The well-known and previously highly regarded actress, Dora Heck, has been tried and convicted of the heinous crime of Racial Defamation. It is unusual for a woman to be convicted of such an anti-German crime, given that women are usually the victims of rape or sexual coercion by the perpetrator. In this case, however, the actress, who was close, our reporters believe, to some of those in the higher echelons of the Party, had travelled to London, under the guise of promoting her latest film. The Gestapo officers, who secretly followed her having received a tip-off from a concerned member of the public, discovered she was having unauthorised sexual relations with a German Jew now living in London. Upon her return, she was arrested, tried and found guilty. Before she was sent to prison, Fräulein Heck was subjected to the humiliation of having her head shaven and being paraded through the city centre as a warning to others not to repeat her mistakes.

Dear God! Panic rises and I drop the paper on the table as if it had bitten me. True, we haven’t had sexual relations, but we’ve kissed. Does that count? I’m certain it would. Imagine if Vati were to find out? What if Ingrid alerts the Gestapo to follow me?

There really is no choice now, and I have no time to lose.

*

Mutti and Vati, resplendent in evening dress, wait in the hallway for their car to collect them. Mutti is brimming with enthusiasm after her visit to the children’s home. She waves a book entitled, Raising the Ideal German Child: A guide for modern mothers.

‘Full of advice on how to toughen the next generation. This will be most useful for my orphans,’ she says. ‘Don’t wait up for us, Hetty. After an early dinner with Judge Fuchs, we are going to the opera.’ There is a flurry of sliding on gloves, hats, fur stole and outdoor shoes, and then they are gone, leaving a faint whiff of smoky cologne and flowery scent behind them.

I fetch the Kafka from beneath my mattress and stare at its cover. Once, I would have delighted in this book, devoured it with hunger. I finger it tentatively, turning to the first page. I try to read, but I can’t concentrate. The words tumble over themselves on the page. It’s evidence of my non-German thoughts. I must be rid of it. Fast. I snap it shut and slip it into my pocket.

I approach the kitchen to collect Kuschi, as always my excuse to go out. Ingrid is talking.

‘I saw it with my own eyes, Bertha, honest to God, it’s true!’ Ingrid’s voice is high with indignation. Bertha’s reply is quieter, mumbled so I can’t hear. ‘Seriously, something should be done. I mean—’

I walk into the room before she can say more. She starts at the sight of me.