‘And the patients here. Are they dangerous?’

‘No. I’ll tell you a little bit about them, Lena. You went to school, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, but I was no good at it. I didn’t stay long.’

Martha sighed. ‘Well, some people have illnesses that are caused by things which have happened to them. They’re quite well until things in their lives cause them to become sad or very anxious. Or they can’t sleep. They can become really quite unwell. These people need to rest and they need to talk to someone who understands. That’s what I try to do. To understand. To help them untie the knots.’

‘I see.’

‘And some people have something wrong deep down. In the blood, if you like. It’s something they’ve inherited from their parents, like brown hair or blue eyes. It means their minds don’t work properly. And this can make them seem very strange and behave in frightening ways. They suffer a great deal. And there is very little we can do to help them. At the moment. Though we’re always hoping, and trying out new things.’

‘There are both sorts of people here?’

‘There are hundreds of sorts of people, I’m afraid. But yes, you could say most of them come under those two headings. To begin with, my father and his partner, Jacques, liked to have a mixture. Sometimes the ones who were just tired or nervous were also rich. They could be charged quite a lot of money, which meant we could treat the poor ones for nothing. Also, they got better with rest and diet and the right therapist. So the cures made everyone happier and helped the atmosphere.’

Lena felt her head furring up, as it had when she first drank wine with Rudolf. ‘But,’ she said. ‘Your mother. How could someone think that sadness could give you lumps in—’

‘Cysts.’

‘Yes. In your belly. Or give you that fever you said.’

‘The mind and body are related in strange ways. When did you last cry?’

‘When I first arrived in Vienna. I was lonely.’

‘Did you cry much?’

‘Yes, I sat down on the bed. By the time I stopped my dress was soaking.’ She attempted a laugh.

‘There you are,’ said Martha. ‘A thought turned into water.’

‘What?’

‘A thought has no colour, or shape or weight, does it?’

‘No.’

‘But your mind told your brain you were lonely and a little bit of energy went out of your brain, travelled down a pathway of nerves and opened up the tear glands in your eyes. And suddenly your dress was soaked. By water which had started as a thought.’

Lena’s second laugh was genuine. She took a piece of the cake, which looked Austrian, not English, and put it on a plate.

‘I wish I’d spent longer at school,’ she said.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Martha, opening her arm towards the shelves behind. ‘There are always books. Your education only starts when you’ve left school.’

‘Someone else told me that once.’