Charlotte’s weave streamed with colour: cadmium, yolk, mustard, but there were reds, too, pinks and oranges. The shapes were cut as if with a razor; in its geometry it was not unlike her Dessau work, but this weave was only heat: roads and roads of sunshine. ‘Oh, Charlotte,’ I said, ‘it’s beautiful.’ Itten’s promise had been fulfilled: Charlotte had finally seen her Jerusalem of colour.

50

Berlin

Later, as I neared Steglitz station, I heard my name called. It was a man’s voice and my heart dropped. I quickened my step. Inside the station I heard a train pulling in. I raced to the platform and stepped into the carriage as the door closed. An echo of my name from the concourse: ‘Paul! Wait!’

The Bavarian accent had been unmistakable.

At Kreuzberg, Jenö was nowhere to be seen. But no sooner was I home than the internal telephone trilled. ‘You have a visitor,’ said Mr Schmidt. The porter’s tone was warm, even excited, as if he hadn’t realised I’d kept friends as handsome as Jenö Fiedler.

I thought about telling the porter I was busy, but I also didn’t want our resident snoop to think there was any funny business. I told him to invite Jenö up.

I looked around the apartment. I had a premonition that as soon as Jenö left, the apartment would be irreversibly changed; that I was seeing it in its innocence for the last time. It was one thing to dismiss Walter’s words; it was another to hear them from Jenö.

Knock, knock.

In the doorway Jenö’s eyes were silky and the tendons in his neck stood out. ‘Paul.’ He looked into the apartment, though he must have known Charlotte was at the Bauhaus.

Cornered, I told him to come in.

He asked for a glass of water. I asked him if he wanted something stronger and when he said yes I realised he was as nervous as I was. I poured myself a schnapps and drank all of it.

In the living room Jenö took his drink but didn’t have any. I thought he’d start with other business, or some other cooked-up politeness as to why he’d followed me, but he didn’t. ‘Walter says you’re immovable. He says you won’t do it.’

‘That’s right. I won’t.’

Jenö looked away but didn’t say anything else.

‘You’re panicking,’ I said, sounding calmer than I felt. ‘It’s understandable. It’s all deeply unpleasant. But soon there’ll be a new election, and a new chancellor. And a month after that, there’ll be more elections, and another chancellor. Money will go crazy. People will lose their jobs. Then things will go back to normal. Remember Weimar: these things even out.’

Jenö cleared his throat. ‘It’s different this time.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘It will get worse.’