Herr Heideck was bravely sipping the whisky that Martha had told the girls to serve him because he had taken an instant fancy to it. He gave her a nod and a smile as she went past.

‘Fräulein,’ she said to Martha, ‘would you like me to help with the drinks or go to the kitchen?’

‘I think you should ask my sister. I’m not who you think I am.’

Confounded, Lena muttered an apology. This woman’s sage-green dress was identical to one she had seen Martha wear. Her skin, her hair, the tenor of her voice … Though now she looked, there were no silver-rimmed glasses to conceal the smiling eyes.

‘I’m Charlotte. You must be Johanna – no. Lena!’

‘Yes.’

‘Martha told me about you. She said you were indispensable.’

Lena kept staring, trying to believe this was not Martha.

‘Thank you.’

Herr Heideck was holding out his hand in introduction. ‘Anton Heideck,’ he said. ‘You don’t need to tell me who you are.’

Charlotte took his hand. ‘I’m Charlotte. You know Lena, of course.’ She graciously indicated with her other hand.

‘Of course.’ But his eyes stayed on Charlotte.

Lena stood where she was.

Turning to Anton, Charlotte said, ‘Martha gave me a complete rundown on the new staff. Not that there are many since I was last here.’

‘Perhaps we could have a talk some time,’ said Anton. ‘About the old days.’

‘I’m not sure about that,’ said Charlotte. ‘I might say the wrong thing. I don’t want to land anyone in trouble.’

‘I would take every precaution. I guarantee there’d be no trouble.’

‘I’ve heard that somewhere before.’

‘Excuse me,’ Lena said softly and backed away.

It was impossible to stand and watch. She didn’t want Anton to talk to this woman, Charlotte, who was not quite who she ought to be – especially since Anton didn’t seem to know quite who he was either.

She turned and walked quickly to the kitchen.

3

Anton was shown upstairs by Hans Eckert, Daisy’s elderly husband. They crossed the landing of the second floor and walked down a corridor, where the oak parquet gave way to scrubbed pine, past the narrow doors of servants’ rooms. At the end of a passage, behind a door that Hans opened, some iron steps led up into an attic. It was just possible to make out metal deed boxes piled round the walls; there were filing cabinets and shelves made from planks on brackets fixed to the brickwork on which were cardboard cartons, ranged ledgers and dated box files. It was like the public library of an old town that had been cut off by a natural disaster.

Hans lifted the bars on the shutters and folded them back, letting in the daylight. From the wall, he switched on an electric light bulb that hung over a deal table in the middle of the room. A hard, uninviting chair was tucked under it.

‘You’ll find that most of it’s been labelled,’ Hans said. ‘Madame Rebière – Sonia – was quite careful about it all. But I expect some of it’s got lost or mixed up. Or left behind in the move.’