‘I read your book, the India one. I was in bed with Maria – itself a rarity – and I said, that dear boy, something’s curiously flat about his style. I thought, what’s wrong with him? Where’s his panache? Where’s his vim?’ All this without meeting Nicolas’s eye. Rachkovsky pauses by a grave and moves some bugloss stems aside with his cane so he can read the inscription. ‘When you said you knew her before, I should have guessed then. Since we last spoke, I’ve made some enquiries and it’s come to my attention that you and … Bessie …’ – the slight hesitation signals his solicitude, his desire to accommodate Nicolas’s version of the truth – ‘… were closer than I imagined. I’m not a monster, Nicolas. If you’d told me she meant something to you, I would have understood. The document I gave you is a provocation I’ve been refining with Mulhouse. If I’d known the true situation, I wouldn’t have insisted on it.’

Now he looks at Nicolas directly. Rachkovsky knows sincerity is as important to an enchantment as salt to cooking: a judicious pinch of it in everything. But Nicolas can only see his own face in the purple lenses, and what he sees is a sad, middle-aged Jew.

‘I appreciate your coming,’ Nicolas says.

Rachkovsky reaches out and gives his shoulder a squeeze. He points towards the onion-shaped cupola of the tiny church with his cane. ‘You’re the wordsmith: would you call that blue or teal?’

Nicolas squints. The roof has a greenish tinge. ‘I might say aquamarine.’

‘Excellent. Aquamarine.’ Rachkovsky savours the word like a peppermint comfit. ‘Speaking of literary pursuits, I’d love to have your opinion of Mulhouse’s creation. It’s a work in progress and we’re still refining it.’

‘I’m not sure I was in a mood to appreciate it.’

‘Very true. Context is everything. Let me offer you some.’ Rachkovsky leans on a headstone and knocks some dried mud off his shoes with his walking stick. ‘Bear this in mind: the ordinary Russian, like the ordinary man anywhere, occasionally feels discontented, occasionally feels disparaged by the way of things. At times like that, he might feel that revolutionary politics says something of interest to him. It would only be natural. What we want to do is to remind him of the profoundly un-Russian character of these people. We want to remind him that the working man has worse enemies than the status quo.’

‘But you and I are Jews.’