“I ?” Julius sat back down with a bump.
“She is in a private sanatorium near Salzburg. She didn’t recognise me.”
“I’ve paid for his education,” said Hackmeyer weakly.
“Yeah, you’ve paid for him, and then you’ve cut him adrift. He hasn’t seen you for three years.”
“Nobody comes out of this story well,” said Karl-Heinz. “Can we stop raking up the past in order to prolong a battle?”
“It’s my fault,” said Lydia, slowly and clearly. “You’re bringing up all this stuff because you want to, to win me. Well, I don’t want to be won. I’m not a trophy. But I do see that I need to make this choice soon.”
“It might help,” said Milan dryly.
“We should leave,” said Karl-Heinz, taking Lydia’s hand. “The mood is ruined.”
“No,” said Hackmeyer belligerently. “You can’t go. We’ve gone to a lot of trouble to organise this for you.”
“Perhaps another night,” urged Sarah.
“Lydia, come home,” said Milan.
“Not with you,” snapped Lydia. “I don’t know how I feel about you right now. I wish I was surprised to hear that you treated that girl so badly but I’m not. And I hate that.”
“You’re right,” said Milan. “I deserve to be punished. I want to be. If it will help you, Lydia, I will take anything.”
His declaration was like a bolt of lightning, illuminating the room, showing everyone’s true faces. Suddenly everyone was breathing harder, leaning further forward.
“Anything?” said Hackmeyer. “Do you mean that?”
“I want this to be over,” said Milan. “Take out your anger on me and then let it rest.”
“What exactly are you suggesting?” said Karl-Heinz.
Milan looked behind him at the staff, who had re-entered the room bearing trays of toys, as presumably they had been ordered to do at the start of the evening. They stood by the double doors, seemingly unsure of whether to stay or leave.
Milan strode over to the young man and took a whip from the tray. It was a thick-handled flogger with strands of plaited leather flowing from its tip.
“Hurt me,” he said, proffering it. “Any of you. All of you. Give me what I deserve.”
“Milan, this is crazy,” said Lydia, but the others shushed her.
“I will take it for you,” he said. “It should be you who does it.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I can’t.”
“Then any of you? Hackmeyer? Von Ritter? Come on. You know you want to.”
He flicked the whip between them, flexing his wrist with insouciant flair.
It was Karl-Heinz that reached out and grabbed it.
“I don’t have any animosity towards you, Kaspar,” he said.
Milan laughed disbelievingly.
“You don’t believe me,” continued Karl-Heinz, “but it’s true. I know that, if it weren’t for you, I’d have Lydia all to myself, but I suppose that just means you have good taste. I think you’re a great musician and I also think you could be a good man. I don’t want to hurt you, but if you think it will help you, I’ll do it.”
“Get off, Karl-Heinz,” said Hackmeyer impatiently, pushing back his chair and seizing the whip from him. “I’m going first.”