‘You have no say in the matter. Get out, both of you. I will deal with this.’

Siegfried laughed again and then, slowly and reluctantly, he thrust his Luger into the waistband of his leather shorts. He put his arm around his sister’s shoulder. ‘Come, Hildy.’

They walked away, with their backs to him. They had no fear of Wilde or his weapons.

‘What about you, Frau Fuchs?’ Wilde said after the brother and sister had departed, closing the door after them. ‘You want to live, don’t you? Help me with this, and I will put in a good word for you. It’s all over – the war, this, everything – you know that surely.’

‘You don’t understand, Ami. I have bought you a little time, so now, please, do something for me – leave Opa be. I don’t think he knows what is happening, and he can certainly do you no harm.’

Wilde pushed Hitler back down onto the couch and put the dagger back in his belt. He kept his finger on the trigger of the M3.

Hitler was in a world of his own. He moved more soldiers forward then, with a sweep of his arm, he pushed a dozen or so soldiers from Leningrad into the sea. ‘Finished. We have done it.’ Then he turned his gaze on his housekeeper. ‘Where is my spaghetti? Bring it to me.’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘One minute, Opa. Just one minute.’ She switched her gaze to Wilde. ‘It is almost cooked, Ami. Can I get it for him? Perhaps you would like some, too. I make the best sugo in Bavaria.’

What could she do that hadn’t already been done? Wilde almost laughed at the preposterous situation, then nodded. Even criminals or deserters were allowed a last meal before they faced the firing squad. ‘Get him his food.’

He followed her to the door so he could continue to watch Hitler and cover him with the M3 and keep half an eye on Frau Fuchs’s movements.

A couple of minutes later, she returned with a steaming bowl of pasta on a tray with a spoon and fork and a little jar of olive oil. ‘We have no Parmesan,’ she said. ‘Ah, so many things are lost for ever.’

Wilde didn’t trust her. He watched as she put the tray down on the table in front of her master and placed a napkin on his lap as if he were a child. Then she dribbled a little oil over the tomato sauce and handed him the fork and spoon.

She was looking at Wilde as though sizing him up.

‘You want to say something, Frau Fuchs?’