A moment later a middle-aged man in a frogged velveteen jacket came out into the hallway. He had a carroty complexion and seemed extremely friendly. After a cheerful greeting he added in Russian, ‘I don’t remember you, though – there must be a mistake.’ Nikolay looked at him and apologized: ‘Afraid so. I don’t remember you either. I was expecting to find the Dr Weiner who lived on Moika Street in Petersburg before the Revolution, but got the wrong one. Sorry.’

‘Oh, that must be a namesake of mine. A common namesake. I lived on Zagorodny Avenue.’

‘We all used to go to him,’ explained Nikolay, ‘and well, I thought … You see, I’m trying to locate a certain lady, a Madame Kind, that’s the name of her second husband –’

Weiner bit his lip, looked away with an intent expression, then addressed him again. ‘Wait a minute … I seem to recall … I seem to recall a Madame Kind who came to see me here not long ago and was also under the impression – We’ll know for sure in a minute. Be kind enough to step into my office.’

The office remained a blur in Nikolay’s vision. He did not take his eyes off Weiner’s impeccable calvities as the latter bent over his appointment book.

‘We’ll know for sure in a minute,’ he repeated, sunning his fingers across the pages. ‘We’ll know for sure in just a minute. We’ll know in just … Here we are. Frau Kind. Gold filling and some other work – which I can’t make out, there’s a blot here.’

‘And what’s the first name and patronymic?’ asked Nikolay, approaching the table and almost knocking off an ashtray with his cuff.

‘That’s in the book too. Olga Kirillovna.’

‘Right,’ said Nikolay with a sigh of relief.

‘The address is Plannerstrasse fifty-nine, care of Babb,’ said Weiner with a smack of his lips, and rapidly copied the address on a separate slip. ‘Second street from here. Here you are. Very happy to be of service. Is she a relative of yours?’

‘My mother,’ replied Nikolay.