In the drawing room the clinking of glasses had stilled. Music. A violin. Jelly, teetering across the landing, saw a picture framed by the doorway: her sister, radiant in blue, in the centre of the room, violin cradled beneath her chin, bow caressing the strings in a Bach Allemande. The room’s wood and glass took up the sound and polished it. Erik presided at the front, stance proud, arms folded. Alec at first was nowhere to be seen; eventually Jelly located him on a window seat. Her brother-in-law was listening to his wife’s performance with head lowered, his face turned away, muffling his coughs with his sleeve.

Hartshaw slithered past her into the throng, not caring who he disturbed, sneering at all he saw. Jelly watched him. With luck, she’d never set eyes on him again.

*

Back at home, much later, trying to joke and laugh and be pleasantly tipsy together after the party, Jelly concealed her rattled nerves as best she could, until Alec switched on the radio for the BBC news bulletin.

‘A long-lost violin concerto by the composer Robert Schumann has been unearthed in Berlin,’ came the announcement. ‘The work was consigned to a library by the composer’s family and friends after his death. But now the famous violinist Miss Gelly d’Arányi claims to have located the concerto thanks to an intervention in a séance from the spirit of the composer, asking her to find and perform it. A new book by the Swedish minister, Baron Erik Palmstierna… ’

‘They should know by now,’ Jelly muttered. ‘Yelly. Not jelly-and-ice cream.’

‘It wasn’t a séance,’ Adila said. ‘It was the glass. It’s not the same thing at all.’

The telephone rang; Alec answered. It was Anna Robertson, who had heard the broadcast at her new home in Sussex and was concerned for Jelly’s peace of mind.

‘Darling,’ Jelly said. ‘I’m not dreaming, am I? You were there. You saw it too.’

‘Of course I did.’

‘But please – if any reporter calls you – I didn’t tell them you were. I didn’t. The journalist man – I won’t call him a gentleman, because he is not; he is a rodent, a rat… ’

‘Jelly, what are you talking about?’

‘He wanted to know someone who could back me up. But I wouldn’t tell him your name or your phone number or anything. If anyone calls you, you know nothing, yes?’

‘But I don’t mind, if it would help you.’

‘No, no! He must leave you in peace.’

‘Jelly, listen, call me any time. You know I’d do anything for you.’

No sooner had she hung up than the phone rang again. Tovey, in Scotland, had also heard the broadcast. ‘I’m worried about you, my dear,’ he said.

‘I’m fine.’ Jelly knew her voice had started to waver. ‘Absolutely fine.’

It was late by now, but next came a call from her sister Hortense.