‘Luise!’ Elisabeth’s voice, crisp as a rip through calico. ‘You look so bored. Or tired? Tired perhaps after yesterday. A long trip. London-Hamburg …’ she turned to the women ‘… and then that frightful drive on to Lübeck. It takes hours. Agnes dear? More coffee? Sugar? The brown or the little coloured kind?’

And walking away from them to the far end of the terrace under the lime trees, leaving the relics of the Last Supper. A Judas. Above me, a moth in the trembling leaves, the music far away, diffused. Breathing again, the tide ebbing but the red glimmer of a cigar and Dr Langerdorf coming towards me, a glass in his hand.

‘Luise? Hiding away? Elisabeth says that you are tired from the journey yesterday. Flying is most distasteful, I find. One travels steerage now.’

‘No. Not tired really. Too much to eat. I forget how much we Germans eat.’

‘And in England they do not eat well?’

‘Yes, well … lighter.’

‘Roast beef, I think?’

‘I think that I am not quite adjusted; my stomach is not adjusted. Is that brandy you have there? May I?’

‘Please!’ He offered her the balloon. ‘The flying does that, of course. It upsets one’s balance: I try to avoid it when I can, but …‘A helpless spread of thick fingers. ‘In business one must be quick, isn’t that so? And when I was a young man, oh so many years ago now alas, when I was young I loved it. It was my passion. But that was then, a different time, of course: now it is like a trip on a filthy bus, nothing more.’

‘You were a pilot? In the war? Horst said …’

‘So long ago. Yes. With your Papa indeed. He was very brave, very daring, we all admired him greatly.’

‘He never spoke of it. Mamma does, sometimes.’

‘No.’ The cigar glowed brightly as he drew on it. ‘He was a very modest man. I would imagine that you know London quite well now?’

‘Quite. Not so well … it is large.’

‘Ah yes … Before the war I was there often, ’37, ’38. The Café de Paris! Ah what happy times one had there. Very “snob”, most chic. Do you know this place, it is not so far from Leicester Square, I remember?’

‘I don’t know; it is possible.’

‘Such elegance, I recall. You know,’ he lowered his voice confidentially, ‘there is a strange thing I can tell you. We bombed it, did you know that? Very terrible indeed. But they rebuilt it after the war, I am told, which made me feel not so unhappy, because you see, and this is most extraordinary , I was over London that very night! Can you imagine such a coincidence? When we all heard the news that it had been hit we were most deeply shocked. It had a glass roof and no one knew about that.’

‘I don’t know if it is still there, I’m sorry.’ She handed him back the balloon.