Erik’s touch on her back was firm, yet his hands slightly too warm, his demeanour a little too intent, his laugh never as ready as those of her favourite easy-going, high-spirited dancing partners, Sep and Tom. Jelly concentrated on the music. The band’s pianist was playing with his eyes half closed: an old tune that pulled Jelly back into her memories – the rue de Seine, the apartment, Tom’s bright gaze and laughter all around, all night long; and back then, if her feet hurt, she was happy because it meant she was loving her life. Now her joints seemed to have been stabbed with needles and each step took concentration, so as not to betray the problem. Nothing had felt quite right since her bout of exhaustion after the cathedral tour. If this went on, she would have to see a doctor, which she dreaded lest it should turn out that the pain would not disappear of its own accord.

‘Jelly, don’t worry so,’ Erik said, holding her. ‘Everything will be all right, sooner or later.’

She still could not relax. Why did he and Adila take off for those Sunday drives? Adila loved Alec – anyone could see that – didn’t she worry about upsetting him? Adila was so open, so transparent, that Jelly was certain she couldn’t have hidden it if she were really having an affair. Perhaps this was all her own anxiety, when in fact it was none of her business. Even so, Erik had found the Schumann concerto, her Schumann concerto – was she to be indebted to him for ever?

‘Thank you, Jelly.’

‘Thank you, Erik.’

The pianist slowly opened his eyes, as if sliding back from an astral voyage to the seedier districts of Buenos Aires. He sported a bushy moustache and round spectacles; he wouldn’t have been out of place as a maths professor or, perhaps, a cartographer. She wondered of what, or who, he had been dreaming. For a minute she felt that part of her matched his spirit, time-travelling in parallel. As the band began ‘Sophisticated Lady’, his gaze met hers for an instant. She couldn’t tell whether he recognised her; musicians often did, if less frequently now than ten years ago.

When they took a break from dancing, the baron himself brought in beer for the band, and Jelly went up to the pianist to tell him how much she was enjoying his playing. He answered with a strong German accent. His English wasn’t good, but good enough, and she drew him easily into conversation.