One Sunday, I finally persuaded her to leave the apartment and take a walk in the Englischer Garten. I knew the fresh air and exercise would do her good. Although the snows were now behind us it was still a brisk day and even in our long overcoats and gloves, we had to walk hard to warm up. Mutti kept up with the punishing pace until we stopped in the meadow, breathing heavily, our hands tingling pleasantly.

‘That’s better, isn’t it?’ I said, grinning at my mother. Her face now had a healthy glow, not the pasty, pinched look from weeks of being cooped up in the apartment. She smiled in return and nodded, pushing wisps of frizzy strawberry blonde locks from her face with a gloved hand.

‘Should we walk to the stream?’ I asked. I had brought my camera with me to photograph the change in seasons and brush up on my photography skills. You never knew when an opportunity to capture the perfect shot would present itself.

Mutti slid her arm through mine and we walked along the path, the sound of our shoes crunching on the dirt a rhythmical accompaniment to our thoughts.

‘The smell of the pines always reminds me of a holiday we took when you were little,’ said my mother suddenly. ‘We were still living in Düsseldorf and came to München to visit my grandmother Katarina. It was one of the few times your father suggested a short holiday together, just the five of us in the Alps.’

I hardly dared to breathe. Although I knew they had corresponded after the death of Willi, any talk of my natural father and our life before the divorce was rare. The breeze through the pines seemed to settle as if the trees also wanted to hear this story.

‘We motored down to Berchtesgaden from München. Already the scent of pine was noticeable as we travelled through the forests. We stayed in a comfortable guesthouse overlooking the town and the Watzmann. It was spectacular: the twin peaks of the mountain dusted with snow, the town nestled in the valley beneath it with the twin spires of the church, jutting out as if to mimic the mountain. Your father was well and happy there, breathing in the fresh mountain air, playing ball patiently with Ludwig and Willi – they weren’t yet school age – and pushing you in your baby carriage as we looked around the town.

‘We took a cruise on Königssee Lake and even the boys were fascinated by the majestic mountains that towered over us and the lone pine trees that sat precariously on the edges of the massive rocky cliffs. Of course, they soon tired of the view and your father took the boys to the edge of the boat to look for mermaids and pirate treasure. I can still see their little blond heads bent over the water, your father between them, holding them securely. I remember thinking how good it was to see him getting involved with the boys. I had seen that imaginative playfulness when we first met and it was something I loved about him. I was pleased that he was showing that side of himself to his boys, getting involved in their world.

‘The boat stopped at St Bartoloma’s chapel and while your father walked around the grounds with you, following the boys, I went inside. It was magnificent and, staring at the opulent gold-gilded altar, I felt moved to kneel and pray, thanking God for these happy days with my beautiful family and the return of my beloved husband.’

We continued walking in silence for a moment. I could see my mother struggling to contain her emotions – there was joy and grief etched across her face, her smooth skin marked recently by small lines around her mouth and eyes. I squeezed her hand in encouragement, shocked by the revelation that she had prayed to God to thank Him for her happiness – my mother had never struck me as being spiritual. If anything, I had come to believe that she had no regard for God. I could understand her bitterness. Her dreams of a happy marriage with my father disappeared and their divorce was difficult; she barely survived the scandal. Left penniless, wrenched from her children, now she had survived her two boys who were barely out of adolescence when they died in war.

My mother took a deep breath. ‘The following day we were picnicking in a meadow with the most perfect view of the Hoher Göll peak before us. I was the happiest I had ever been. The boys were playing on the edge of the forest, the soft breeze was sighing through the pines as it is now, you were crawling on the grass next to us and your father promised me that this was the beginning of a better life for us all. Ludwig had made a lion from a pine cone, the branches and needles strapped together, and he was beaming with pride as he presented it to us. It was sticky with pine sap. Your father picked Ludwig up and twirled him, telling him how proud he was of him, and tickled him. As Ludwig shrieked with joy, your father laughed without a care in the world. I really believed things would change for us then, that we had a chance to be happy. The scent of pine clung to my hands all the way home and reminded me of the joy we had rediscovered. Whenever I smell pine, it reminds me of that time.’

‘Oh, Mutti,’ I murmured, touched by her sharing of the memory with me. ‘That sounds beautiful.’ I leant my head against her shoulder.

