Mutti had quickly changed into her brown woollen suit and smart hat and instructed Romy to dress too.

‘No school for you today, Romy. You can accompany me to the bank.’

‘I don’t think it’s such a good idea to go out,’ Papa said. ‘Why don’t you leave it?’

‘Frenchtown’s safe—you said so yourself,’ Mutti reminded him as she walked to the coat cupboard in the entrance hall and pulled out a grey cashmere coat and fur stole, and a navy peacoat for Romy. ‘And there’s been no mention of fighting or soldiers on the Bund.’

‘Still,’ Papa said, ‘it wouldn’t be wise. Stay home until things settle down.’

Mutti straightened her back and her voice cut like steel. ‘We have had no news of Daniel for over eighteen months. The Nazis won’t renew our passports. We are stateless, Oskar.’ With all that’s happening—’ She paused then took a deep breath to steady her voice. ‘Things may never settle down. We need to withdraw all our savings. No delays. Surely you understand that, Oskar? This may be our last chance to secure our freedom until this war is over. We might be able to find someone to pay—’

Pay for what? Romy stared at her mother, speechless. At fifteen, Romy had never known Mutti to break any rules. But you could buy almost anything on the black market in the dark alleys of Shanghai. Why not new passports? Even so, how would they leave? Shanghai was surrounded. Jews were not welcome anywhere else.

Mutti took a step towards Papa. ‘Oskar, look outside. There are very few soldiers on the street. It’s not dangerous, like…’

The ghosts of Kristallnacht filled every corner of the dim room.

‘Think of Daniel, of Romy—’ Mutti whispered.

Papa sighed and reached for his own brown coat. ‘I’m sorry. I’m expected to supervise an urgent surgery at the hospital.’

Mutti’s voice softened and she reached for Papa’s hand. ‘Vergib mir, you understand. Look out the window: the trolley buses are still running, people are at the coffee houses. The International Settlement will be the same, I’m sure of it.’ She looked at her husband pleadingly. ‘I need to do this,’ she said.

‘I understand,’ Papa said, kissing her forehead. ‘But shouldn’t Romy stay here with Amah?’

‘No,’ Mutti replied firmly. ‘My child stays with me. I’ll not risk losing another.’

As soon as they alighted from the trolley bus on Nanking Road in the International Settlement, Romy realised they had made a mistake trying to get to the Bund at the end of the street.

Mutti grabbed her hand and together they pressed flat against the walls of another bank. Romy didn’t need to be reminded of the rules this time. Do not draw attention to yourself.

Hundreds of Japanese soldiers marched in formation, navy helmets shining and bayonets pointed towards the sky. Despite the chill, the air was thick with smoke. When Romy took a breath the sour taste of metal and rubber filled her mouth. She gagged as Mutti passed her a silk handkerchief.

‘Come. We’ll try to get to the Cathay.’ Mutti tugged her arm and pointed at the green pyramid but was flung back against the wall as a coolie pulled up beside her. He smelled of sweat, rotten fish and fear. Chest heaving with panic, the man reached out with spindly arms and yanked his rickshaw off the footpath, trying not to topple his load of newspapers tied up with brown string.

Romy glanced at yesterday’s headlines.

The radio was what they needed now. Perhaps there would be one at the Cathay.

Romy craned her neck to look down the street. Brown and black furs pressed against faded blue cotton. People were trapped between the walls of the banks, shops and insurance companies as if they formed a deep ravine. The doors to all the banks were locked. Nobody would be getting out money today.

Rickshaws lined the footpaths, creating space for the hundreds of trucks, tanks and military vehicles that were moving down the street in double file, the rising-sun flag waving proudly from each one. With or without permission, the Japanese were taking over the International Settlement.

Romy muttered under her breath, furious at herself for believing what had happened in Vienna couldn’t happen here. ‘Mutti, what about Nina? Is she—’

‘I don’t know.’ Mutti looked helpless. ‘We can try to contact Miss Schwartz when we get home.’

Home.

A truck changed gears, and the grinding echoed down the street as the truck behind honked impatiently. Hammering and yelling could be heard towards the top end of Nanking Road, where wooden barricades and sandbag walls were being erected by Japanese troops, cutting off the Bund. Romy found her mother’s hand and squeezed. There would be no cash and no new passports. Perhaps ever.

