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The next week saw me walking a fragile line to keep the peace.

There were things I couldn’t tell Max about the conversation I’d had with Dad, and there were things I definitely couldn’t tell Dad about the conversation I’d had with Max, so I found myself crossing my fingers with alarming frequency that the subject of Gerhard Janssen wouldn’t come up with either of them.

I’d visited Max at his home again on my next afternoon off, and this time, I’d cooked him lunch in his immaculate kitchen as a thank you for the meal he’d made me.

School term was about to start, and it was going to be trickier to meet up once he was back at work, so we tried to see each other as much as we could.

We went to the cinema one evening to see the latest must-see film, and both of us agreed it was highly overrated and one heck of a disappointment, but that the nachos and dips had made the trip worthwhile.

I’d dreaded him suggesting some arty film that would go completely over my head, but it turned out that those DVDs had been Nina’s, and went over his head, too.

I was relieved to hear it, and tried not to dwell on the fact that he hadn’t even got rid of her old DVDs.

On Saturday, we had a wander around Cheltenham and ate a picnic in Pittville Park.

And on Sunday, we drove to Stratford-upon-Avon and visited Shakespeare’s Birthplace.

Max was fascinated by it, but all I could think about was Walter Tasker, who Aunt Polly had mentioned lots of times with much laughter and fondness, telling me how he’d once taught William Shakespeare and gave himself credit for just about everything the Bard had ever written.

I almost mentioned that fact to Max as we wandered through the rooms of the ancient building, listening to the friendly and knowledgeable tour guides, but remembered just in time that he had no idea about the ghosts of Rowan Vale, and now definitely wasn’t an appropriate moment to tell him.

It was a lovely week, and a wonderful break away from real life for a little while.

But I knew that things wouldn’t remain like that for long.

Max was going back to work. If we were to continue to see each other, Rissa would have to know, and how would she react to her father dating someone else?

Christie and Pippa would have to know, too.

And, hardest of all, Dad and Aunt Polly would have to be told.

How did I explain to them that I was seeing the grandson of a man who, as far as they knew, might have killed Aunt Polly, and who stirred such strong emotions in them both?

I tried not to think about it then, because I just wanted to hang on to this new, exciting relationship that was blossoming between Max and me.

When the new term started, we agreed we’d only be able to see each other once or twice a week.

It was okay. We’d both accepted that we needed to take things slowly and had only packed in so many outings the previous week because it was our only chance to spend quality time together for goodness knows how long.

August had given way to September, and summer had waved farewell as autumn arrived to take its place.

Who knew what the new season would bring?

Well, first of all, it was going to bring the 1940s weekend, which was so close now as to be in touching distance.

The village was a hive of activity, with costumes tried on and altered as appropriate, music selected, the speaker system tested, and the gazebo erected on the village green for the choir.

Union flag bunting replaced the usual pretty bunting strung across the front of Mrs Herron’s Teashop and other buildings, and shop windows were taped with gummed brown paper.

Lots of the villagers – Dad included – wanted to be part of the fun, so taped their cottage windows, too, although they used masking tape instead of the more authentic gummed paper tape.

Propaganda and recruitment posters started appearing in windows and on noticeboards, and every now and then, we’d be treated to a blast of Vera Lynn through the speakers, as Brodie was paranoid that something would go wrong with the sound system at the last minute.

Everyone was getting very excited, including Paige and Susie at the teashop. I’d followed Aunt Polly’s instructions and managed to master the syrup loaf, although I can’t say it was the best thing I’d ever tasted. Mind you, we all agreed it was better than the eggless chocolate cake.

We’d tried Spam sandwiches and had all been surprised that they weren’t as bad as we’d expected.

We’d also tested potted beef sandwiches, and they were okay, too.

I’d definitely decided against the mock banana sandwiches, but I did add mock mock banana sandwiches to the menu with a jokey note that they were actual banana sandwiches, but I’d be willing to mash up some parsnips if anyone wanted to sample the real thing!

I just hoped no one took me up on the offer.

Best of all, Max had agreed to provide some cakes for the teashop.

Although many of the ingredients wouldn’t have been available back in the forties, I’d thought it would be a nice touch to include German cakes for the weekend, and after some initial doubts, Max had quite warmed to the idea – and then some!

‘I shall bake a marmorküchen ,’ he told me. ‘It’s a marble cake and always looks so good. And perhaps a buckwheat gateau with fruit and whipped cream and chocolate shavings.’

