Wilde half-expected a stately home but, in one of the narrower streets of this imperial town, they came to something rather more prosaic – a large three-storey house with a gated entrance. A house fit for a bourgeois businessman or lawyer, perhaps, but certainly not a palace. Sunny dismounted and he rode on as instructed. When he returned a few minutes later, the street was clear and a grey darkness was beginning to descend. Soon he was indoors, in a large reception room, standing in front of a log fire which had just been lit. The windows were blacked out and again he had that uneasy feeling of being enclosed in a sarcophagus.

Sunny was removing her coat and her woollen cap. Her hair was short, not at all conforming to the German image of beauty dictated by Hitler and Himmler. She wore a knee-length woollen skirt, grey woollen stockings and a red blouse. Not a million miles from the sort of thing Lydia wore.

‘Who else is in this house?’ Wilde asked.

‘No one. The female servants have gone to munitions work or nursing, the men have been called up for the army. I have no help, so you will find dust everywhere. We had two maids, a butler, a chauffeur and two gardeners – and I’m afraid this house really doesn’t run on its own. As you can see, I’ve even had to learn how to light a fire! Now first of all – do you still have your papers and passport in the name of Tomas Esser?’

‘Yes.’

‘Give them to me.’ She held her hand out impatiently.

Wilde fished the documents from his pockets and handed them over. She glanced at them, then tossed them in the fire.

‘That name is gone for ever. You are now Thomas Sable. So tell me, Monsieur Sable, what languages do you speak?’

‘English, of course, and German well enough to follow a conversation. I’ve been working hard at it for quite some time, but I can be slow to frame an adequate response. Lack of confidence, I guess.’

Sunny nodded. ‘All you need to know is Ich bin Aüslander. Or better, Je suis Français. Even the dimmest Gestapo officer should be able to work out what that means. There are plenty of free workers around, particularly French – so no one will be surprised by your presence.’

‘I think I can manage Je suis Français.’

‘This is important, you know. How good is your French?’

‘It’s not good.’

‘You must have learnt French at school?’

Wilde looked doubtful. ‘Up to a point.’

‘Really? You don’t speak French?’ She laughed despairingly. ‘Gott in bloody Himmel, why have you been sent here?’

‘I’ve been wondering the same thing. Perhaps there was no one else?’

She shook her head in disbelief, then she gave a scornful shrug.

‘Oh well, perhaps you have other skills. At least we know that you are brave . . . or stupid.’

She did not sound convinced that it was the former.