Japanese civilians were streaming out of the cafés and shops to march alongside their compatriots, waving their armbands in the air. A soldier in blue webbing ran towards Mutti and Romy with a piece of paper and glued it onto the bank window beside Romy’s head. Property of the Japanese Imperial Army. The soldier smashed the window beside it to make his point and rushed back to join his fellows.

Romy closed her eyes, covered her face with both hands and hunched low as she was showered in shards of glass.

‘Romy!’ yelled Mutti as she reached down to brush the broken glass from her daughter’s clothes and hair.

‘Aya,’ said the coolie, gesturing for Mutti to stand clear as he reached down and gently swept the glass from Romy’s shoulders and feet. ‘Missee…’ he said kindly as he tapped her on the shoulder to signal it was safe to stand.

‘Thank you,’ said Romy, overwhelmed.

The coolie glanced at the Japanese parade then returned his gaze to Romy. ‘Xiayi,’ he muttered under his breath.

Romy put a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle and Mutti looked confused. ‘What did he say?’ she asked.

The coolie smiled, revealing a single yellow tooth. His eyes were dancing as he nodded at Romy and curled his little finger.

‘He’s calling the Japanese “shrimp barbarians”,’ whispered Romy, feeling every bit the Shanghailander.

At the Cathay, the doormen were waving the locals back behind the barricades.

‘Mrs Bernfeld, Miss Bernfeld, what are you doing out here?’ asked Mr Khaira as they squeezed to the front.

He shoved aside a pallet and ushered them through to safety as his colleagues pushed back the Chinese in their rags. ‘Of all days to be on the street.’ He whisked them away from the sweat, screams and smoke, through the revolving door and into the golden lobby of the Cathay. ‘Quick, come inside. It’s safe here.’

Romy glanced back at the sea of desperate faces outside and wondered what the kind rickshaw driver was doing now. Would he find a safe place?

Then she moved forwards and was lost in the perfume of the lilies.

Mr Khaira spoke to Mutti as Romy walked around the central table, staring at the flowers. ‘Should I book you a room? Is there someone you should call to let them know you’re here?’

Before Mutti could respond a voice said, ‘Marta? Is that you?’

Wilma Ho, eyebrows creased with concern, was walking across the lobby with another woman. They both wore traditional loose-fitting cheongsams, one in ruby red, the other sky blue.

Mutti pulled a handkerchief from her bag and pressed it over her mouth as her shoulders shook and she started to sob.

‘I’ve been such a fool—I put Romy in such danger—and she’s…she’s all I have left.’

Wilma put her arms around Mutti and she brushed the hair back from her face. ‘Shush, my friend.’ She rubbed Mutti’s back soothingly as the doorman walked quietly back to his post.

Romy’s heart started to race with worry. Japanese soldiers were everywhere. What should they do?

As if she sensed Romy’s anxiety, Mrs Ho said firmly, ‘You’ll come with us. I’ll take care of you and we’ll get you home safely. I promise. But first we have a meeting to attend.’ Her eyes darted sideways as she lowered her voice to a whisper: ‘We must find a way to resist. Our little theatre group mustn’t retreat…It’s more important now than ever.’ As Wilma spoke the dimple on her left cheek quivered. She turned to the woman standing beside her. ‘This is my colleague Marjorie. Marjorie, I’d like you to meet my neighbours Romy and Marta Bernfeld. They will be joining us today.’

All at once Li came flying around the table of lilies and flung her arms around Romy, standing on her toes to give her a kiss on the cheek.

‘I am so glad you are here. I don’t understand anything they talk about.’ She gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes and slipped her arm through Romy’s. ‘I’m just here to sing later.’ She gestured to her cheongsam, which had a pink crane embroidered at the shoulder, and turned her head from side to side, lifting her hair to show off her pearl earrings and the dab of rouge on her cheeks. In her navy peacoat with a cashmere twinset underneath, Romy, as usual, felt drab beside her friend.

Romy waited for her mother to object, to insist they must return home at once, but instead she noticed the glimmer of something in Mutti’s eyes. It was curiosity, intrigue, a fleeting trace of the mother who had taken her out on Sunday afternoons and run barefoot through Stadtpark with her skirts hitched up, laughing. The mother who collected fresh flowers every Thursday—creamy edelweiss, clumps of heather, pink carnations or blue hyacinths on her way home from work at the clinic.

This was the mother who saw delight in everything. The mother she remembered. That was worth taking a seat at the table.

She squeezed Li’s slim hand and said, ‘Mutti, can we meet you inside the tearooms? There’s something I want to show Li.’