‘Smashing,’ I said. ‘I think?—’

‘Ooh,’ he said, his eyes shining, ‘and buchteln ! That’s a sweet yeast dough roll, filled with jam or lemon curd.’

‘That all sounds lovely,’ I’d assured him, but he hadn’t finished.

‘Of course, I must also make bienenstich ,’ he said firmly. ‘Ah, Shona, you haven’t lived until you’ve tried a bee sting cake.’

‘Bee sting cake?’ I eyed him doubtfully. ‘Really?’

‘They are made of sweet yeast dough, filled with vanilla custard or whipped cream, or even buttercream, and they have a baked-on topping of caramelised almonds. They must be tasted to be believed.’

‘Great,’ I said. ‘Okay so that’s?—’

‘I suppose I should bake a Schwarzw?lder kirschtorte ,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘That is probably the most familiar German cake, right? A Black Forest gateau. Everyone will expect it, and I shan’t disappoint them. I’ll make Oma’s version. It’s so good and you’ll love it.’

I didn’t like to point out that, at this rate, I’d have no room to stock anything else, and it was so sweet to see him that enthusiastic that I went along with it. So Mrs Herron’s Teashop would be providing at least as many German cakes as English ones by the look of it.

Aunt Polly had popped into the teashop a few times to see how we were getting on. It had been a bit awkward the first time, but she seemed determined that our relationship wasn’t going to suffer because of what had gone on recently and acted as if nothing had happened.

I was glad we were still friends, but the row she’d had with Dad and me hung over me. I had to talk to Max at some point, but while he was staying off the subject of his grandfather, I followed his lead and stayed quiet. I didn’t want to rock the boat while things were going so well.

I couldn’t help feeling guilty that I was keeping things from him already, though, and I felt equally terrible that Dad and Aunt Polly didn’t know I was dating Max. What a mess, especially since I was using a completely oblivious Amelia as an alibi!

One Saturday afternoon, I was whipping up some butterfly buns in the kitchen when Paige came through and said, ‘That bloke you fancy’s here again.’

Flustered, I said, ‘I have no idea who you mean.’

Paige laughed. ‘Of course you don’t. Shall I give you a clue? Tall, well-mannered, even his beard’s ultra-polite. No? German, Rissa’s dad…’

‘All right, all right,’ I said. ‘I do know who you mean.’

‘Yeah, and you do fancy him,’ she said, her eyes twinkling as she took the bowl from me. ‘Go and see what he wants, and I’ll finish these.’

‘Are you sure?’ I asked, knowing we had a few customers in at that moment.

‘Everyone’s been served but him,’ she assured me. ‘Go and do your job. Me and Susie are fine here.’

Susie smirked, and, blushing, I hurried through to the teashop where I saw Max sitting at the table closest to the toilets. Not the preferred table by any means but we were pretty busy. Having said that, there were a couple of empty tables which I thought he’d have chosen.

As soon as he saw me approaching, his face lit up, which made my heart lift.

‘What are you doing over here?’ I asked, slipping into the chair next to him. ‘There’s a table free there.’

‘I thought it best we didn’t draw attention to ourselves,’ he explained quietly. ‘Rissa…’

‘Ah. Well,’ I said, frowning, ‘she’s seen us talking together before. Most people have. I know you haven’t said anything to her about seeing me yet, but you don’t have to pretend you don’t know me!’

‘Everything feels very uncomfortable around here,’ he admitted, glancing round the teashop as if there were spies everywhere. ‘I don’t want her to find out from anyone else. And besides, there are other people to think about.’

Didn’t I know it! ‘But we’re allowed to talk, Max,’ I said. ‘They don’t have to know we’ve been going out on dates.’

‘I suppose so.’ He didn’t sound very sure, though.

‘We’re just two people chatting,’ I told him. ‘And we’ve done nothing wrong! Even if they find out about us seeing each other, it’s not as if we’ve behaved inappropriately, is it? We’ve gone to the cinema, the park and a museum. Hardly outrageous!’

Plus, we’d only had a few gentle kisses. It wasn’t as if we were jumping into bed with each other every five minutes. Far from it.

‘No. Not outrageous at all.’ He gave me a guilty smile and I squeezed his hand reassuringly, knowing he was still worried about the slow pace of our relationship.

‘It’s fine,’ I told him. ‘How was work anyway?’

He sighed. ‘It’s like the holidays never happened.’