‘There, there,’ he soothed. ‘It’s not your child, you know. It’s still a concerto and you can still play it. Come and play it with me. And I’ll be curious to know what Hindemith has done to it. He’s a fine composer, but do you like his changes?’

Jelly stalled. She had her doubts about the adaptations and needed time to explore them more closely. The edition made clear where, and what, the differences were, though without indicating who had made them or why. Kulenkampff was apparently making a private edition of his own; therefore so could she. She hankered for the glass, in case there were messages – from Schumann, from Onkel Jo, maybe from Sep too – that could help her navigate through it.

‘And don’t obsess over those “spirits” of yours,’ was Tovey’s parting shot.

*

It was a little late for that advice. Jelly, at home more often since her injuries, was at Adila and Erik’s side day after day, for the messages from the glass now began to go into a startling amount of detail about violinistic ways to improve on the original concerto. Schumann apparently was not happy with Hindemith’s interference, one message declaring the results ‘not his technique’.

‘Don’t touch the glass,’ Adila ordered Jelly. ‘There must be no suggestion you influenced what the messages say.’

Jelly, taking notes but leaving the interpretation strictly to Adila and Erik, watched in incredulity as her sister encouraged, questioned and received word after astonishing word. Her pen at the ready, she watched the glass moving through the shadows, and scribbled down the letters. ‘Use your judgement about bowing and often broaden the tone… ’ the glass instructed. ‘Keep your outbursts as a complete surprise. Your uncle knew that secret.’

‘We must stop now,’ Adila sometimes exclaimed. ‘I’m exhausted! You’ve no idea how tiring this is.’

‘Just two more minutes?’ Jelly would plead. When the pointer moved to ‘Goodbye’ and the light went on again, she felt bereft, desperate for the next instalment.

‘Stop panicking, Sai,’ Adila laughed. ‘Just go and write it all into your fiddle part.’

*