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‘Oh no! I’m the youngest son so it was never on the cards, although my older brother would have happily shared if it came to it. We get on really well, you see. But I’m happy here. We feel very blessed, don’t we, Betty?’

‘We do indeed. And what about you, Max? Rissa tells us you’re a teacher at Chipping Royston Academy. Head of department at that.’

‘Indeed. Head of Languages,’ he said. ‘I myself teach German.’

‘Yes, we’ve only just discovered that you’re from Germany,’ Nick said comfortably. ‘We had no idea Rissa had German ancestry. We’re a proper multicultural little family, aren’t we?’

‘It seems so,’ Max agreed. ‘I come from Hannover, in Lower Saxony. That’s in northwestern Germany.’

‘So what brought you to England, Max?’ Betty asked him. ‘Was it the job?’

‘Not my job,’ Max said. He hesitated and Polly wondered what he was thinking, as he seemed to be struggling for words. Finally, he said, ‘It was my wife’s work that brought us here. She was a surgeon, and she was offered a very good position at a hospital in London.’

Polly’s hand flew to her chest – a gesture she always made when something had moved her. She could hear the grief in Max’s voice when he spoke about his wife and had no doubt that everyone else at the table could, too.

‘Ah, I see.’ Betty’s eyes crinkled with sympathy. ‘And you were all right with that? It’s a lot to ask, uprooting yourself from your own country and presumably a job of your own.’

Max glanced over at Nick. ‘Like you, I would have moved to the ends of the earth for my wife.’

Nick’s expression softened. ‘I understand.’

‘I’m so sorry to hear about her death,’ Betty said kindly. ‘When Rissa told us, I was heartbroken for her. For both of you. Your wife was far too young.’

‘Thank you,’ Max said briefly.

‘What brought you to the Cotswolds then?’ Betty asked.

Max and Rissa exchanged glances and Polly shuffled forwards on her chair, listening with curiosity.

‘After Mum died,’ Rissa said, ‘Dad accepted a job at the academy and sold our London house to move here.’

‘A fresh start,’ Max said.

‘Oh, I completely understand,’ Betty said sympathetically.

‘Sometimes, the only thing you can do is start again somewhere you don’t know.

A clean page as it were. What do you think to the place then?

I know I’m biased, but I don’t think there’s anywhere more beautiful than the Cotswolds, and our little village is the jewel in its crown if you ask me. ’

‘It’s certainly a stunning area,’ Max agreed. ‘The countryside is superb, and this village is very pretty. I’d like to get to know it better.’

‘Well, you’d be very welcome at any time,’ Betty assured him.

‘Tell you what, Max,’ Nick said eagerly, ‘you could join us at the pub quiz at The Quicken Tree one Thursday night.’ He grinned round the table at everyone.

‘How could we lose with another brainbox on the team? You’re sort of connected to the village through Rissa, so I’m sure we can square it with Penny. ’

‘Never misses a trick, does he?’ Betty said fondly.

‘As it happens,’ Max said, ‘my family has another connection with this village. With Rowan Farm itself, in fact.’

Betty’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Never! Well, what a coincidence! You never said, Rissa.’

Rissa said nothing, conveniently chewing a cherry tomato.

Nick sounded eager. ‘Well, well. What connection is that then, Max?’

‘My grandfather,’ Max said coolly. ‘He was a prisoner of war here. He was kept at the camp a few miles from this village, and he was put to work on this very farm.’

Polly closed her eyes momentarily as the image of Gerhard Janssen flashed through her mind, bringing with it the inevitable pain and sense of dread.

‘He never was!’ Nick’s mouth fell open. ‘Did you hear that, Betty? What a coincidence, eh?’

Betty nodded slowly. ‘I did indeed.’

‘That’s amazing,’ Bram said. ‘Here we are, playing the roles of German PoWs, and your grandfather was here for real. What was his name?’

Max’s gaze went from Nick to Betty. ‘Gerhard,’ he said firmly. ‘Gerhard Janssen.’

‘Gerhard Janssen,’ Nick said, rubbing his chin.

‘I’ll bet we have photos of him somewhere, and no doubt some documentation, too.

We’ve got loads of stuff from those days.

Well, you’d expect us to, wouldn’t you, given our circumstances?

We’ll be able to dig some of them out for him, won’t we, Betty? ’

Betty looked suddenly flustered. ‘I— I’m sure we will,’ she said.

Polly shook her head. Was it her imagination or did she sound odd? How much did Betty know?

‘That would be so kind,’ Max said, watching his hostess closely. ‘We have very few photographs of my grandfather when he was young.’

‘So – this Gerhard,’ Betty said, pushing her food around on her plate and seeming to be examining it with sudden fascination, ‘he went back to Germany, I presume? Got married? Had children?’

‘Stands to reason, my love,’ Nick said, laughing. ‘Max wouldn’t be sitting here right now if he hadn’t, would he?’

‘I suppose not.’ Betty ran a hand through her hair then fixed Max with a wide smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

‘Well, fancy that! Your grandfather probably knew mine. What a coincidence, eh? I’m very glad he was happy and had a family.

Of course, mainly we had Italian prisoners here at the farm.

The German prisoners arrived later. Almost at the end of the war really. ’

She sounded as if she were gabbling, and Max clearly thought that was very interesting. Polly could see the cogs turning over in his mind. He glanced over at Rissa and saw she was frowning, as if she, too, had noticed her employer was acting rather strangely.

‘There’s a raspberry trifle for afters,’ Betty said brightly. ‘Hurry up and finish your meal because I’m ready for my pudding now, and I know Lars will be. Never can resist my trifle, can you?’

As Lars admitted that he was indeed partial to Betty’s desserts, Max chewed his chicken thoughtfully.

Oh, Betty , Polly thought in despair. You’ve just made things ten times worse!

Now there was going to be no stopping him.

One way or the other, Max Meyer would be determined to find out the truth.