‘Jenö’s dad,’ said Kaspar, ‘will have him working on his farm in no time. I’d rather be dead than go back to my old life.’ This struck me as odd, because Kaspar, a Berliner, sounded like he’d had quite an exciting life before the Bauhaus. It wouldn’t be like me going back to tea and butter balls in Dresden; or Walter to some province of Westphalia.

‘Will Sommer go to the police?’ I asked. I knew I sounded naive, but I really hadn’t thought it would escalate that far.

‘Irmi has a theory,’ said Kaspar.

Irmi looked at Kaspar.

‘Go on,’ I said. ‘What is it?’

‘Nothing.’ She seemed peeved with Kaspar. ‘Don’t tell me you believe their story?’

‘Why not?’

‘I’ve never seen Jenö faint. You, yes’ – she jabbed a finger in my ribs – ‘but not Jenö.’

‘Oh, Irmi,’ Kaspar said, putting his hand on hers, ‘do stop with the theories.’

She took his hand away. ‘Paul doesn’t think it’s true either.’

‘Don’t you, Pauli?’

‘I have no idea,’ I said, with absolute certainty, since I didn’t.

‘Has Walter mentioned anything else?’

‘No. I mean, I haven’t seen anyone all weekend.’

‘Jenö fainting. It’s all hokum, I reckon.’ She sawed the blunt part of a carving knife into her palm and the sound made me feel a bit sick. ‘I think Walter did all the fighting himself and Jenö’s covering for him.’ And then she let out a throaty laugh and dropped the knife.

‘Walter’s a weed,’ Kaspar said drily. ‘He wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

For a while I watched the others before Master Itten joined us. Walter was being particularly attentive to Jenö, but Jenö looked like he was keeping to himself. His bruises were yellower. Charlotte kept her head down, scrawling on a piece of paper.

Master Itten ignored our groupings when he walked in later. He asked us to close our eyes, and we began our meditation as usual. I expected someone to join me in my ritual espionage, but no one did; not even Kaspar. He probably didn’t want to get caught; not right now.

Time passed slowly. I watched the room but everyone stayed still. I had the odd feeling that we were made from very fine powder, and with only a breeze we might be blown apart. If the police were to come for Jenö, then they would come for Walter too. How easy it would be to take us from our specialness here: some thrown punches and Jenö would be back to farm work. How quickly all this beauty could come unstrung!

Just before the Master’s bell I closed my eyes so that people might think I’d been deep elsewhere. I came to in a faked dreaminess, but Itten was not watching me; he was looking at Jenö. ‘Did you fall over, Mr Fiedler?’