EPILOGUE
It’s a warm summer evening, and the guests are arriving for the private view. Torsten stands in the doorway in his new linen suit smiling and greeting each guest as they enter the gallery. He points them in the direction of a table covered with a white linen cloth where two smiling young women with sleek pony tails are doling out glasses of Sekt and red wine. Inside the gallery, another two waitresses circulate with canapés, weaving between the guests who are already crowding round the exhibits.
It’s a mixed crowd. Some people from the old days. Older. Chastened in one way or another. But if Torsten looks into certain corners of the room and lets his eyes drift out of focus, he can almost imagine that he’s back in the gallery on Lippendorfer Street where it all began. An inno