‘Not long after that your father had another turn and began to drink again. I was pregnant and, in one of his darker moments, he lashed out at me and I lost the baby. He didn’t know what he had done. He often didn’t remember the rages he found himself in or what he did during them. When he realised what had happened, he was distraught and pleaded with me to forgive him. I told him I did, but it was the beginning of the end for us.’

I stopped walking and stood in front of my mother, struggling not to cry. ‘Mutti, I’m so sorry. I didn’t bring you here to remember sad times. I never wanted to upset you. I thought the walk would make you feel better.’

‘No,’ my mother said, shaking her head, ‘sometimes it’s good to remember, just little moments, and I’m happy I can share them with you.’ She placed a gloved hand on my cheek, the worn leather soft on my skin. ‘Thank God in Heaven I still have you, Charlotte Elisabeth. You are a joy to me. I might not tell you often enough, but I love you.’ Drawing me into an embrace, she kissed my forehead.

I couldn’t believe what I had heard. I had waited so long to hear those words. I felt the tears well up inside of me but I didn’t want to ruin the moment, so I swallowed them down. ‘I love you too, Mutti,’ I whispered and squeezed her tightly as I planted a kiss on her cheek.

‘Oof,’ said Mutti. ‘Not so tight.’

I let go quickly and we started laughing.

‘Look,’ I said, pointing to a tree by the edge of the stream. ‘The blossoms have started.’ I pulled out my camera and adjusted the settings to take a photo of the clusters of delicate pink blooms against the bare, dark branches. Mutti waited patiently while I concentrated on finding the best position to take the perfect photograph.

When we continued walking, my mother pointed out potential landscapes for me. I humoured her and set about photographing them. We discovered the best spot while standing on the bridge that spanned the stream. Here the willow draped gently to skim the edge of the water, tiny green buds all the way along the length of its branches, showing the promise of the heavy curtain that would hang over the water in summer. I studied the angles, focusing on the lines and the direction of light, snapping away, lost in the creative work.

‘We’d better get back,’ said Mutti. ‘We have an appointment with Fräu Andree.’

‘All right,’ I said, lining up the last few shots. This had been a perfect afternoon with my mother and I didn’t want it to end. ‘I should have some good photos to show you and Vati.’ A deep sadness settled over me, dampening my joy, as I realised it had taken the death of my brothers for Mutti to open up to me, for us to reconnect at last.

But I shrugged off my mantle of melancholy. There had been too much sorrow and I had so much to look forward to. I was most excited to return to the bridal salon for a fitting of my wedding gown. It should be complete.

Herr Schmitt pulled up in front of the bridal salon and my mother prepared to get out of the car.

I stopped her, my hand on her arm. ‘Something’s wrong, Mutti. The door is closed and the lights are off.’

‘Don’t be silly. They’re probably trying to do their bit for the city and reduce the electricity they’re using.’

‘I’ll go and check,’ I said. ‘No point both of us getting out of the car if it’s closed.’

‘No, Fräulein Lotte,’ said Herr Schmitt. ‘Stay here and I’ll find out what is happening with the salon.’

We watched as he tried the door, but it was locked. He rang the bell and knocked half-a-dozen times, but nothing.

‘Whatever can have happened?’ asked Mutti, craning her neck to see any movement within the salon. ‘This is most unusual. Herr Schmitt confirmed our appointment yesterday and everything was fine then.’

‘It’s closed, Mutti. Maybe we can telephone them when we return home.’

Just as Herr Schmitt turned to leave, the door opened a crack. He whipped around, exchanging a few words with whoever it was. He hurried back to the car and opened Mutti’s door.

‘The salon is closed but there’s a woman who has your gown.’

‘What’s happened?’ asked Mutti perplexed, her brows drawn together.

‘She won’t say, but I think it best if you hurry. I want us to leave as soon as practical. Whatever it is, I don’t want you among it longer than necessary.’

Mutti shot me an astonished look, nodded and without further comment, we got out of the car.

The woman opened the door only far enough for us to slip inside, her eyes darting from side to side in fear. The salon looked the same as always but it was eerie. Something didn’t feel right. Shadows fell across the room and I noticed the racks of display gowns were bare.