‘You lot!’ the scrap-man said. ‘Drama after drama.’

There was another person in the front of the cab; even in profile I could see that it was Oskar. ‘Good party?’ he said, looking at the cafeteria. They were similar enough – Oskar and the scrap man – that they might have been father and son.

‘Probably the best of my life. Until things went wrong.’

The man tethered his horse. I wondered if he would spread news of our decadence around town. I heard the voices again and I wondered if one of them wasn’t Jenö’s. Oskar seemed to flinch.

‘Let’s go,’ the old man said.

Just before they went, Oskar turned to face the Bauhaus, and I saw with a shock the bruise spreading from his eye. I didn’t have a chance to ask him what had happened. Some skirmish with the other Nazis, probably. The scrap man moved his horse off at a gentle clip.

I followed the raised voices. By the big expanse of glass stood Charlotte and Jenö. Her cheeks were wet and red; I couldn’t see Jenö’s face.

‘Don’t,’ she said. ‘This is ridiculous. I’ll stop.’

‘It’s not just the cocaine.’

‘What is it then?’

‘I don’t know.’

I should have left them to it, but I couldn’t stop myself.

‘Tell me,’ she said. ‘You have to tell me.’

‘It’s just not the same any more,’ Jenö said, eventually.

‘What am I meant to do about that?’

‘I don’t know. I can’t remember what it’s like just to be me. What happened with Walter—’

‘I don’t want to hear his name.’

‘What Walter did to you was unforgivable. But that’s it. It’s bad timing that it’s all happening at once.’

‘What did I do?’

‘You never talk to me! Your privacy drives me crazy.’

‘I’ll change.’

‘You said that a year ago. It’s like dating half a person.’

‘I’m not half a person.’

‘I can’t love someone turned so inward.’

‘You’re the one who keeps things from me,’ she said. ‘You’re the one who kept secrets.’

‘I told you. I didn’t want to make things awkward.’

‘They made things awkward enough.’ She stood looking at her hands. ‘Jenö, please. I love you. I have always loved you.’

A moment passed where neither said anything, then Jenö spoke: ‘It’s too late; it’s too late. It’s done.’

He tried to embrace her but she wouldn’t do it. ‘I suppose this is very ordinary, isn’t it? It happens every day. I’ll ask you one last time if you’ll stay.’

Jenö delayed, said nothing, then finally: ‘I’m sorry.’