I trail after him. We turn off the main street and, after a couple more turns, we’re standing in a shabby backstreet with ramshackle old houses and a run-down looking café on the corner. A bell tinkles as Walter pushes open the door. I tie Kuschi to a lamp post and follow Walter.

A solitary man sits smoking at one of the tables, his head hidden behind a newspaper. The only other person inside is a dark-skinned young woman of suspect racial origins, serving behind the bar. Walter indicates for me to sit opposite him at one of the tables.

‘Good evening,’ he says, smiling at the girl. ‘Two teas, Lena, please.’

‘I’ll be right with you,’ she answers, clattering around behind the counter.

Walter glances at the smoking man and leans across the table. His face softens. ‘Tell me why didn’t you come on Sunday?’

‘I was afraid we’d been seen in Salamander’s. Now I know we were.’

‘Who saw us?’ His words are calm, but his body tenses.

‘Our maid, Ingrid.’

‘Shit.’

‘Yes.’ We stare across the table at each other.

‘I don’t suppose she remembers you. And even if she does, she doesn’t know you’re a…’ My words fade out.

I think about my resolve. Now. Do it now.

‘Actually, Walter,’ I say, and take a deep breath. ‘I-I think we should put a stop to all this.’

His face falls. I look away and squeeze my hands together in my lap. Stay strong.

I tell him about the story I read in the Leipziger about the actress.

Walter says nothing and picks at some loose skin next to his thumbnail.

‘It’s too dangerous, for both of us.’ I fish the Kafka from my pocket. ‘And I’m sorry, but I can’t read this.’

‘Hetty…’

He slides the book across the table and shoves it into his jacket pocket. He looks at me now and there is so much hurt in his eyes. I let my fingers brush his hand lying on the table. A lump forms in my throat as I imagine a future without our Sunday mornings, without the warmth of his hand in mine, the touch of his lips, or the smell of him. This, and the events of the past week – first Vati, and now Erna and Karl – are suddenly an unbearable weight, crushing me.

Lena approaches the table carrying a tray and I pull my hand away. She places the teacups and teapot in front of us, giving me a sideways look with her dark eyes and then retreats behind the counter. She begins to polish it, paying close attention to the area near to where we sit. Walter notices me staring at her.

‘I promise,’ he says, ‘you can trust Lena with your life and mine. She has as much to lose as us. She’d never tell a soul.’

I feel my shoulders relax. I try again. ‘Walter, you must know this isn’t what I want…’

He gazes at me, then pours the tea.