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that, although facing him, she was the furthest away. Even if he stretched his fingers out to her, and she to him, they would never touch. These thoughts were so unfamiliar it took him moments before he realized they must be slapped away.
Gertrude served out the goulash, and, as Max spooned in each mouthful, he attempted to hold Elsa in his view, tried to watch for her lips moving, in case she was addressing anything to him. But just the sight of her, the light in her long eyes, the blue, like irises blooming, made him incapable of speech.
‘So Max, Max…’ Gertrude was talking to him, trying to shift his eyes to her. ‘I was just explaining to Klaus here about the painting, how much thought you’ve put into it, and how…’ – she was urging him to take her on – ‘how you are ready to begin.’
Lehmann smiled understandingly. One artist to another, although of course he must know that Max was not a professional like him.
‘Yes,’ Max nodded finally, over-emphasizing this one word. ‘At least I hope I am.’
But he was saved much further talk by Klaus who began to outline the details of a new library for which he’d just completed plans. If he could gain this contract, he’d have a chance to prove himself again, remake the reputation that he’d left behind.
‘When I first met my husband,’ Elsa told them, ‘he was already well known. A dazzling star, to me certainly.’ She smiled at Klaus. ‘I was, of course, seventeen.’
‘And now, not so?’ Klaus didn’t blink.
‘Still so.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘After twenty-two years.’
Max watched Klaus as he talked, watched the words form on his lips, distorted as he chewed, twisted by his accent, and those missed as Max bent to fork up his own food. By the end of the meal he had pieced together an unlikely image of a swimming-pool, suspended below chandeliers, with tiers of tottering bookshelves revolving in mid-air. It made him smile, just the thought of it, and Gertrude, noticing his usually black eyes, lit up, told herself she should have invited guests before.
    After supper they sat by the open window, a fire lit in the grate and watched the midges swarm out of the dark. ‘So, your paths never crossed before?’ Gertrude couldn’t resist trying, although Max had told her already that they’d never met.
‘Yes.’ Elsa leant towards him. ‘I think your family had a summer house not far from ours. You wouldn’t remember me.’ She looked at him, her luminous eyes ringed round with black. ‘But I remember you.’
‘Hiddensee?’ It was almost a whisper. It was Hiddensee that he’d been thinking of on his walk.
‘I was there every summer since the age of three, and I remember you particularly…’ There was a hush as if this were a private conversation and the others were caught up in it against their will. ‘Because you were always alone.’
‘Elsa…’ Klaus tried to interject.
‘And then one summer, you were with a girl, a girl in a green dress, and I saw you…’ Elsa laughed. ‘I saw you kiss her in one of those little booths on the beach.’
‘Elsa…’ Klaus was stretching, standing up. ‘I really think it may be time to go.’
‘It was the first time’ – she looked at her husband – ‘that I was introduced to love.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’ Klaus folded his arms. ‘I’d hoped that the first time had been reserved for me.’
Everyone laughed, but Max felt the coldness behind the other man’s quick look.
‘Yes.’ Max became aware of the formality of their language, speaking in this foreign tongue as if it were a kind of code. ‘It was the summer I became engaged.’
‘And now…’ Elsa was leaning towards him. ‘Your wife? She’s…?’
‘We never married.’ He wanted to add something softer, to hold her disappointment, but there was nothing else to say.
‘I’m sorry.’ Elsa looked at him. ‘You’re not offended?’ she was bending towards his chair, touching his fingers with the soft tips of her