‘How nice to meet one of Howard’s family,’ she said when he had introduced Marianne.

As if we’ve dropped in for tea, Marianne thought, and one platitude calls for another. ‘But it’s sad that we should meet in these circumstances,’ she replied.

Christina then appeared from the living room, avoided looking at Howard and came to kiss Marianne.

‘I shall not forget your many kindnesses,’ she said, ‘and if only things had been different…’

When was ‘if’ not the operative word? Marianne reflected. Many of the crises in her own life could be traced back to that little word with which most people’s lives were liberally strewn, causing their paths to twist this way or that, for good or for ill.

The first ‘if’ in this case was Howard’s opting to ski in Austria, instead of going to Switzerland as he usually did. And there he had met Christina.

But the ‘if’ Christina had just mentioned could not be related to the making of a decision. The family hadn’t decided en masse not to like its new, German member, and likeable she had proved to be. A girl with a lively personality and a caring nature, who had done her best to fit in. But how long was it before Christina became aware of something unspoken? From which she had finally fled.

‘We have just put Ben for his afternoon rest,’ Lisl said. ‘This would be the good opportunity for Christina and Howard to talk with each other. I am sure that Howard’s aunt will agree.’

Displaying that she was not a woman to stand on ceremony, she led Marianne into her roomy kitchen, where the German version of a Welsh dresser occupied one wall, the blue and white china reposing on it reminiscent of Marianne’s willow pattern dinner service.

Dominating another wall was an Aga stove, on which stood a huge copper saucepan, its simmering contents sending forth an appetizing aroma to mingle with the scent of cinnamon and spices of which the room was redolent.

By the lace-curtained window was the sturdy table at which the Schmidts ate their meals, and Marianne’s impression of Frau Schmidt was that her dinner guests too would eat in the kitchen, and eat well.

Christina had said that her parents still lived in the house where she was raised. A cosy home for a child to grow up in, Marianne reflected, and Munich was certainly a charming city. But just a few kilometres away was Dachau, the notorious concentration camp, now a public memorial to those whose lives were cut short there.