‘I’m fine,’ Anna insisted, ‘and I’d so love to come along… ’

The pair set off together along Netherton Grove towards Fulham Road, Jelly carrying her Bergonzi violin in its case. She always took it to dress fittings to make certain she’d be comfortable playing in the gown. Her shoes, though, were designed for style, not motion, which made it difficult to walk fast enough. Punctuality was ingrained in her; nobody would book a performer who was never on time.

At the corner, she spotted a large black car approaching. ‘Look, there’s a taxi!’ She put up a hand, but it showed no sign of stopping.

‘That’s not a cab,’ Anna laughed, ‘it’s a hearse!’

The coffin-shaped back section was empty. ‘Not for you just yet, ladies!’ the driver called, with a wave.

Anna snorted. ‘What a nerve!’

A bus was pulling in; they stepped onto its rear platform. Jelly stared after the hearse. The incident had left a peculiar chill upon her.

Anna wanted to sit on the top deck, in the open air, which afforded the best panorama of Chelsea and the river.

‘Aren’t you cold?’ Jelly worried. ‘There’s such a wind – we should go downstairs.’

Anna obeyed reluctantly. ‘I love it up there.’

‘Darling, I’m worried about you. You need to take care of yourself better… ’

‘Jelly, tell me… ’ Anna changed the subject. ‘Have you looked into – you know – whether there really is a Schumann concerto?’

‘I haven’t really had time.’ She tried to sound nonchalant. She didn’t want to admit that she was far too scared of their glass messages to follow it up.

The sunlit river came into view; Jelly, enjoying the sight, remarked that her mother used to say the glitter on the water was mermaids putting on their diamonds. Perhaps the Thames was home to some English counterparts of Wagner’s Rhinemaidens, she added – though the Thamesmaidens would probably be drinking tea and listening to a recital of gramophone records on the wireless…

‘Jelly?’ said Anna. ‘We shouldn’t be going south.’

Silently cursing herself for still not knowing which was the right bus into town, even after six years in Netherton Grove, Jelly nearly lost her balance hurrying towards the back, hanging on to the railing with one hand and her violin case and handbag with the other while the bus plunged over uneven tarmac.

‘Please, could you tell us the best way to Bruton Street?’ she asked the conductor against the noise of the traffic.

‘Where, luv? That’s a grand foreign accent you’ve got, but I can’t understand a word you’re saying. Hooton Street, was it?’

‘Brrruton Street.’

‘Ah – I’d say you need to get off me bus and go to Wandsworth Town station, just round that corner there. Change at Clapham Junction for Victoria.’ He looked Anna up and down. ‘You all right, miss?’

‘Fine, thank you.’