As she gathered her things for the walk back, I watched as a train left its platform. Destination: Berlin.

When Walter returned a few days later, Charlotte was reading a romantic novel lying on the casement bed, while Jenö studied a Picasso monograph at my desk. We had been like this all evening, in silent companionship, getting slowly drunk on a bottle of brandy.

When I opened the door to Walter the first thing I noticed was the shimmer in his eyes. I had assumed he would return as he always did with wet boots and misery, but this time he was feverish and excitable. He kissed me and said hello to the others. ‘Is there anything good to drink?’

Jenö looked up. Like me, he did not much like Walter in the aftermath of Weimar. ‘Brandy.’

I poured Walter a drink. I had no idea where we’d found such an expensive bottle, but sometimes things showed up like this.

‘What are you reading?’

Charlotte turned the book over. ‘I’ve nearly finished it and I don’t even remember the title. I found it in the market.’

‘Schund und Schmutz?’ Walter said – which translates roughly to ‘trash and filth’. ‘Franz is a fan too, you know.’ He picked up the mail on my desk: a scantily clad woman framed by the illuminated advertisement of a cabaret. ‘Is everyone at it?’ Walter said. ‘Who’s this from?’

‘Take a guess.’

Kaspar found it hilarious to send anonymous postcards to the communal postbox. ‘Paul Beckermann’ was always spelt very legibly, but he then signed it with an ‘X’, as if he was still worried about getting in trouble with the Director. There was also, in the pile, Irmi’s reply from Berlin a few days ago. Paul, Thrilled about your move to Berlin. When can I expect you? Of course you must stay with me! Walter looked at that one too, but didn’t comment. I hadn’t yet had the chance to reply.

I took our drinks outside. The balconies were cantilevered downward, so that sometimes it felt a touch perilous to be out there. Walter launched himself against the rail, as if trying to gather momentum for a leap off it. He took a wildly big drink then tugged at his nose.

‘How was it?’

‘Haven’t slept a wink. Ernst worked me hard.’ He smiled. His still-present handsomeness made me remember how alluring he’d once been. Listening to him now, however, I could hear his breath after his climb up the stairs. ‘Did you hear,’ said Walter, ‘a student once climbed the facade of the building? Swinging like an ape from balcony to balcony?’

‘That’s not true,’ I said. ‘We would have seen it.’

‘It was Christmas. Everyone was gone. He found the first bit so easy he went all the way up.’

‘To the roof? But that’s fifteen metres! He couldn’t have done it without ropes.’