Emboldened by the punch, Anton went to reintroduce himself.

‘This is my daughter, Harriet,’ said Charlotte.

‘Delighted to meet her. Will she be joining us for dinner?’

‘No, she’s eaten already. She wanted to see all the party dresses.’

‘Well, she can’t see much down there. Would she like to be carried round?’

There was a muttered consultation and the child was suddenly on his shoulders, rather heavier than he’d expected, clinging to his forehead with sticky hands and kicking him in the chest with her heels. Already regretting his offer, Anton toured the hall, then went up to the half-landing so that Harriet could see the musical instruments. Gripping her tightly by the ankles, he made one more circuit before delivering her back to her mother.

‘That was a great success, Herr Heideck. Thank you. She doesn’t get much rough and tumble at home. Just the two of us and I’m not very good at that sort of thing. I’d better put her to bed now.’

‘I’ll keep you a place at dinner.’

Johanna, with a sprig of holly in her hairband, was urging the guests into the dining room. People seemed unwilling to move in front of another or to break off conversations in which they shared their triumphs in having arrived safely despite the snow.

For a moment, Anton considered abandoning the festivities and going up to his room to read a book instead.

To give himself time, he stepped outside the front door and walked a few paces in the frosty air. He stopped to listen. The church bell for once was still and no night birds had ventured out. He could see three or four points of light from houses along the distant road; everything else was extinguished by the night. He put his head back and breathed in hard, swallowing some of the darkness that stretched to the mountains. There was this elemental quiet that went back almost to the beginning of time; and there was the hot rage and confusion of his tiny brain, striving with its billion synapses, somewhat overheated by the alcohol he’d drunk indoors.

Either reality would do, presumably. Yet he felt shaken to his core. He had a desire to lash out or break something.

More wine would help to calm this urge, he thought, as he turned towards the house, his boots crunching for a moment on the gravel, before he pushed open the heavy door and was engulfed by noise. He elbowed his way through the hesitant crush and took a place at the ‘Captain’s Table’ in the dining room, throwing his arm round the back of the neighbouring chair.

‘I’m afraid it’s taken,’ he told the melancholy Florian when he tried to sit there.

‘Are you all right?’ said Martha, taking her place on the other side of the table.

‘Very well, thank you. I’m keeping a place for your sister. She’s putting the child to bed.’

‘How very thoughtful. Thank you,’ said Martha with her unreadable smile.