They were pondering Lenny’s taste when Evie came in with Hank Remington. A Woman’s Trial was a hit, despite the catastrophic opening on the day President Kennedy was killed. Hank was recording a new album with the Kords. They spent their afternoons together, then went off to their separate jobs.

Hank was wearing crushed-velvet hipster trousers and a polka-dot shirt. He sat with Dave and Walli while Evie went upstairs to change. As always he was charming and amusing, telling stories about the Kords on tour.

He picked up Walli’s guitar and strummed some chords absentmindedly, then said: “Do you want to hear a new song?”

They did, of course.

It was a sentimental ballad called “Love Is It.” The appeal was instant. It was a lovely melody with a little shuffle in the beat. They asked him to play it again, and he did.

Walli said: “What was that chord at the start of the bridge?”

“C sharp minor.” Hank showed him, then passed him the guitar.

Walli played the chords, and Hank sang it a third time. Dave improvised a harmony.

“That sounded nice,” Hank said. “Such a pity we’re not going to record it.”

“What?” Dave was incredulous. “It’s beautiful!”

“The Kords think it’s soppy. We’re a rock outfit, they say; we don’t want to sound like Peter, Paul and Mary.”

“I think it’s a number one hit,” said Dave.

His mother put her head around the door. “Walli,” she said. “Phone call for you—from Germany.”

It would be Walli’s sister Rebecca in Hamburg, Dave guessed. Walli’s family in East Berlin could not phone him: the regime there did not allow phone calls to the West.

While Walli was out of the room, Evie reappeared. She had put her hair up and wore jeans and a T-shirt, ready for makeup and wardrobe artists to go to work on her. Hank was going to drop her at the theater on his way to the recording studio.

Dave was distracted, thinking about “Love Is It,” a great song that the Kords did not want.

Walli came back in, followed by Daisy. He said: “That was Rebecca.”

“I like Rebecca,” said Dave, remembering pork chops and fried potatoes.

“She just received a letter, very delayed, from Karolin in East Berlin.” Walli paused. He seemed to be in the grip of some emotion. At last he managed to say: “Karolin had the baby. It’s a girl.”

Everyone jumped up and congratulated him. Daisy and Evie kissed him. Daisy said: “When did this happen?”

“The twenty-second of November. Easy to remember: it was the day Kennedy was shot.”

“How much did she weigh?” Daisy asked.

“Weigh?” said Walli as if that was an incomprehensible question.

Daisy laughed. “It’s something people always tell you about new babies.”

“I didn’t ask what she weighed.”

“Never mind. What about her name?”

“Karolin suggests Alice.”

“That’s lovely,” said Daisy.

“Karolin will send me a photograph,” said Walli. “Of my daughter,” he added dazedly. “But she sends it via Rebecca, because letters to England are even more held up in the censor’s office.”