She washes her hands and puts the big cake on the table, cutting us both a slice. She sits down heavily and sighs.

‘I’m not complaining, but goodness, with all these extra people in the house… Ingrid and I are rushed off our feet.’

‘They’ll all be gone after the funeral,’ I say, picking a few crumbs from my slice. The cake is both sweet and tangy. ‘Then the house will be deathly quiet again.’

‘Such a terrible waste of a young life.’ Bertha shakes her head. ‘And there’ll be plenty more casualties like him. Should’ve learnt our lesson in the last war. And here we are, sending our young men off to Spain and goodness knows where else.’ She clucks again.

‘Did you lose anyone close in the war, Bertha?’

‘Did I just,’ she snorts. ‘I lost my two brothers and my intended.’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.’

‘That’s all right. Why would you? I suppose I’m telling you, because I know how you must be feeling.’

‘Your intended?’

‘Yes. I wasn’t much older than you in 1915 when we got engaged. Twenty-one – farmer’s son. He was kind and had a wicked twinkle in his eye. I know you might find it hard to believe, but I was pretty enough back then.’ She smiles at the memory. ‘He never came back. Missing, lost in action, they said. I kept hoping, thinking one day he’d just walk through my door. Wouldn’t have cared if he was deaf or blind or missing his limbs. Or all three. Just so long as he came back.’

I reach across the table and squeeze her fingers. She smiles sadly at me.

‘Oh, it’s a long time ago now. Anyways, he never came back, of course, and nor did my brothers.’

‘Did you not meet anyone else?’

‘No.’ She shakes her head and sighs again. ‘There weren’t enough men to go around all the girls in my village after the war. So many young men lost. I wasn’t much interested anyway, I was that heartbroken. So, when my parents suggested I go into service, I snapped up the chance. I went to Halle first, but then the family I worked for moved to Leipzig, so I moved with them.’

‘Where was that?’ I ask out of politeness.

I take another small forkful of cake, but it sits in my stomach like a stone.

‘Here,’ Bertha says, matter-of-factly. ‘With the family who lived in this house, before you.’

‘The Druckers?’ I look at her in surprise. ‘You worked for the Jewish family who lived here?’

Bertha nods her grey head and drops her eyes from mine.

‘I never knew that either.’

‘No,’ she says quietly. ‘I don’t suppose you would.’

‘But… I mean, how… what I’m trying to say is,’ I turn to check no one else is in the room and then, ‘what were they like?’

‘Years and years, I was with them.’ She hesitates.

We stare at each other, trying to work out how much to reveal.