He looked around for Boris Minsky, but there was no sign of him. The Russian had passed him a note at the end of the meeting with Fritzsche. It simply said ‘Kabaret Lola 10 p.m.’ Back at the OSS, Wilde quickly established that there was only one Kabaret Lola and that it was in Kreuzberg in the American sector – not far from both the Russian and British zones.

A waitress in a similar skimpy outfit to the dancers showed him to a table for two and took his order for a large whisky. The dancers finished their number and the peg-legged greeter came on stage and took the mike from the singer. He had drumsticks and began humming ‘Deutschland Uber Alles’ while tapping out the beat on his wooden leg. Then he grinned. ‘Everyone happy? Amis, Ivans, Tommies? You all like our pretty Gretchens?’

The room was packed with men in uniform and girls fawning over them. The tables were overflowing with beer and various other dubious alcoholic concoctions sourced from the black market. Everyone was talking and drinking, kissing and groping, no one was paying attention to their host, but he carried on anyway, in thickly accented English for his predominantly American and British audience. As Wilde seemed to be the only one listening, he focused his attention on him.

‘You heard about the Gretchen with two Ivans in her bed? It was her first quiet night of the summer.’

No one laughed. The waitress arrived with his whisky and hovered. Wilde fished out a coin and handed it to her. ‘You like I stay, Ami? I like fun.’

The voice of the greeter boomed through the mike. ‘Remember, Meine Damen und Herren, no fraternisation! Strict orders of General Eisenhower. All agreed? Jawohl, no fraternisation. But he didn’t say nothing about fornication, did he?’

‘Thank you,’ Wilde said to the waitress, ‘But no. I’m waiting for someone.’

‘You waiting for another girl? I’m better jig-a-jig, mister. Twenty cigarettes, that’s all.’

‘No, I’m waiting for a friend.’

‘I can find boy for you.’

Wilde shook his head and gave her another coin. ‘Just bring some vodka for my friend. He’ll be here soon.’

Reluctantly the girl accepted the coin, gave a little bow of the head and disappeared.

On stage, the one-legged greeter was failing badly. ‘Before Hitler came to power, kids used to say, “What’s for supper, Mutti?” Now they say, “What’s for potato?” Hey, you’re a tough crowd. No one thinks I’m funny. Let’s bring back the dancing girls.’

With that, the band struck up again and the girls reappeared. Wilde felt a tap on his shoulder.

‘Comrade Professor, good to see you, my friend.’

Wilde half rose from his chair and shook Minsky’s hand. ‘This is quite a place.’