‘Oh, nobody could be more so.’ He was smiling, but not the smile she’d hoped for. He was playing along. Why? And he’d put Sep’s picture back on the piano in such a position that it appeared the poor lad was staring at Jelly over Moshe’s shoulder.

‘Let me come straight to the point, Miss d’Arányi. I want to talk to you about Schumann.’

Jelly tried to deflect him. ‘I understand Yehudi’s New York performance was a great success. He is such a beautiful violinist, Mr Menuhin, you must be proud of him – but how silly of me, I’m sure everyone says that… ’

‘Oh, they do, they do. Pride doesn’t matter. My boy has worked hard and he’s made sacrifices, as have I and his mother and sisters. There’s no such thing as a miracle, even if we’d like to believe so. What did Edison say? One per cent inspiration and 99 per cent perspiration?’

Jelly nodded. ‘He has enjoyed his sabbatical, I hope?’

‘I hope so too. He only gave up 2 million dollars’ worth of work for it.’

Jelly tried to calculate. How many concerts would he normally do per annum? Surely no more than 60 or 70? That meant… how much for each? If only her mental arithmetic were better; she needed a pencil and paper to work this one out. Whatever the answer, it was unimaginable compared to the provincial music societies that put her up in cheap boarding houses or organisers’ homes and always, always apologised for being too impecunious to offer a better fee.

‘Miss d’Arányi, first of all I should explain he has no idea I’ve come to see to you. As you know, he’s playing the Schumann here with the London Philharmonic Orchestra a few weeks after your performance. I’m in town to sort out some logistics, en route to Paris, but passing through London made me think of you, and I began to wonder if you have the slightest idea what has been involved in planning the US premiere?’

‘Well, of course I can imagine. I’ve had similar experiences myself.’

‘His performance in London was to be the UK premiere, and would have been, if it weren’t for you,’ Moshe pointed out. ‘And if it weren’t for the Nazis, he would have given the world premiere. Instead, what do we have? A fine mess, Miss d’Arányi. A fine mess indeed. I understand, from my correspondence, that they were obliged to move the date of Georg Kulenkampff’s performance because of interference from London.’

‘From London?’

‘From you. You were, I understand, so adamant that these delightful ‘spirit messages’ gave you the absolute authority to premiere the work that you attempted to trump the Nazis at their own game. One imagines they weren’t too pleased to hear about your Ouija board.’