berlin,’ Berthold said, resting a hand in a comradely fashion on his shoulder. ‘She is at home, waiting for you. German ladies don’t like to have emotional reunions in public.’

There was a pause in which a pin could have been heard to drop and then Paul said, ‘My mother is American, Uncle Berthold.’

It was said pleasantly but Berthold froze in awkwardness and Max sucked in his breath.

‘Paul is forgetting that Zelda took out German citizenship before the war,’ Vicky said, smoothing the moment over by behaving as if nothing awkward had happened. ‘Now, how are we going to divide up? Would you three boys like to go in the car taking Josephine, while Papa and I take Nancy with us, in the second car?’