Very soon, he realised that they were not alone in this forest. The place was crawling with soldiers and armed guards and it was a miracle that he and Brunner had not yet been spotted.

What the hell was this place? He had to talk with Bormann again, get new instructions.

*

Wilde sat at a table in the kitchen quenching his thirst with a large stein of cold, frothy beer. The cook and a couple of maids bustled around, smiling at him when he caught their eye. They brought him a plate of two large pork chops with a delicious gravy and fresh bread to mop it up. Wilde ate it with relish; he very much doubted whether the rest of the populace were able to consume such fare on a daily basis.

But what now? What were Sunny and Klara doing elsewhere in this palatial building, with its vast halls replete with tapestries, paintings and ancient statuary? All he could do was wait here and hope that Sunny somehow persuaded her hostess to provide them with a car.

‘Herr Sable?’

He looked up. The cook was standing by him with another plate, this time of small cakes.

‘Danke schön.’

‘Bitte schön,’ she replied and put down the plate in front of him.

The cook nodded and gestured to him to eat. She held up the empty stein inquiringly.

‘Noch ein bier?’

‘Nein, danke. Das war sehr gut.’

‘Ah, sprechen Sie Deutsch?’

‘Ein bisschen.’

The cook looked the part. She was about thirty, well-built and sweaty. Her hearty smile said she was one of those people who considered it their God-given purpose in life to fill people’s bellies with good food. Having no idea how long it would be until his next meal, Wilde was more than happy to satisfy her desire and eat.

Sunny arrived at the door and the cook backed away. Sunny spoke in slow German.

‘Frau Göring has asked us to stay the night, Sable. You will be given the use of the quarters of Herr Göring’s valet, as they are both away in East Prussia. We will leave first thing in the morning.’

Sunny nodded briskly to Wilde and to the cook, and then was gone.

So, that was that. No discussion. Whatever lay behind the decision, it could not be talked of here in front of this cook and the maids. Wilde assumed that they had been invited to stay the night because Emmy Göring simply wished to spend time with her old friend Sunny.

Nothing to worry about, then. So why did he get the horrible feeling that his initial instinct had been correct? That this was a trap.

And then a large man who looked like a gardener – with untamed hair and trousers tied with string – sauntered into the kitchen and demanded, ‘Òu est le français?’

*