As Vicky started to protest, she waved her into silence with her cigarette-holder. ‘I’m not upset about it, Vicky. I’m relieved. Life in Berlin is difficult enough without my parading an American-born son everywhere. I take it that Paul will be returning to St Dunstan’s?’

‘If that is what you want, Zelda. It’s certainly what Paul wants.’

‘And Max and Hugo?’

Vicky hesitated and then said, ‘I still have to discuss Max and Hugo’s future with Berthold.’

‘Good luck to you. Discussions with Berthold are usually totally futile. Ask Josef.’

The contempt in her voice was naked, but with great self-discipline Vicky didn’t rise to it. She said, ‘Where is Josef? Is he in Berlin?’

‘He’s in the Ruhr, trying to prove to Allied inspectors that all tools in Remer factories used for making armaments have been destroyed. Tell me how you see Max and Hugo’s future.’

‘I see it as being in Yorkshire—and in Yorkshire with their papa. I want Berthold to live with us at Shuttleworth Hall.’

Zelda’s sleek eyebrows rose high. ‘Berthold is under the impression you have all just arrived here in order to stay for good.’

‘I know. I’m hoping he’ll see things differently when I’ve talked to him.’

Zelda rose to her feet and crossed the room, stubbing her half-smoked cigarette out in the ashtray on her dressing table. ‘I hope you’re successful, Vicky,’ she said with feeling. ‘Because it would be the best thing for everyone if you did so. You didn’t fit into Berlin life before the war and, like Paul, there’s no chance at all of you doing so now. As for the children, even if they got to grips with the language they’d never be accepted. After six years in England they’re always going to speak the language with an unmistakable English accent. They’ll be bullied horrendously in school and socially ostracized out of it. For their sake, and yours, return to Yorkshire as soon as possible. And for Josef’s sake,’ she added, her tongue as tart as ever, ‘take Berthold with you.’

That night, alone in the bedroom they had shared together before the war, Vicky finally had the opportunity she had been waiting for. ‘We need to talk, Berthold,’ she said, looking at him through her dressing-table mirror.

Her waist-length hair was unpinned and she was wearing a cream silk nightdress edged in coffee-coloured lace.

Standing a few feet away from her, Berthold was unfastening his white piqué bow tie.

‘I know, Liebchen,’ he said, avoiding her eyes as he fumbled with the tie. ‘I know you’re nervous. It’s been a long time and I’m nervous too. Perhaps tonight it would be best if I didn’t attempt to…to…’

As she realized what it was he had assumed she wanted to talk about, she flushed scarlet, not out of embarrassment at the thought of their resuming marital relations again, but with shame because such a thought had been the last thing on her mind.

‘I want to talk about the children, Berthold,’ she said swiftly, putting down the heavy silver-backed hairbrush she had been holding. ‘And about Berlin.’