‘Yes, and when he was finally allowed to go home, he was told his father and older brother had been murdered by Walachian nobles. Vlad then started a lifelong campaign to get his father’s seat back.’

She hesitated, stirring sugar into a fresh glass of champagne and waited for someone else to take up the conversation. No one did. Her guests were probably wondering what outlandish remarks would come out of her mouth next. She glanced at Stephen, who was seated at the head of the table between Olivia and Violet. She saw that no help would come from him.

So, with a long, sideways look at Stravinsky, she said, ‘I’ll tell you another thing about Vlad. He was famous for his cruelty, but it wasn’t simply cruelty for its own sake. He used impaling to terrorise the enemy attacking his country. You could argue that he wasn’t exceptionally evil; he was just doing what was necessary to fight a much bigger military power.’

Silence fell.

‘Well, you have taught me something new,’ said Stravinsky, at last.

‘There is actually something else,’ answered Ginie. ‘When an archaeological dig was carried out at his grave, they found royal garments and a ring, but there was no body.’

A shiver went round the table and Ginie was satisfied that she had played up to their perception of her. It was infinitely more amusing than being a wallflower, or filling up the silence with meaningless small talk.

Stravinsky was getting more and more on edge as his performance drew near, he kept flexing and un-flexing his hands, only picking at his food. Immediately after the main course, he rose to his feet, thanked Ginie and Stephen and said his goodbyes. Everyone wished him luck as he left for the Queen’s Hall. He thanked them, though his face was ashen.

‘This cold, damp weather is terrible for the hands. My fingers feel so clumsy, I hope they can find the right keys.’

When the meal was finished, Ginie took the women to the drawing room and turned on the wireless so they could hear him play. As the music flowed into the room, she saw them exchange looks she could not decipher. Olivia made a strangled noise that sounded like a snigger, which she quickly turned into a cough. They listened quietly. It was a relief not to have to talk.

The men came in and Stephen said, ‘What on earth are you doing listening to the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra?’

No one spoke. Violet and Olivia’s eyes were turned carefully to the paintings, the ornaments or their fingernails. Ginie realised her blunder and coloured from her chest to the roots of her hair. Stephen went to the radio and twiddled the tuning knob until he found Stravinsky. The Concerto rang out, hard and cold; moving forward relentlessly, with great percussive chords on the piano.