Standing near Anna’s bed, Jelly played Bach for her friend, for all the patients and, inwardly, for Tom, as if it were the song of a deity. Around the beds, curtains moved aside. Submerged in her task, Jelly was half aware, yet never allowed her concentration to waver. Anna’s eyes began to shine, vivid against her fever-dimmed skin; while the music progressed, tears rose within them. An elderly woman in a corner bed, coughing convulsing her, gathered the bedclothes against her mouth to stifle the sound. Several people who had been lying flat managed to lift themselves upright against the pillows; their blank expressions had gone, replaced by a light of wonder. One young girl slumbered, motionless, throughout – but in her sleep, she began to smile.

At the end Jelly lowered her violin and looked into the silence. The love she’d wanted to give them was gleaming back at her from the patients, some tearful, some uncomprehending, a few lost in dreams; from two nurses and the matron, who had opened her mouth and failed to close it; and from a distracted-looking doctor who had hurried in to see what was going on and stopped short, apparently as dumbfounded as if he’d discovered Johann Sebastian Bach himself waiting for treatment.

‘Brava, Jelly!’ Anna exclaimed, finding the strength to start clapping. Gradually, as Jelly smiled, amazement dissolved into applause.

She considered: these people, some unable to sit up, all too ill to attend a concert – and many who wouldn’t have done so even if they were well – deserved the spiritual comfort of music as much as any healthy person did, probably more. If they can’t come to the music, the music must go to them. Whoever decreed that it should only be performed in a formal venue, where people pay for tickets and aren’t allowed to speak to the musicians? If you wanted meaning in music, this was where you’d find it: in a place of suffering, where Bach’s humanity could strike home.

‘Miss d’Arányi… ’ The doctor came up to shake her hand.

‘I do hope I’m not a disruptive influence, Doctor?’ Jelly said.

‘Well, I’d never imagined someone could simply walk in here and start playing a violin. You need to get past matron first! But,’ he added, when they’d both stopped laughing, ‘this is extraordinary. Just look at them. You’ve done more good for these poor souls than we can manage in a month of Sundays.’

‘I wouldn’t go as far as that, Doctor. But I’m grateful you didn’t throw me out.’

‘You know, if you’d ever like to come back and do it again, we’d be overjoyed.’

‘I’d love to,’ Jelly promised.