They gave a wide berth to the Krampnitz armoured division headquarters, at Fahrland just north of Potsdam, but they did meet roadblocks: one near another military installation, two at large river bridges and at a major guard post close to the Heinkel aircraft works at Oranienburg. In each case, the road was obstructed by movable barriers of barbed wire set between steel struts. The soldier demanded the same thing each time: ‘Halt! Ausweis!’ Their papers were perused thoroughly but politely and found to be in order. Sunny did the talking and her explanation that Wilde was a free worker from France was accepted unquestioningly. Perhaps the story was helped by slipping in the fact that she was the widow of a Wehrmacht general, a hero of the Third Reich. How could such a woman and her chauffeur be anything but what they seemed? The blockade was moved aside and they were waved on, with good wishes for a safe journey.

In the meantime, Sunny directed proceedings from the rear seat, dictating the route in the autocratic manner of a great lady which, Wilde conceded, she was. Certainly she had been a woman of influence at other times in her life, even if the present regime kept her on the sidelines and watched her with a wary eye.

In one village, near the town of Oranienburg, they came across a sign – stretched on cord right across the street – saying: ‘Juden sind hier unerwünscht!’ Wilde had enough German to know that it translated as ‘Jews are not wanted here’.

Sunny leant forward. ‘You understand that?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’ll see plenty more of those.’

Although the roads were mostly deserted – save when they met columns of army vehicles trundling eastwards – the journey took a lot longer than Sunny had anticipated. She had suggested it was an hour’s drive, but by the time they entered the village of Kossertheim, they had been on the road for more than two and it was already after 7 a.m.

‘Now where?’ Wilde demanded.

The drive here, with the constant threat of being exposed, would have shredded the nerves of most people. But Wilde had been surprised to find that he was becoming increasingly alert and ready for whatever lay ahead. He reasoned that it was the fighter in him. Once the training was over, once you were in the ring, gloved up, your primal instincts took over and you were at your strongest, fastest and sharpest. There was no longer any room in your head for fear.

‘The house is supposed to be at the north end of the village,’ she said. ‘Slow right down – be prepared to go straight on if all is not well.’

Much of the country they had travelled through was forested, gradually giving way to flat, open farmland, much like the fens and fields of Cambridgeshire. Now the countryside was beginning to change again.

‘We are close to the Schorfheide forest here,’ she said. ‘A hunting ground.’

This village, like many they had passed through, was mostly made up of dull farmworkers’ cottages, and had very little charm. Wilde supposed there must be some better properties away from the main road, but they were not visible.