‘… possibly didn’t want him back.’

‘But – ?’

‘I know. It defies everything we know of their love and their devotion. On the other hand, one can perhaps understand it. She was in an impossible position; she was struggling with seven children and an international performing career. How could she also look after a husband who, even if Bettina thought him relatively well, would still have required much care and caused much anxiety? To say nothing of the gossip and the stigma. Clara may sometimes have seemed superhuman, but taking on that responsibility would be a step too far even for her, especially with small children in the house. His suffering was very real, remember – he’d already attempted suicide. It’s possible that Bettina had just caught him on a particularly good day.’

‘So… ’ Jelly followed Tovey across a wooden stile; he could take the fence in just three steps, while she was constricted by her straight skirt. He held out a hand to help her down.

‘Bettina was afraid he would make another attempt on his own life, in the hospital. She thought that if driven to desperation, he might starve himself to death. We don’t know if he did this or not. Clara, Brahms and Jo weren’t able to visit him until the day before he died.’

‘But did Clara say anything to Onkel Jo?’

‘Clara would never have said a word against her husband – or against her own attitude to him. Even if she had, in some moment of weakness or despair, Jo would never have broken her confidence.’

‘Donald, the messages – we’ve had some that seem to come from Schumann, or from messengers relaying his wishes, and some from Onkel Jo, too. But not a word about Clara, or Brahms. What do you think about that?’

‘I don’t think anything about any of your “messages”.’ Tovey paused in his tracks and mopped sweat from his temples with a handkerchief. ‘And nor, I fear, will many other people. I do worry that you’re allowing it to become too much of an obsession. Sooner or later you’ll have to accustom yourself to the idea that these practices are not so widely accepted now, not in this age of dictatorships, mechanisation and Einstein. But if it’s any comfort, Jelly, I don’t think you’re making it up.’

‘Making it up? But every letter came through the glass! I was never interested in the glass game before all this happened. I thought it was only a game – until, you see, there was a message from Sep and I ran away, I didn’t know what to believe… But this is different. Why don’t you join us for a session? Then you’d understand – you’d see it with your own eyes – and you’d… ’ Jelly was so distressed at the idea that his doubt might spoil their friendship that she could scarcely get her words out.