‘Then perhaps Mother, Trudi and I should take a vote, since we are the other shareholders present,’ Gerhard said. ‘The motion is simple – do we agree that Isidore should proceed with the sale of the Meerbach Motor Works, and the Schloss Meerbach? All in favour, raise your hands.’

The vote was unanimous.

‘In that case, let us adjourn for lunch.’

‘Before we do,’ Isidore said, ‘there’s one last item of business to consider, isn’t that right, Countess?’

‘Oh yes, so there is, I’d almost forgotten,’ said Alatha. ‘Excuse me one moment . . .’ She got up from the table and walked to the door, opened it and said, ‘You may come in now, gentlemen.’

She returned leading four men, who all bore the tough, craggy look of men who’d done many years of hard, manual labour, and not stinted on tobacco or alcohol during that time. They were wearing suits whose fabric, never high quality to begin with, had been made shiny in places with wear. But the suits were cleaned and pressed and the shoes beneath them shone as brightly as a guardsman’s boots.

As they reached the table and stood, shuffling nervously, Alatha said, ‘Would you like to do the honours, Herr Schinkel?’

‘Thank you, Countess,’ said the biggest of the four, a tough, almost menacing figure, who was holding a polished wooden box in hands so ingrained with oil that no amount of cleaning could ever completely remove the stain. He approached Gerhard, who rose from his chair to greet him.

The two men shook hands and then Schinkel said, ‘Me and the lads here all served in the Luftwaffe. Not pilots like you, of course. We were mechanics.’

‘You should be proud of that,’ Gerhard said. ‘We could never have left the ground, let alone come home safely, without the work you men did.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ Schinkel’s face was softened by the smile that crossed it. ‘Much appreciated.’

‘And sincerely meant, I assure you. Now, what can I do for you?’

‘Well, me and the lads, we were all proud of you. Having a famous ace like you, part of the family we’ve worked for all our lives—’

‘And our dads before us,’ another of the men said.

‘Well, it meant a lot to us.’

Gerhard’s face fell. Hearing him be accused of treason, however unjustly, must have been almost as shaming for these men as it had been for him.

‘I’m sorry if you ever felt that I let you down. I promise you that—’

‘Oh no, sir, we never felt that, not for a single second. See, we were all socialists, the proper kind, not like Adolf’s lot, National Socialists, my arse . . .’ Schinkel suddenly realised he’d let himself get carried away. Blushing like a maiden, he gulped and said, ‘Sorry, Countess, ladies.’

‘That’s quite all right, Herr Schinkel,’ said Alatha. ‘Any man who speaks well of my son can do no wrong in my eyes.’