He has no reason to be suspicious.

25 September 1937

We take a tram to the city centre and sit near the door, squeezed together on the wooden bench, my leg touching his. The Reichsmarks I’ve been saving since my birthday sit heavily in my skirt pocket. He slides an arm around my shoulder. I freeze. Is this too much? I risk a glance behind, but most people in the carriage are staring sightlessly out of the window, lost in their own worlds.

Walter convinced me it would be fine when we discussed it in the soggy, deserted barn. Now we’re here, I’m not so sure.

‘You look… beautiful,’ he says, sending a warm rush from my head to my toes. His breath tickles my ear.

An elderly lady, sitting behind us, tuts at Walter’s outrageous attentions. I spring away, my heart pounding so hard, I feel sick.

‘Relax,’ he mouths, pulling me closer.

The lady huffs, louder this time.

He leans in, placing his mouth right up to my ear. ‘You must join in. Look like you’re enjoying this, or she might become suspicious. Please.’ He speaks so quietly I can barely make out the words.

I swallow, then turn to look at him, forcing myself to smile. Our heads are close together and, for an instant, I think our lips might connect. The lady taps her stick on the metal bar at the back of our seat. We jump at the shock of the sound but Walter just laughs and pulls me close again.

‘Young people today, there is no decorum anymore,’ we hear the lady say to her neighbour.

My body fizzes. What the hell are we doing? How can Walter be so calm? He’s staring out of the tram window, humming a tune, tapping a hand lightly on his thigh. But his other hand holds mine and I can feel his palm is clammy. Act natural, I will myself firmly, just like we agreed. Surely, in my BDM uniform, with this attractive, blond young man at my side, nobody can suspect a thing. But my nerves remain on edge all the same.

We jump off the tram in Hindenburgstrasse, not far from the House of Nations. I exhale a slow breath of relief. Ahead, the huge building housing the fair is festooned with flags from every nation; flanked by tall flagpoles from which swastikas flutter in the breeze. It’s a beautiful day and the square opposite is teeming with visitors. Tables and chairs have been set up outside and waiters in long white aprons rush from one customer to the next carrying trays piled high with tankards of beer, pretzels and sausages.

As soon as the tram has rattled away, Walter catches my arm. ‘Hetty, you must act as though we do this every day of the week. That way we really won’t attract attention. Remember, we deserve to be together. Just like everyone else. Don’t we?’ His jaw is fixed, his expression fierce.

‘Yes. Of course we do. I – I didn’t realise I’d be so nervous. How do you stay calm?’