‘Thank you,’ Mrs Baron continued. ‘Born in Munich but moved to England in 1922 when you were eighteen – is that right?’

‘Yes.’ Mutti nodded, standing up quickly. ‘Your Honour.’

‘And you came here because . . .?’

Mutti hesitated for a moment. ‘I was supposed to go to Paris to study art, but my family’s savings were no longer enough . . .’

‘Ah, yes, we’ve all heard the stories – wheelbarrows of money just to buy a loaf of bread – that sort of thing?’

‘Yes. So it was decided that I would come to England instead – to work. My mother’s cousin ran a small hotel here – Mrs Fisher.’

‘Of course – we all remember Mrs Fisher. The flowers in the village church haven’t been the same since she passed away . . .’

There was an indignant ‘Hmph!’ from an old lady called Bertha Daley, sitting at the back. She had taken over floral responsibilities at the church just a few months ago.

‘I met Frederick, and we married not long after.’ Mutti smiled at Pa. I could feel him wanting to reach out and squeeze her hand. I wanted to as well.

‘And you registered as a German national when you moved here?’

‘Of course – as soon as I arrived.’

A pause while Mrs Baron checked the paperwork in front of her. ‘Yes.’

A different voice now – it was Mr Gibbons: ‘Do you still have family in Germany, Mrs Zimmermann Smith?’ He squinted at her through his glasses.

‘Both my parents have died,’ Mutti said, her voice a little quieter.

‘Eh?’ shouted Sir Alan Darsdale.

‘Both my parents are dead now,’ Mutti said more loudly, her voice catching a little.

‘Ah,’ said Sir Alan Darsdale, and nodded, his eyelids starting to close once more.

‘But there are . . . cousins, I think?’ said Mrs Baron. She was looking at a piece of paper.

‘One cousin. Max,’ Mutti replied. ‘But we are not in touch.’

I noticed that Pa gripped his knees so tightly his knuckles had gone white.

Mrs Baron pushed the piece of paper over to Sir Alan Darsdale, who snored at it. Mr Gibbons then read it, holding it up close to his face. He stared hard at Mutti and his ping-pong-ball eyes looked bigger than ever.

‘Where does your cousin live?’ he asked.

Mutti paused for a second – just a second. ‘In Berlin,’ she said, then added, ‘I believe.’ Someone behind me inhaled loudly and whispered something.

‘And when was the last time you had contact with him?’

Mutti paused again. ‘I have not seen him for many years,’ she said at last.

‘Really?’

‘Yes,’ Mutti said. ‘Not for many years.’

Mrs Baron paused and then said, ‘Is there anything else of which the court should be aware?’

‘I don’t think so . . .’ Mutti began.

But then something happened.