‘Look,’ I say at last, ‘I’ve heard the rumours. About how my father came by this house. But I know nothing of the people. How can I judge what is right or wrong?’

‘It was a terrible business,’ Bertha whispers. ‘They were good people, but I don’t get involved in politics. I keep my nose out of it all. It’s safest that way. That’s what I try to tell Ingrid, but she’s a tricky one. She doesn’t want to listen to an old crank like me. She’s full of this new Germany and thinks that the youth rule. She’s certain she has “right”, whatever that is, on her side. She likes to gossip and get herself in the good books of… certain people.’ She looks at me. ‘You’re an unusual one, Fräulein Hetty. You keep your allegiances with people who matter to you. Since you were young – always stood up for the underdog. Even if they are… Not who you should be mixing with, if you follow my meaning. I suppose that makes you brave, not like the rest of us. But it’s a dangerous thing.’

‘What on earth do you mean, Bertha? Has Ingrid said something about me?’ My heart beats in double time.

Bertha sniffs and wipes her nose and mouth with her hanky. Her plate is clean.

‘She says she knows you have a young man and she thinks it’s serious. But she won’t say how or what she knows. Says she once saw proof of something sensational and I’ve more than an inkling who the young man is. So far, I think she’s only talked to Karl and me, but it wouldn’t be hard for her to make trouble for you. I’ve warned her, but she’s not interested in authority, not from the likes of me. Just be careful, Fräulein, that’s all.’

She saw us together, that time in Salamander’s, but that’s her word against mine. It has to be more than that. Proof? Of what? My mind jumps about wildly. The notes we pass between us via Lena? Tomas? Places she could have seen us? And what about the broken picture of the Führer? She’s bound to have noticed it missing from my wall. Perhaps she even found the pieces shoved behind the wardrobe. I’ll tell Vati it fell down and broke, ask him for another. My heart swoops. The diary. What if she found that? The thought of her fingers turning the pages, her eyes hungrily reading my innermost secrets, makes me want to scream.

I put my fork down. Give up the pretence of trying to eat. ‘But… how did you know?’

Bertha fingers the tea towel. ‘I saw the two of you together, some weeks back at the tram stop. Recognised him straight away. Don’t forget, this was once his second home and I always had a soft spot for him. I recognised how it was between you, that look, of being lost in each other. Reminded me how I felt once, a very long time ago.’