‘What, in the dark?’ Ingrid reacts.

‘Oh, Fräulein Herta, I’m not sure your father would like that,’ Bertha cautions.

‘I’m just walking around the lamplit roads of Gohlis,’ I tell her firmly. ‘What harm can come to me in a respectable neighbourhood like this?’

I shouldn’t need permission from a cook or a maid to leave my own house.

I walk quickly. Like an invisible magnet, I can’t resist the pull of him. I have no real plan except to go to the place he lives, walk the pavements he walks, breathe the air he breathes, aching with the knowledge of what I must do. Kuschi’s paws click on the pavement at my side.

We cross the little stone bridge, the river flowing smooth beneath my feet. I stop for a moment and lean over the wall. I can smell its dank wetness as it gushes and churns around the ancient arches of the bridge. My head swims – and for a second I think I might pitch forward into its depths. I spring away and walk fast down the dark lane, anxious to be back on the main roads with their bustle and streetlights.

The northern end of Hindenburgstrasse is a wide, busy, tree-lined avenue; large and imposing buildings line each side. I walk slowly past a row of shops. A haberdasher’s, a grocer’s, a café and butcher’s. All are shut except the café and a florist at the end of the row, where a man and a boy wearing aprons are dismantling displays of flowers and taking them into the shop.

‘That’s all I can let you have this evening, I’m afraid,’ the man calls to someone inside. ‘I might have some more leftovers tomorrow, if you want to come by at closing then?’

They clear the door and someone wearing a hat pulled low over his forehead exits, holding a bunch of lilacs wrapped in brown paper. He strides away, the flowers tucked under his arm.

All other movement in the street freezes.

The pavement lists.

It cannot be.

‘Walter?’

He turns, and stares, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Flashes of Ingrid, the Gestapo. I wasn’t prepared to see him now. Should I run? But I’m frozen in time and space and he comes to me.

‘Hetty! H-how did you find me?’ He seems hesitant, restrained.

‘I never thought I’d actually see you…’

‘Oh?’

‘I mean, what were the chances?’ I whisper.

There’s an awkwardness between us and he shrinks back, rests his shoulder against the wall.

‘Why didn’t you come the last two Sundays?’ he asks after a beat.

‘I wanted to. But so much has happened since we met in the city.’ I stop. We’re so exposed, here on this main thoroughfare. ‘Is there anywhere we can talk? Properly talk? There’s something you should know.’ I remember my resolve. But somehow, in Walter’s presence, everything solid turns to liquid and I feel it slipping away.

Walter nods and shrugs himself off the wall. ‘I know a place. My friend, Lena – her family owns a café. She’s completely trustworthy,’ he adds, turning and walking quickly down the street.