Phili was a poet, a playwright, a composer and a singer. The hours he spent turning the pages for Phili as, accompanying himself on the piano, he sang Nordic ballads of his own composition were hours that Willy could only describe as sublime. How could he ever feel such mental and spiritual unity with Dona, who didn’t have an artistic or intellectual bone in her body? The answer was that he couldn’t.

It mystified him that Dona couldn’t see how her scenes and tantrums only resulted in his wanting to spend even less time with her, not more. He couldn’t imagine Ella behaving in such a way, no matter what the provocation; or the calm, cool and collected May Teck. All in all, he felt himself very badly done by. So much so that the mask of all-powerful arrogant and boastful confidence behind which he permanently hid was, during rows about Phili, in danger of slipping – and he couldn’t let that happen. Not when he was with Dona. Not when he was with anyone.

At the moment Phili was at Liebenberg, his family estate in Rhine-Westphalia. Reliving his last hideous scene with Dona had done Willy no good at all and, in desperate need of Phili’s reassuring presence, he decided that Liebenberg was where he needed to be without a second’s delay.

‘Westphalia!’ he roared to his clutch of long-suffering and always present aides-de-camp. ‘We leave instantly.’ He slammed his fist down on his desk and ink-pots clattered and pens rolled. ‘Don’t just stand there, dolts! Action! Action!’

Not for one second did he expect to find Phili alone at Liebenberg. Phili was far too popular for that to be likely. Phili would be surrounded by friends – always male – who, like him, all regarded themselves as being artistically inclined. Their nickname was ‘the Liebenberg Circle’, and all Willy’s moments of happiness and relaxation occurred when he was counted amongst their number. He relished the applause the Circle gave to the practical jokes he loved playing; jokes that were always, of course, played by him, and never on him. He loved the masculine horseplay that was indulged in, and the hilarious, near-to-the-knuckle skits they all took part in. But first, of course, he and Phili would have time together privately; time to talk about matters the rest of the Circle were not privy to; time for Willy to bare his heart to Phili about the misery of his married life.

‘She is killing me with her tantrums and her demands!’ he said, a break in his voice and on the verge of tears. ‘Truly, Phili, I do not think the woman is in her right mind.’

‘Then if she isn’t, my dear Kaiser, perhaps a sanatorium?’

‘But the children? She is so kind and good to the children. If she was to go into a sanatorium, the children would never forgive me.’