Jenö grinned. He warmed his hands with his breath. Putting the weight on one foot, he ran and then scaled the gate to the top. You could see in his speed how strong he was.

‘Bravo!’ Walter called. ‘But what will you do now?’

The chained door yielded a gap that was small but not impossible. Jenö put his shoulder into it and, inch by inch, he flattened himself inside. ‘Who’s going to join me?’ he said, inside.

We told our students to avoid these kinds of hi-jinks: this was exactly the kind of thing that would trick any conservative into thinking us Bauhäuslers were grave-robbing Bolsheviks. Still. I didn’t want to be the last one to volunteer, so I followed Jenö’s lead. But I was halfway in when, with some dismay, I saw that neither Charlotte nor Walter was following. ‘Aren’t you coming?’

They looked at each other. Perhaps they were both wondering what the best of the two bad options was: spend some time together or trespass into the dark. ‘You go ahead,’ said Walter, ‘I’ll keep Charlotte company.’

‘Suit yourselves.’

Inside, the mausoleum was freezing. There was a golden mosaic high above us in the cupola which gave the only light. ‘Echo,’ Jenö said, into the atrium, to hear his voice thrown back to him. I marvelled again that Charlotte had opted for him; this boy-child.

‘Jenö?’

There were sounds of things falling. ‘Looks like this is where the Prince keeps his garden furniture.’

I found him rifling through trowels and rakes. The smell of cut grass came off the box. I felt a strike of irrational terror: that Jenö might take one of these rakes and swing it to my skull. ‘Don’t,’ I said. ‘It’s not ours.’

In the gloom I saw him looking for the next thing to do. ‘Down here,’ he said.

We took the steps to the crypt. I followed the brightness of his hair. In the wet basement there were several tombs. In the dark I touched their lettering, trying to make out the names of those who had died, but the type was too decayed to work out who the dead had been. As I did this I realised it was the first time I’d been alone with Jenö in years. I had him, in the darkness, all to myself. I wondered what Walter would be talking about with Charlotte outside. I remembered what he had said down at the reeds – Am I the only one who has ever felt anything? And I wondered what it would be like – how it might feel – to be honest. I hadn’t been honest, not with anyone, let alone myself, for so long. ‘It’s not been easy, these past few years,’ I said. ‘With Charlotte and you and me.’