“Oh, so she is the American lady he was talking about. Quite excited to have met her. I suppose these Jews feel rather vulnerable at the moment, all alone here at a time when…”

He broke off as heavy workman’s boots clomped down the stairs.

“Someone to see me?” he asked. “Is it my newfound American relative?” He came into the room, a handsome black-eyed boy with tousled hair and a jacket patched at the elbows.

“Mr. Noah?” I held out my hand. “I am a friend of your cousin Elena.”

“Enchanted.” He didn’t sound particularly enchanted and the hand that took mine was wary.

“I’m sorry to disturb your work,” I began.

This produced a chuckle all around. “Work? He was in bed with Jojo, no doubt.”

“How is Jojo, by the way?” the fat one asked. “We haven’t seen her for days. Have you grown so jealous that you hide her away from us?”

“She hadn’t been well. A mere cold but she stays in bed.” He looked at me again. “How can I help you, madame? Has my cousin sent you to look at my paintings, perhaps? You wish to buy one? I have many for sale.”

“Enough to paper the walls,” one of them said and they laughed again.

Maxim’s eyes flashed dangerously. “You insult my art because you do not understand it. Ask Picasso. He understands. He knows that art must move away from representation and the artist must have freedom to express his inner soul.”

“Then your inner soul must be quite murky,” one of them said. “Your paintings are terribly dark and gloomy. If this lady put them on her wall she would want to commit suicide instantly.”

“Do not listen to them, madame,” Maxim said. “You come to see for yourself. I go first to make sure that Jojo is dressed properly for your visit.”

He ran up the stairs. I looked around at the group. “I take it that Jojo is his mistress?”

“And very possessive he is about her too,” the fat one replied. “Won’t let a man near her. Won’t let her out alone. Of course, she’s very young and beautiful. A dangerous combination with so many wolves like us around.”

I thanked them for their help then followed Maxim up the stairs back to the top floor. I waited in the hallway, looking across at another door on which was scrawled, in blue chalk Au rendezvous des poètes (“The meeting place of poets”) and realized I could see how Sid and Gus had been excited to come to a city like this, where art and poetry and the bohemian lifestyle were not frowned upon.