‘Do you think so? Most people say the opposite.’

He blushed again. I don’t think he had meant to be aggressive, and in that moment he reminded me of my father, who, despite his dominance, was more confused about the world than he would admit. ‘I thought there’d be more of everything. Everything’s rather spare, and I thought it’d be opulent. That’s what everyone thinks in town.’

‘I saw you once at the Lamb.’

‘I remember.’

But as soon as I’d mentioned it Oskar excused himself to the bathroom. Perhaps I’d embarrassed him; I hadn’t banked on him being bashful.

‘Are you in the habit of picking up Nazis in the city?’ I asked Walter once the door was shut.

‘Wrong way round.’

‘How’s it going with Ernst?’

‘Very well.’ Walter smiled. ‘I’m surprised by how much I like him.’

‘And this young man?’

‘Well, while the cat’s away . . .’

‘Ernst must like you. To send you such expensive gifts.’

Yesterday Mr Steiner had sent six more dumplings in the post, enough to keep us going for a week of weddings.

‘The painting?’ Walter asked, mistaking my meaning. ‘Oh no, Ernst’s having a clear out. They have so many customers they need every inch of space. The Americans love his stuff.’

‘I meant the coke.’

‘Ah no: that’s an indulgence just for me and my friends.’

‘Friends like Franz?’

‘Franz got a little too demanding. I had to cut him off.’

I noticed then the scribbling on his arms: blue inked marks. The lettering looked a good deal like the ‘Expressionist shit’ Franz had derided, but the type was slightly straighter, which made it more legible. ‘Did you run out of paper? What’s that?’ I twisted his wrist so I could better see the alphabet: an L, C, A.

I felt the tension in his arm, wanting to withdraw it.

‘It’s my new type.’

The tattooed letters were thin, without a serif. ‘It’s nice,’ I said. ‘Have you christened it yet?’

‘I was thinking of calling it the Lotti-line.’ And I saw then what word these letters would make: Charlotte.

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. I like the sound of it. Lotti-line, Lotti-line, Lotti-line.’

Oskar’s polite knocking interrupted us. He looked at us as I held Walter’s arm. ‘Funny who you bump into, at the Bauhaus.’

On the table there was a scrap of Weimar newspaper, springing open like one of those Japanese miniature temples dropped into water. Walter chopped a line onto his desk and Oskar eyed it enviously.

‘Don’t worry, dear,’ Walter said, ‘all this is for you.’

Oskar put it up his nose at once. It was rather glorious that he was so unhindered; that he didn’t separate the fat bar and have less, or snort it slowly. His green eyes dazzled. Walter looked thrilled at the young man’s appetite.