‘I am going to Germany,’ I said, looking up from my letters. ‘What for?’ said Dad. He never wasted words. ‘Eugenie Gutheim is going to be married and wants me to come to her wedding. I promised her I would if she won her bet.’ Dad and I were sitting opposite to each other in our flat in Sloane Gardens. It was the end of April 1913 and I had various engagements for the month of May. But when Eugenie’s letter came, I decided as I read it that I would throw them all to the winds and go to Reichenstadt. I was accustomed to see Dad fly off to the ends of the earth at a few hours’ notice and not appear again for months: but I had never been with him. In fact I had never been abroad.