Ulli felt embarrassed: only that afternoon – which felt a century ago – he had been thinking about matters as selfish and idiotic as the concerto’s lucrative potential and his own possible promotion. He leaned towards Jelly, whose expression resembled that of a pleading child, and said, ‘You know, I believe I can help. My employer, Willy Strecker, told me that he met your great-uncle’s son, Johannes Joachim, in an English internment camp and they became good friends. The concerto must have been in Johannes’s possession, so it must be his responsibility. And you know how it is with old friends, especially from difficult times. Perhaps, should he give permission to publish the concerto, it would naturally be to us. As for me, I will do everything I can, both for Schumann and for you.’

A thunder of steps on the stairs and Adila was in the doorway. ‘Sai, quick! We are dancing. We need you!’

Jelly sprang to her feet. ‘Ulli, will you dance?’

*

In the drawing room the Fachiris had moved aside the furniture and rolled up the rugs; now Alec was busy stacking up some fresh records. Ulli, walking downstairs with Jelly, noticed a strange ritual taking place: nobody was quite ready to begin. Instead, they were turning expectant gazes towards the stairs, even though Alec’s first record was spinning and crackling and a familiar melody – a tango – was ready to seduce them all. He felt his face grow hotter as the eyes of 50 guests all fastened on to him.

‘What’s happening?’ he mumbled to Jelly.

‘It’s the tango. We have a little tradition! Come on, Ulli – we must be the first.’

Of course, the person everyone was waiting for was the violinist whose arm, at that very moment, was tucked through his own. He had little choice but to escort her to the centre of the floor and become her dancing partner. Not that he’d have wanted to be anywhere else.

Thanks heavens he had learned the tango in some… well, interesting places in Berlin, when he was a student at the Musikhochschüle ten years ago, and the steps came back to him, for Jelly was easy to dance with. She trusted him. She followed where he led, yet she led him, too, signalling what she wanted to do with the intensifying of one finger’s touch on his back or the slightest insistent pressure of her palm against his. He thought up a combination of twirls and pivots and encouraged her into them; she spun and swirled as he wanted her to, head inclined over one shoulder, and watching the balletic tilt of her neck, he laughed with delight. It was almost a shock when the music finished, much too soon.