Over dinner at a restaurant called The Blue Wheel, it all pours out: the anarchists’ meeting, running into Bessie, the sudden end of the affair, the continuing ache of loss.

Ganz listens, non-judgementally, sympathetic, reassuringly unsurprisable. ‘It sounds like you’ve been through the mill, old chap. Suvorin’s a gent and has known a broken heart or three in his life. I’m sure he won’t demand his money back. I think probably a letter from you – just setting down what you’ve told me – is the best way of straightening things out.’

Suvorin couldn’t be more understanding. He not only writes back personally, but also encloses a banker’s draft for the balance of the fee. ‘I’ve taken the liberty of sharing your contact details with an old friend at the gendarmerie,’ adds Suvorin in a PS. ‘As a fellow patriot, you’ll understand, I’m sure.’

‘At that time, I began to entertain doubts about my choice of career.’

Nicolas is glad of the money, and yet something about the transaction doesn’t feel entirely wholesome. Who pays and expects nothing in return? What service has he, however obliquely, provided? He was careful to change Bessie’s name in the letter; the address of the weaver’s apartment he can’t even remember himself. Perhaps he might have given away one or two details about Verzilov, but surely nothing the secret police don’t know already?

Now Nicolas’s passion for writing begins to falter a little. He learns what all writers eventually learn, that the path he has chosen is not a career at all, but a series of crises, or solitary trudges uphill and down, with a peak that’s only visible in retrospect. It starts crossing his mind that his talents might be more pleasantly and lucratively applied in another field.

He begins to dabble in the wine export business. Then as now, there’s a healthy global demand for upmarket French wines. He has the necessary languages, a background in retail, and a good grasp of the transport links. He buys a share in a firm of vintners and works three days a week in their offices, moving claret, burgundy and champagne by rail to Moscow and Saint Petersburg; by boat across the Black Sea to Kiev and Little Russia. He subcontracts some of the work to his brother, and thereby maintains a thread of connection to his family and former life. Things at home are a struggle, he learns. The general hostility towards the Jews has only intensified.

Late one afternoon, Ganz stops by the shop. ‘I heard you were working here. I hope we can still expect a sequel to your last volume?’ Nicolas says yes, he’s halfway though a book of political analysis. ‘I brought a friend,’ says Ganz. ‘Suvorin, I think, may have mentioned him.’