‘I’m so sorry,’ said Anton. ‘I was intrigued, and I … I’m sorry to disturb you.’

‘That’s all right. I’d almost finished.’ She spoke with a foreign accent. He crossed the room to shake hands.

‘My name’s Anton Heideck. I’m here to give Erich his lesson.’

He didn’t catch all she said in return, but gathered her first name was Delphine and that she was there as a companion for Katrin.

‘A “companion”?’

‘She’s supposed to learn French from me.’

‘I see. How long have you been here?’

‘Three weeks.’

‘I haven’t seen you before.’

‘I try to keep out of the way.’

‘And … do you like Vienna?’ It was a feeble thing to say.

Delphine was a little older than he was, perhaps thirty-two or three. Her eyes were expressionless, like the surface of a deep pond; a thin shadow of dark hair ran along her upper lip.

‘I do. I have seen very little of it. Katrin’s father likes us to be accompanied when we go out. But, yes. I like it.’

‘It’s … large, isn’t it?’

‘I’ve lived in Paris so I don’t mind that.’

‘You’re a Parisian?’

‘My family come from Rouen. Most of them are still there. Have you been to France?’

‘No,’ said Anton. ‘Not yet,’ he added, as though his ticket was in the post.

‘Are you a teacher by profession?’

‘No. I’m … I don’t have a profession. I studied philosophy at the university, travelled a little and now I’m trying to make my way as a writer. Or a journalist, to be more precise. And you, Mademoiselle? Are you a professional musician?’

‘Good heavens, no. I would … At least only in my daydreams. I’m from a family of four daughters in Normandy. One of us is married, the others wait for husbands. Or so my father thinks.’

‘Have you been to concerts in Vienna?’

‘Only one. A piece by Richard Strauss. I didn’t like it.’

‘Oh. Would you prefer to hear some … Beethoven, perhaps? Or Haydn?’

‘Or perhaps Mussorgsky. Do you know him? But I doubt that Katrin’s father would allow it.’

‘Suppose Katrin came too?’ He had lost control over the words escaping him. He could never afford three tickets.

‘I can ask. Excuse me, I must go and talk some French to her now.’

She left the room with a rustle of silk and Anton heard her footsteps disappear down the corridor, purposefully, as though she couldn’t wait.

The last few minutes had disturbed him. It was partly a matter of surprise, encountering this woman from another country who seemed trapped in the stuffy nineteenth district. How many more people lived in that huge apartment, he wondered – an old nurse, or a blind composer toiling over his great symphony … On the other hand, there seemed something inexplicably familiar about Delphine, as though he had known her as a child, or had seen a photograph of her in someone’s house.

He met Friedrich for dinner in a cheap restaurant in the Landstrasse district where the waiters would bring second helpings to their favourite customers.