‘So how often has he been home in the past two years?’

‘Please, sir, I cannot answer these questions. I am just a servant here. It is not my place to answer questions. If I do so, I will lose my job.’

‘If you don’t answer questions, you are liable to be interned. You don’t want to be sent to a camp, do you?’

She looked down at her lap.

‘Fräulein Ingrid?’

Her head was shaking and Wilde wondered whether she was weeping. She was clearly more terrified of her mistress than of him or the soldiers.

‘Where do you come from, Fräulein?’

‘Innsbruck, sir.’

‘And how did you find this job?’

‘I was approached by a friend of my family. My father was brought up here before moving to Austria.’

‘Are you a Nazi, Fräulein?’

She looked startled. ‘Of course, sir. I am a good party member and was in the Band of German Maidens.’ Her shoulders went back proudly. ‘I was a group leader.’

Wilde wasn’t surprised. The poor girl was too simple to realise that most of her fellow Austrians and Germans would now be denying that they ever had anything to do with the Nazis or Hitler. ‘It must have been a big day for you when you met Julius Boden. He is a hero.’

‘Yes, he is a very brave man.’

‘Perhaps you are a little in love with him.’

‘Oh, sir, he would never look at a plain girl like me. He could have any woman he wanted.’

‘Have you heard of Lilly Marais?’

She looked puzzled. ‘No, sir. Who is she?’

‘That doesn’t matter. But tell me, where do you think Herr Boden is now?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘He’s been hiding here, hasn’t he?’

She shook her head again, terror in her eyes. ‘No.’

Wilde knew a lie when he heard it, but it was pointless pursuing the interrogation. Nothing short of torture would get this young woman to disobey her mistress and reveal information about Boden. ‘You can go now, Fräulein Ingrid. Go and tell my companion to bring Frau Boden back here.’

‘Please, don’t tell the mistress that I have said anything. I really can’t afford to lose this job. She will be angry.’

‘You sound scared, Fräulein.’

‘Things aren’t easy, sir. I need the money from this job. My father has a temper . . .’

*

Ilse Boden had dressed and done her hair. She wore smart Bavarian clothes – dark green woollen skirt with a fitted, waist-length jacket with with green piping, turned-back collar and cuffs and deer-horn buttons – and her hair was tied up in blonde plaits. This woman was clearly more landowner than farmer; Wilde could imagine her holding court among the Strausses or Wagners at a Bayreuth concert. If anything, her demeanour was even more overbearing than before.