Irmi stamped on the floor in reply. ‘I don’t know why she’s complaining. Her brats keep me up all night.’

Someone else changed the record; it was Jewish klezmer, to vex the neighbour even more. ‘Quit that noise!’

Irmi put her head outside the window. ‘Oh shut it, you old crone!’

And everyone laughed.

Finally, with most of my drink spilled, I found the kitchen. I looked for a cloth to clean myself, but just then I heard a voice from the past. I knew it to be Jenö without even looking. I turned, and there he was: a blond block, leaning against the counter, his grey eyes observing the room, sadder than they had been. I froze. I didn’t know what to do.

‘Paul.’ He smiled, and there were new wrinkles near his eyes.

‘Jenö.’

We shook hands. Neither of us knew what to say. A woman in a lively hat pushed past us with a fresh bottle of champagne.

‘How long’s it been?’

‘Years. I didn’t know you were in Berlin.’

‘They shut us down in Dessau. The Director’s set us up in a telephone factory.’

‘Oh. Right. Where?’

‘Steglitz. It’s not quite Dessau. But it’ll do for now.’

Steglitz! Steglitz was no more than half an hour from here. Immediately I thought how little I wanted him close. I wondered if there had been a postmark on the envelope; whether I should have known he was in Berlin. ‘Well. How are things?’

‘It’s been a little rough,’ he said, clearing his throat. ‘My father lost his farm after the Crash.’

‘I heard. I’m sorry. My father too. The whole shoe factory. Gone in a puff of smoke. Well, a puff of American loans.’

He nodded. There were so many stories like ours. ‘When I got back everyone was gone’ – he clicked his fingers – ‘Walter; you; Charlotte. I did lots of work.’

‘I bet. The Director couldn’t afford to keep us on.’

‘He said.’

It came to me then that though the Director hadn’t been able to afford us, he had been able to afford Jenö. I searched myself for how I felt, wondering if I still hated him, or whether that was over, now that I had, in some ways, won. ‘Are you still working with Marianne?’

‘A little. But mostly I’m doing my own work.’

‘Good for you. And Anni, Josef, Otti?’

He smiled at the list of names. ‘The Albers are still at the Bauhaus. Otti’s set up a textile company, an adjunct to the school. You should see her. She’s the same.’

‘An expert on everything and nothing?’

‘Exactly. Did you hear about the Weimar Bauhaus? Schultze-Naumburg’s whitewashed the murals.’

‘The townspeople will be happy,’ I said.

‘Oh, I wonder if they don’t miss us. Baptising babies in the Frauenplan. Getting up to no good in the woods.’