He assured her once more of his good intentions. After she filled the sink with water to soak the dishes, she dried her hands and turned to face him. ‘You are a nice man, I think, so maybe I tell you this. A letter came from him a few days ago. He said he was fine, and I must not worry, except... ’ She plucked the yellowed leaves from a potted geranium and dropped them in the bin. ‘Before this trouble… he sometimes said things like how the Russians want to kidnap him. Silly, no? If he is ever in danger, he said he will send me a note with secret message. Anything about a cat means he’s been kidnapped.’ She straightened the kitchen chairs. ‘So I can’t help but worry…’

Gessen tried to keep a straight face. If he smiled at such foolishness, she would likely march him to the door. But he wasn’t surprised. Mild paranoia in someone like Vidor, who appeared to have repressed an enormous swathe of his psyche, was not unusual.

He made a slight bow. ‘I will do my very best to get Professor Kiraly back on his feet.’

Magda folded the tea towel and hung it over the sink. ‘I show you the rest of the house, then, though there is not much to see. Many years before this, I was housekeeper for another professor. His wife was artist of some kind, and the house was…’ she waved her hands. ‘How do you say, a shambles? So stressy for me. I never knew what they want, with everything higgledy-piggledy. Books everywhere, big round cushions for sitting on floor. No telly. The man would not allow it. And the children… oof… like wild animals.’

In Vidor’s house, chaos was not an issue. Neat as a pin, quiet as a sepulchre. Spare, minimalist furnishings in the lounge. Plain wooden floors and slatted blinds on the windows. A taupe sofa and matching armchairs. Nothing on the walls except for two black-and-white photographs of marshland, geese flying overhead. No bevelled mirrors or crystal chandeliers. Not a single silk lampshade or porcelain tchotchke. For some reason, he’d imagined Vidor’s tastes would be more epicurean. The little he’d mentioned of family life in Budapest hinted at servants, velvet settees, crystal decanters, a grand piano. All left behind in the scramble to flee the Soviet tanks.