He approached the door and raised his hand to knock lightly, then stopped himself. He could hear movement inside, so she was definitely awake. But after his confrontation with the Luftwaffe officer he couldn’t afford to alert anyone in this house. Instead he lowered his hand and tried turning the door handle. It was unlocked and the door opened a few inches on well-oiled hinges.

Her bedside light was on and he looked towards the bed, about to call out her name, but then pulled back without actually closing the door, and hoping to God he hadn’t been seen.

Sunny was in bed with Anton Offenbach. They were both naked. She was straddling him, moaning gently, lowering herself on to him. His eyes were closed in ecstasy.

He had only glimpsed them for a moment before retreating, but it had been more than enough.

He returned to his room, quietly closed the door and sat on the bed, thinking hard. He needed to make sense of it, but nothing added up. Or, rather, the only thing that made any sense was that he had been set up.

But how? And why?

One thing seemed clear: this tryst here with her lover, Offenbach, must have been planned. Their arrival here at the same time could not have been mere chance. That must mean that she had always been planning to bring Wilde and Klara here, one way or another.

Another thing seemed clear: not only were Sunny Somerfeld and Anton Offenbach lovers, they must also be working together.

But he couldn’t believe that everything had been planned. Not last night, for instance. In the woods, hunted by gunmen, Sunny Somerfeld had been faint with fear, and that was not acting.

So what now? Wilde wanted to get away from her, but at the moment she still seemed like his best option of getting out of Germany. His only option.

*

Whoever had signed the foreign office memorandum requesting an interview for Tomas Esser with Herr Todt had covered their tracks well. Since arriving in Berlin, Charlie Jung had got precisely nowhere in his search. There was nothing in the foreign office archive and no one had any recollection of any such paper being signed on behalf of Ribbentrop.

Nor did Jung make any progress finding Anton Offenbach. He was not at his home in Wilmersdorf, and Jung’s contact at the Abwehr offices had no information on him or his whereabouts, though he said he would look into it. An hour later he called back, having drawn a blank.

‘He seems to be out of town, Charlie. No one seems to know where he has been since yesterday. Why do you want him?’

‘I owe him a drink, and I was in town.’

‘If I see him I’ll tell him you called.’

‘Don’t bother. It’s not important.’