Tables stood empty, though. Shops she remembered had gone out of business, several nightclubs too, since the Depression had hit the capital; wooden boards, nailed at random angles, barred windows and doors. In the shadows, along the side streets, another type of woman still waited and hoped. ‘There’s still a demand for that in a depression,’ Anna remarked as they passed, trying not to stare at exposed shoulders, lacy stockings or the excessive make-up designed to hide the ravages life left on these women’s faces. Jelly felt sorry for them. Some of her friends had no patience for that sympathy, but she was convinced nobody would take such a path except out of dire need. Few women had the mix of education, determination and good fortune that could lead them into careers. If their families lacked money, or gambled or drank it away, if they had no job, if they were not fortunate enough to marry, what alternative was there? And there would be children they could not afford… what then? Death at the hands of a back-street abortionist? Unless you were born into the right strand of society, you had scant hope of a decent life in this peculiarly brutal country.

That meant many things, as Jelly had learned long ago. She still sometimes had nightmares about the moment shortly before the war when she was performing in a salon concert and spotted surreptitious sneers cross the faces of two Lady Somebodies, one making a small yet unmistakeable gesture involving her nose. Jelly had expected that it was one’s musicianship that counted, not one’s racial or religious background. Her innocence burned dry. Unlike Hungary, where viciousness was virtually paraded, England tried to keep its own two-faced brand of cruelty hidden.

Yet even being born into the uppermost strand of everything could not protect Tom, the kindest and dearest of men, from the slow-motion illness that was defeating him.

*

The house in Netherton Grove lay quiet, the daffodils in the front garden glimmering in the moonlight. ‘Come in and have some coffee?’ Jelly suggested.

‘It’s quite late – are you sure?’ Anna glanced at her watch.

‘Of course, and I’ll send you home in a cab later, whenever you like.’

‘Maybe a quick cup.’ Anna smiled and followed Jelly inside. Upstairs, Adrienne was asleep, and from the big bedroom, Jelly could hear the soft snoring of her brother-in-law.

Jelly and Anna settled in the drawing room with a pot of coffee and some delicate porcelain cups that had belonged to Jelly’s mother. The piano was closed, and on a side table stood a bouquet of tiger lilies, a trophy from Adila’s latest concert, spicing the wooden floor with crimson pollen.

‘I miss my mother so much.’ Jelly filled Anna’s cup. ‘She always knew the best thing to say and do. They say only the good die young… Do you sometimes feel that everyone has gone?’