Lena kissed him on the cheek. ‘You’ll see.’

Herr Thaller went back into the stockroom.

The shop did good business, some of the items on Lena’s rail were sold, and after a year Herr Thaller, who had taken to staying out even longer over his fried chicken, allowed her to buy in some men’s clothes as well.

Carina was back from the hospital and Lena took charge of the upkeep of their two rooms. Herr Thaller gave her a small pay rise and Carina was well enough to resume her cleaning work at the clinic, which was moving back from the mountain to its old home by the lake, the Schloss Seeblick.

The bell on the shop door rang one afternoon and Rudolf Plischke walked in.

‘Do you remember me?’ he said.

‘Of course. How’s your leg?’

‘It healed. A long time ago.’

‘And how’s Vienna?’

‘I finished at the university. Now I have to work at a law firm to complete my training. It’s very dull. Who did this drawing?’ He held up a paper bag with the outline of a dress.

‘I did it. For a customer.’

‘It’s … elegant. Is this your mother’s shop? The one you told me about?’

‘It’s … She sold it. This is a different shop.’

Lena looked hard at Rudolf. His eyes were sky blue, the colour of honesty. He was still thin, like a boy, but his manner suggested a man who had lived in the city and knew how life worked.

‘I looked for your mother’s shop,’ he said. ‘But I couldn’t find it. I wanted to see if you were all right. You didn’t write to my father.’

‘I didn’t need to. I had a job.’ She had been too ashamed of her spelling to risk writing. ‘Shall I show you some of our jackets?’

‘Yes.’ Rudolf seemed amused, in just the way she remembered.

He stayed for a long time, trying on jackets and waistcoats until Herr Thaller returned, smelling of hops and tobacco.

‘I’ll take this,’ said Rudolf, holding up a flannel shirt he had previously shown no interest in.

‘I’ll wrap it for you.’

‘Do you do other drawings? For fun. I mean landscapes. Or people.’

‘No, just these, for the customers. I couldn’t do those things.’

‘But perhaps you could,’ said Rudolf. ‘You could go to a class in the evening. An old friend of mine teaches one. Near St Thomas’s.’

‘I couldn’t afford it.’

‘Oh, he wouldn’t charge much. If anything.’

She looked at him. Everything in Rudolf’s face seemed reliable. His eyes, his smoothly shaved face, the curly hair almost as out of control as her own had been, before the ribbon: a boy not far from her own age, and yet a man. She couldn’t be a spectator, staring through the iron gate while the others lived their lives.

Rudolf enrolled her in the class and she began by going once a week. The teacher, whose name was Tomas, said she showed promise and he wouldn’t charge her for a second class on Fridays.