He put the paper down. The Schloss Seeblick had advantages over the Imperial, notably its rambling grounds and its views; he didn’t begrudge the payment, which, as he knew, helped subsidise the treatment of the acutely ill. The establishment was clearly struggling, however. The introduction of a new currency, the schilling, a few years back had eventually brought an end to uncontrolled inflation, but it had proved to be only a breathing space before the depression that now gripped the world. He wondered if either Martha or the two superintendents had a proper grasp of the finances. Perhaps that rather charming lawyer, Herr Plischke, had been able to offer some advice. And they badly needed a new young doctor, someone who could take over from the aged superintendents.

He walked in the grounds for half an hour before going to Martha’s office and knocking at the door. He was wearing the last of his new shirts with a contrasting tie, as recommended; Martha was in a cotton dress with a damson-coloured cardigan.

When he was settled in the armchair, Martha said, ‘Last time you were going to tell me about Delphine. It obviously meant a great deal to you and I wondered if you wanted to continue.’

‘Straight into the deep end?’

Martha looked down at her writing pad. ‘We can have some small talk if you like. But with only fifty minutes at their disposal, most people prefer to—’

‘It’s all right. Let me see. I lost the love of my life and I don’t even know what became of her. I presume she died, but I have no way of knowing. I wrote to her old employers in Vienna, but they’d had no word. They had an address in Rouen, where I believe her parents lived, but I received no reply to my letter. Many people died, not only the ten million soldiers. And as you remember, more than twice that number of the Spanish influenza. And why should my life be different or special? None of us is spared by history. That’s what history is. A leveller. A universal joke whose shape is visible only in retrospect. God laughs when he hears our plans, but history laughs louder.’

There was silence. Martha watched. The church bell sounded. ‘She must have been a … wonderful woman,’ she said at last.

‘She was. Some of her qualities could be appreciated by anyone. Intelligence, wit, warmth … Originality, talent … Spontaneity. But most of what was wonderful about her was visible only to me, I think. And that was what was so hard to deal with. The idea that without me there to observe and appreciate them, those qualities might die. Even if by some chance she herself was still living. That loss. And what flowed from it, the sense that my own life, like hers, was over.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I went to war for four years and killed other men. Or tried to. I think in an odd way it helped me. To know my life was all but done in any case. On long marches. Lying under the rain in Galicia, hearing the Russian artillery boom. Forcing myself to join some futile dawn attack. It made me indifferent to what happened. Not brave. No one ever called me that. But I felt like one of the walking dead, so it didn’t matter if I died again.’