—Did Yates see her when she came in? Ask her, Jesse. He repeated Anna’s question. Elena replied:

—Yates is an American secret-police officer? I saw him. But I was very careful. That was why I approached the apartment from the back.

Jesse translated. Far from appeasing his wife, it made her angry.

—Do you understand what you’ve done by coming here? Do you understand the danger? What more can you ask from him? What more can he give you? Look around! What is there left to take?

Anna rarely lost her temper. Jesse stood up, putting his hands on his wife’s arms. But that only infuriated her further. She pushed him away, refusing to be silenced, pointing to the pile of albums stacked in the corner, addressing the Russian girl as though she represented the Soviet regime:

—You see this? This is the only way he can sell his records now. He prints them privately because no record company will sign him. He sells them by subscription to the fans that still remember him. Once, he sold millions. Now how many do you sell, Jesse? How many subscribers do you have? Tell her!

With Elena’s limited English, she could piece together only a little of the meaning. She understood the conversation about the albums in the corner of the room. According to Mikael, the CPUSA had offered Mr Austin direct subsidies as soon as the FBI had started undermining his career. He had declined, repeating his stance that he’d never taken any money from the Soviet government – he’d never accepted a bribe or a payment or gift of any kind. Mr Austin crouched by the heap of records, his back to both Anna and Elena. He said in Russian:

—Five hundred. That’s all I have left. I have five hundred subscribers. Five hundred fans…

Elena knew that of the private subscribers who bought his self-produced albums, the CPUSA made up four hundred. It had been the only way to support Austin without him finding out. She ventured off her carefully prepared script:

—May I ask you something? I was not told to ask this. It is a question I would like to put to you. It is a personal question.

—Please, ask me anything.

Elena caught Anna’s eye and switched into broken English.

—Why do you support the Soviet Union? Why do you give so much?

The question had a profound impact on both Mr Austin and his wife. They looked at each other and in that instant their conflict seemed to disappear. They did not answer. And for a moment they seemed to forget that Elena was in the room.

Elena checked her watch: she needed to return to the hotel. It was approaching midday.

—Please, Mrs Austin, I do not have much time. I must speak in Russian again.

She switched back to her native language.