‘Ich heiße Lotti,’ Lotti said to Nancy, uncaring of her Uncle Berthold’s request that she summon up the English he had taught her. ‘Und das ist Ilse,’ she added, dragging her little sister by the hand behind her.

Nancy was not a child who was ever stumped for long and she liked the look of this cousin who was so near her in age. ‘Ik iza Nancy,’ she said, and clicked her heels.

There was smothered laughter from Paul, Max and Hugo and Claus said sternly, ‘In Germany, girls do not click heels.’

Nancy regarded him witheringly, aware that where boys were concerned Berlin was no different to Yorkshire. ‘Maybe not,’ she said bullishly, ‘but if I want to, I will.’

Before Claus could make any kind of a response a small animal charged into the hall, barking frenziedly.

‘Wastl!’ Paul cried, as the dog made a leap into his arms. ‘Look how he’s remembered me, Uncle Berthold! He has, hasn’t he?’

By the way Wastl was frantically licking Paul’s face, it was obvious to everyone that the elderly little Dackel had a memory as long as an elephant’s.

‘Let’s leave the children and Wastl to it,’ Zelda said to Vicky. ‘We’ve things to talk about and we can’t do it standing in the hall.’

‘And these introductions among the children can’t continue in the hall,’ Berthold said, standing upright again and taking hold of Nancy’s hand. ‘I’m going to take them all into the drawing room where they can have tea and cakes.’

‘Tee und Kuchen?’ Max said, never having forgotten such an important word as cake and entering into the spirit of the thing. ‘Jolly good, Papa. Let’s go.’

As Zelda and Vicky walked into Zelda’s vast bedroom the first thing that met them was the sight of themselves in a huge, heavily carved mirror.

Zelda came to an abrupt halt.

‘There,’ she said. ‘Now do you see? Now do you understand just how much I have suffered?’

Vicky stared at their reflections. Always, Zelda had been the one who had turned all heads wherever they had gone. Now, innately modest as she was, even she knew she was the head-turning one. She was wearing the ankle-skimming lilac suit and long sable stole she had worn on her last meeting with Adam. Her small hat, trimmed with closely packed violets, hugged her head, flattering the gold of her hair. Though laughter lines were visible at the corners of her eyes, there were no other signs she was now in her early thirties.

Zelda, five years her senior, was not so lucky. The hardness there had always been in her nature now showed in her face. Her high cheekbones no longer gave her face a sculpted look, instead they emphasized a gauntness that had never previously been there. Her figure had also lost its luscious curves and, as if conscious of the fact, she was wearing a dark-coloured silk dress that did nothing for the dramatic impact of her night-black hair.