Eaton nodded, that same enigmatic smile playing around the corner of his eyes.

‘My plan is to get Klara and Frau Dietrich to America with new names and ID papers. They’ll be concealed among a shipload of refugees. Juliet Vanderberg will be their American sponsor and will meet them in New York.’

‘You’re a bloody marvel, Eaton.’

‘From you, that is high praise indeed, Wilde. Oh, and by the way, it’s confirmed – Jim Vanderberg is safe. He’s with the rest of the American diplomatic corps in a swanky hotel at Bad Nauheim. I’m sure they’ll be exchanged in a few weeks. These things are difficult to arrange between hostile powers, but they’ll get there eventually.’

*

Klara wouldn’t go to bed. She curled up on the sofa beside Romy as though she would never let her go. Her eyes were drooping, but she was in a kind of heaven.

Romy was telling Wilde and Lydia about her escape. They had finished one of the claret bottles and were halfway through a second.

‘Before we left Berlin, James Vanderberg said I should go to the British Legation in Switzerland, that they would have the best opportunity to get me to Britain. He and the chargé despatched messages to David Kelly, the British ambassador. Once in Switzerland, the legation was, indeed, prepared for my arrival. He is a wonderful man, your friend Vanderberg. Without him I would be dead.’

‘We think he’s rather wonderful, too,’ Lydia said in her faltering German.

Romy continued with her story. ‘But you know, I think Mr Kelly and the others at the embassy were rather cautious at first. Perhaps a little suspicious that I might be some sort of Nazi undercover agent. Only after they had made contact with Mr Eaton in London was I totally accepted. And soon it was all arranged. I was to be the first woman to use their underground route from Switzerland across France to Spain. I wondered at the time, and I wonder still, whether anyone really expected it to work, but it did.’

‘It must have been terrifying.’

‘For me, no – but for those who helped me? I was a stranger and yet they hazarded their lives for me. Once across the border into Vichy France, I was in the hands of the Resistance and was passed from one to another, accompanied all the way, either by road or train. In all, dozens of people – both men and women, even children – helped me and fed me. It would require a book to tell every detail, but I think it helped that I speak a little French. In the event, everything went as planned. I suppose I was not the sort of person the Gestapo were looking for – they wanted escaped RAF pilots and spies.’