The change in his understanding as to the true nature of their relationship had taken place in the summer of 1921. It had been a blisteringly hot day and he had gone to Scarborough by train.

It was there, within minutes of leaving the station, that he saw them. They were strolling along the promenade towards him and there was absolutely no chance of their seeing him, for they had eyes only for each other.

They were arm in arm and she was leaning in towards him as they walked, looking adoringly up at him as he looked lovingly down at her. Not even to an inexperienced seventeen-year-old could they have been mistaken for two people who were merely casual friends.

Shock had rooted him to the spot

The promenade was broad and had been busy with holidaymakers. As they had drawn near to him he had turned his back for a few moments and then, when they were safely past, he had again turned to watch them in disbelieving fascination.

Three years after that day in Scarborough he could still remember the incredulity he had felt. Since then, Adam had become a regular visitor to Shuttleworth Hall. Ostensibly, he came to visit Arthur Hudson and many mill and wool matters were discussed. Afterwards, though, he would spend time with Vicky, and while they were both far too careful to gaze at each other with the expressions he had seen on Scarborough’s promenade, they would walk across the lawn together and down to the river, Arthur Hudson’s aged spaniels at their heels.

It had become such a common occurrence that he knew no one but himself even wondered about the nature of their relationship—just as no one but himself ever seemed to think it odd that although Vicky’s bedroom boasted a large double bed she always moved out of it whenever Berthold visited, in order to share a twin-bedded guest room with him.

Even to a twenty-year-old virgin like himself, it indicated that all was not quite normal within his aunt and uncle’s marriage. Yet as he looked at them now, across the table, it was impossible to imagine them divorcing. His aunt would, he knew, find such an act far too distressing for Max, Hugo and Nancy. Besides, even if they no longer enjoyed marital relations—and he very much doubted that they did—they were most certainly still good friends. Their friendship showed in the gentle teasing that took place between them, as when, at the beginning of dinner, his aunt had teased his uncle about his joint-carving ability.

Even though they were terribly old to be lovers—his aunt was, he knew, thirty-six and Adam was possibly even forty—he still thought it all very romantic.

He wasn’t able to continue thinking about just how romantic it all was, as his grandfather suddenly said in a loud voice, ‘And so are the rumours we are hearing in New York correct, Berthold, and is this Hitler person going to be paroled long before he’s served his five-year prison sentence?’