‘Oh.’ He pinched his bridge but this only made the nosebleed worse. It started dripping onto the balcony until he collected it in his glass and the brandy turned scarlet. Though I tried not to look, a warmth spread over me. I heard someone say Paul, Paul! but the world had furred. I grasped at the rail and tried to stay upright. Through a keyhole of sight I saw the glass drop from the balcony down to the snow.

Walter’s eyes slowly met mine. The look I saw was gone so quickly there was a chance I might have mistaken it, especially with my impaired sight, but what I saw there was pleasure. ‘Whoops,’ he said, ‘hand must have slipped.’

Quickly, the vertigo stopped, the fur receded, and the world went back to normal. ‘Walter! You could have killed someone!’

‘It was an accident. I haven’t slept.’

Jenö came out to the balcony and looked down to the snow.

‘The blood made my hands slippery. Stupid of me.’

‘There could have been someone down there,’ Jenö said.

‘Get a tissue for your nose. It’s made my head wonky.’

‘I’ll get the glass,’ said Jenö. ‘Paul, you direct the beam.’

‘I’ll go,’ said Walter.

‘No,’ said Jenö, more definitively. ‘We don’t want you in more trouble.’

Walter went inside as I waited for Jenö then I directed the torch below.

A voice sailed out of the dark. ‘Hey! What’s happened?’

‘It’s fine!’ Jenö shouted to the building. ‘A mistake. Walter dropped something.’ Very carefully, using his shirt as a basket, Jenö picked up what he could of the shattered glass.

I had done well not to faint, but I felt a fluttering in my ears, faintly suggestive of a migraine. Maybe seeing Walter’s blood like that had set something off inside me. I wouldn’t drink any more; I hardly needed a migraine.

‘Done!’ shouted Jenö, and I flicked off the torch. ‘Tell Charlotte,’ he said to the dark, ‘I’m going to bed.’

Behind me I heard the scratch of the gramophone needle. I went back inside and the atmosphere had hardened. Walter was on the bed reading through Charlotte’s trashy book, his legs girlishly flicked to the ceiling, and Charlotte leapt up to greet me. ‘Pauli!’

On my desk there were two lines of powder under the anglepoise light. Instantly I realised that this was where Walter’s nosebleed had come from: he must have spent the journey shoving coke up his nose. There was a wrap of newspaper next to the lines, springing open like a pastry.

‘It’s good,’ said Charlotte. ‘Really strong. Where’s Jenö?’

‘Gone to bed.’

‘That’s where Jenö Fiedler will meet his maker, you know: in bed! Do you want some?’