‘We have a river here as well, Liebling. It’s called the Spree.’

‘And will I be able to paddle in it? Does it have otters in it?’

‘No, Liebling. It has cement embankments. But look how pretty the trees are—aren’t they a pretty green?’

Accustomed to the greenery of the Dales, Nancy was not as impressed by Unter den Linden’s lime trees as Berthold had hoped she would be.

And nor was she impressed as their car swung through giant iron gates and she realized her new home was one without any countryside in sight.

‘Shuttleworth Hall is much prettier,’ she said to him with North Yorkshire bluntness. ‘I’m glad we’re not going to live here for always. I wouldn’t like it.’

Moments later, as he helped Vicky out of the car, Berthold said, ‘I can see it is going to take time for the children to get accustomed to their new life in Berlin. We simply have to be patient, Liebchen.’

Knowing that the conversation about their future was going to have to take place as soon as there was the privacy for it, Vicky stepped into the mansion’s mausoleum-like entrance hall, feeling as if she were stepping into a prison.

As Berlin had grown shabby, so had the interior of the house. The dark red marble walls and floors were dull and, in several places, cracked. On the ceiling, gold filigree was flaking.

Several dozen yards away, at the foot of the bronze and Marble grand stairway, stood Zelda. Behind her, several stair-treads up the staircase, sat a small boy she knew must be Claus. Farther up still, sat two small girls.

Eager as she was to make their acquaintance, Vicky’s entire attention was on her cousin. In the past it had always been Zelda who, after long partings, had rushed up to her, fizzing with energy and vitality, dark eyes blazing with the pleasure of seeing her again.

Now the too-thin figure at the bottom of the stairs didn’t move.

Neither did anyone else, not even Paul.

Vicky’s heart began to pound. She ran a tongue nervously across her bottom lip and then, feeling as if she were stepping off a precipice into an unknown void, she moved swiftly forward, opening her arms wide.

‘Zelda! Oh, Zelda! How I have missed you!’

It was true. Suddenly, all the crossness she had felt at the crass and clumsy remarks in Zelda’s letters was forgotten. She was aware only that Zelda had always been the person closest to her in the whole world. That she was the sister she had never had and that she was overjoyed at being with her once again.

For a terrible second, as her arms closed around her, Vicky thought Zelda wasn’t going to respond—and then Zelda was hugging her fiercely, saying in her familiar cracked-ice voice: ‘The war hasn’t aged you, Vicky. You got the best deal. I got the short straw.’

‘Later,’ Vicky said gently, mindful of the many little pairs of ears listening to them. ‘For now just enjoy your reunion with Paul. It’s going to be hard for you to recognize him, he’s grown so much. And do speak English to him, Zelda. He hasn’t been able to keep up with his German. And then, later, you can introduce me to Lotti and her little sister and I want you to meet Nancy.’