Her suitcase still lay in the corner, where Adila had thrown it three days ago. She watched her hands reach into the wardrobe for her clothes, garment by garment, and fold them as if she were going on tour. But where could she go?

She put her remaining allies into a sieve and shook it to see who was left. Hortense had enough problems of her own and would only be exasperated, or worry about taking sides between her sisters. Tovey? His door would be open, but in Edinburgh, and she had rehearsals for the Schumann in London very soon. George was in Dublin. Ulli? In Nazi Germany, if he were still alive and free, and she could scarcely stand to think of the alternative. Anna –

Of course, Anna in Sussex. She darted into the study and tried the telephone. The ringing, insistent, unanswered, jarred her. She let it ring, praying silently for a welcome Scottish greeting.

Nothing. She could try again later, but when was later? Where would she be by ‘later’?

Ten days until the concerto. If she couldn’t go to Anna’s, she could find a hotel for a few days, then perhaps some other friend’s until the concert was over, and think again after that. It could wait. This was only life, which wasn’t music and therefore didn’t matter. Take the music away and what was she? A maiden aunt? A washed-up, middle-aged spinster, mourning a long-dead hoped-for fiancé who might not have married her even if he’d lived? Did she have to accept her lot – any more than the Schumann concerto had to accept the malign judgement of Onkel Jo? Rubbish!

Jelly threw open her window and took a long breath. She’d start again. She only saw herself as a maiden aunt because she lived as one here, in this house. If she were on her own, if she lived at the centre of her own life rather than the fringes of someone else’s, she could be free but lonely, as Joachim’s motto said, or free but happy, like Brahms. Either way, free to be herself.

She thought of Sep and recited to his memory. ‘My name is Jelly d’Arányi. I am the only woman who has ever had my name. I am the only woman who shall ever live my life. And live it I have, and I do, and I shall.’

She still had some money in the bank. What’s more, she was still a star. And just this once, she would go to where stars belonged. She would go to the Savoy.

Jelly was halfway down the stairs, suitcases, dress carrier and violin case arranged over shoulders, elbow and knuckles, when Adila thundered up from the kitchen, mouth open in horror. ‘Jelly! What are you doing? Have you gone crazy?’

‘As I said,’ Jelly laughed, ‘I’m leaving.’

Chapter 19