“All your family are well, but I am the bringer of disappointing news. Karolin and Alice have been refused permission to emigrate.”

Walli felt as if he had been punched. He sat down heavily. “Why?” he said. “What reason?”

“The government of East Germany do not give reasons for their decisions. However, a Stasi man visited the house—Hans Hoffmann, whom you know.”

“A jackal.”

“He told the family that none of them would ever get permission to emigrate or travel to the West.”

Walli covered his eyes with his hand. “Never?”

“That’s what he said. Your father asked me to convey this to you. I’m very sorry.”

“Thank you.”

“Is there any message I can give your family? I cross to East Berlin once a week still.”

“Say I love them all, please.” Walli choked up.

“Very well.”

Walli swallowed. “And say that I will see them all again one day. I feel sure of it.”

“I’ll tell them that. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye.” Walli hung up, feeling desolate.

After a minute he picked up his guitar and played a minor chord. Music was consoling. It was abstract, just notes and their relationships. There were no spies, no traitors, no policemen, no walls. He sang: “I miss you, Alice . . .”

• • •

Dave was glad to see his sister again. He met her outside the office of her agency, International Stars. Evie was wearing a purple derby hat. She said: “Home is pretty dull without you.”

“Nobody has rows with Dad?” said Dave with a grin.

“He’s so busy, since Labour won the election. He’s in the cabinet now.”

“And you?”

“I’m doing a new film.”

“Congratulations!”

“But you fired your manager.”

“Eric felt Plum Nellie was a one-hit wonder. But we haven’t given up. However, we must get some more gigs. All we’ve got in the diary is a few nights at the Jump Club, and that won’t even pay the rent.”

“I can’t promise that International Stars will take you on,” Evie said. “They agreed to talk to you, that’s all.”

“I know.” But agents did not meet people just to blow them off, Dave figured. And clearly the agency wanted to be nice to Evie Williams, the hottest young actress in London. So he had high hopes.

They went inside. The place was different from Eric Chapman’s office. The receptionist was not chewing gum. There were no trophies on the lobby walls, just some tasteful watercolors. It was classy, though not very rock-and-roll.

They did not have to wait. The receptionist took them into the office of Mark Batchelor, a tall man in his twenties wearing a shirt with a fashionable tab collar and a knitted tie. His secretary brought coffee on a tray. “We love Evie, and we’d like to help her brother,” Batchelor said when the initial pleasantries were out of the way. “But I’m not sure we can. ‘Shake, Rattle and Roll’ has damaged Plum Nellie.”

Dave said: “I don’t disagree, but tell me exactly what you mean.”