He lowers his voice. ‘I guess it’s that thing, that parasite in your belly, sapping all your strength.’

‘Stop it!’ Something snaps. ‘My health is fine, Tomas. But my mother has just told me what is going to happen when my baby is born. How it’s been sold, effectively, to a Jewish orphanage in Berlin—’

‘Ssh, you don’t want the maid to hear.’ He puts a finger to my lips. I slap it away and march out onto the street in front of him.

‘I’ve always admired your fiery spirit,’ he laughs as he catches up with me.

Firmly, he hooks his arm through mine and marches me down Fritzschestrasse.

‘I’ve some good news for you.’

‘Oh yes?’ My pulse quickens. I look up at him. Perhaps he’s had a change of heart?

‘The wedding date! The racial permissions have been granted. We can marry immediately. Your father would like it sooner rather than later, and a quiet affair, for obvious reasons. There can’t be any sniff of a scandal. So how about the Saturday after next?’

You bastard! There is no change of plan, no reprieve, no redeeming quality in the man I’m being forced to marry.

‘You really want to marry me, like this?’ He will want to take me to bed on our wedding night.

His mouth twists up into a laugh. ‘Of course, I would prefer to marry you not in that state, but we must, for your father’s sake. Besides,’ he gives me an intense look, ‘I cannot wait to have you all to myself.’

‘But – but where will we live? We haven’t sorted anything.’

‘Ah. That.’

We turn down Berggartenstrasse. It’s a beautiful day. The sun is high in the sky, the scent of jasmine in the air. I inhale deeply. That snap I felt earlier, like a match lit, it’s taken hold. A small fire burns inside. It’s time for me to take back control.

‘Your parents have kindly suggested I move in,’ Tomas is saying, ‘until we can find a suitable place of our own. There’s plenty of space in your house. We can look for a flat in August, after… Anyway, in plenty of time before I join the Heer in September.’

‘And in between?’ I ask him. ‘It seems to have all been decided without me having any say. I am to go to some home in Berlin, give birth and then hand the baby over to strangers. Then I’m supposed to come back here and play the happy wife, with you. I can’t do it, Tomas. I won’t.’

My change of tone makes Tomas jolt.

‘You hardly have a choice, Hetty. Do you? You’ve risked your father’s reputation and career. You risk being thrown into a concentration camp yourself. This is all your – well, that vile Jew’s fault, not mine. I’m your saviour here. I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart. Helping out a dear, old friend. And, once you’ve sufficiently recovered, we will put all this behind us and can start our married lives together. Properly.’