‘I can’t,’ Jelly said. ‘It’s the Schumann on the 16th… And I’m meant to work with Myra this week.’

She closed her eyes. Never had she longed so much for silence; never had silence seemed so loud. The quieter her surroundings, the stronger the roar from the gathered forces within.

Adila placed something on the pillow by Jelly’s right ear. Her free hand closed around it. Silk, buttons, wool. Odd shape, strangely familiar. A doll, one of Adi’s, that she’d stitched clothes for as a little girl. Brought all the way from Budapest, long, long ago.

Chapter 18

Myra’s concession to Jelly’s crisis was to come to Chelsea to rehearse a few days later, which should give Jelly a chance to pull herself together. ‘The show must go on,’ Myra declared. ‘Nothing like good hard work to take your mind off things. Are you feeling a little better about the Schumann?’

‘I think the broadcast is going ahead, at least.’ Jelly tried to stay positive.

‘You couldn’t have a finer orchestra or conductor, and I’m sure it will be an astonishing evening,’ Myra encouraged. ‘It’s almost sold out, I hear.’

Jelly decided to sit down for their rehearsal. She needed to lower the music stand to the right level; it took her three goes because her right arm hurt so much when she tried to twist the keys.

‘Did you perhaps fall on that elbow?’ Myra asked. ‘The time you hurt your back?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘And you still don’t know what’s wrong?’

‘Not really. I’ll do my best,’ Jelly assured her. The bigger problem, which she did not want to explain, was that sometimes her arm hurt, sometimes it didn’t, but even if it was working she still felt afraid that it might not; and the effect of that diminished confidence could be almost as bad as the physical pain. ‘Sometimes I don’t know where my brain stops and my body begins,’ she admitted.

They were working on Beethoven’s ‘Kreutzer’ Sonata. In the opening bars, the violin plays unaccompanied.

‘Try again,’ said Myra.

Jelly tried; then shook her head.

‘Shouldn’t you be seeing somebody about the arm?’

Jelly rubbed her elbow. ‘Every doctor I see says something different.’

‘Yes… well, if it’s any comfort, I feel fairly awful myself.’

‘You do?’ She had rarely heard Myra admit discomfort. ‘Whatever is the matter?’

‘Down and out in London over Berlin. Every time I see a news report, I sink one more notch.’

‘Do you think we’ll have a war?’