She was perfectly content, picking through the debris of her lobster-shells, to let him meander comfortably through the trivia of his life: the problems he was having with his English, with the contact lenses; the plans he had for after the film, when the money was safely in the bank, and the small hotel, somewhere in the mountains, with just a few rooms, skiing in the winter and long hikes or fishing in the summer. It was an ordinary story, she thought, told by a charming, but perfectly ordinary young man. He had not, she was certain, got the qualities necessary for a Movie Star, and she considered his ambitions, such as they were, to be entirely suitable to his status. The only quality which he did appear to possess, which would be essential to his future career in the cinema, was an almost unhealthy preoccupation with himself. But almost as soon as she had accepted the thought she dismissed it as unkind. For who could possibly blame him, surrounded, as he undoubtedly was, by doubts and fears and the intensive, almost obsessive, attentions of the frightening Grottorosso who had him obviously completely in his power. Looking at Wolf, sitting cross-legged beside her licking his fingers clean of mayonnaise, smiling candidly at her with troubled brown eyes, she had a sudden surge of pity, and gratitude for the fact that he was so isolated in his own position that he had not once thought to ask her a single question about her own. For she had no desire to reply to any questions about her German life, or the life she presently, happily, enjoyed. The only thing he did know for certain was that she lived with Marcus, which was true, who had an ‘antique shop in London’, which was as near true as need be, and that she would settle in England and not return to Germany in the foreseeable future. Which was absolutely true, and which shocked him, for he was strongly patriotic, proud of his country, and homesick for it to a desperate degree. However, she went no further than that, and although there seemed little chance that he would probe any deeper, she deemed it wise to kiss him lightly on the cheek and beg him to bring her some raspberries and cream.

Foolish, foolish, she thought. He was the Real which so frightened me, but he hasn’t. Real enough. God knows, with his flat Rhineland voice saying all the things a good German boy should say. We lost the war at Stalingrad, must struggle to build a strong nation, the most efficient country in Europe; lost the war but won the peace, respected and admired, the past is forgotten, East and West will be united, we are the new generation born clean, without hate or guilt, we are not responsible for the follies of the past.

And on and on and on.