Edith sighed. She’d grown up with these endless superstitions, too many to remember. ‘No, what does happen?’ she asked, knowingly perfectly well her father had forgotten the old tale of how the bloodless often came disguised as strangers.

He took a bottle and, holding it tight to him, said, ‘On your head be it,’ and went to his room.

As Edith put out the painted plates she realised she hadn’t asked the musician his name or what he did to earn a living.

Her father was too drunk to stay long awake and, shortly after the young man arrived with cheese and wine, the cabinet maker excused himself.

‘A gypsy if ever I saw one,’ he mumbled as he went to his bed.

Edith said simply, ‘He’s a drunk. I’ve never known him not to be like that. I should’ve asked you your name.’

‘Demetrius,’ he said. ‘I’m a shepherd.’

They sat down to eat and to begin with she could hardly think what to say but he said, ‘I heard that this village had a great storyteller.’

‘That was my grandmother. She died nearly five years ago.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that. I was told she knew the story of the violin.’

‘If she did, she never told me or anyone else in the village. But she had many stories she would tell. Round here, nobody wants to hear gypsy tales, more’s the pity. She said she cut hers to fit the mood of the listeners.’

He laughed. ‘That’s what I try to do with my playing.’

It was on the tip of her tongue to say, ‘You do,’ but she stopped herself and asked if he would like more to eat.

‘Are you a storyteller?’ he said.

Edith had never thought of herself as having that gift. True, she knew all her grandmother’s stories, but the idea that she might be able to hold a crowd spellbound had never occurred to her.

‘I’m too shy for that,’ she said.

‘But you love story and music?’

‘Both,’ she said. ‘I know plenty of stories. It’s music I thirst for.’

He sat back in the chair and for a moment she imagined them to have been long married and their children grown.

‘Once,’ he said, ‘in a village not far from here lived a girl who all believed to be cursed because no man would ask for her hand in marriage despite her wealth and beauty. As for the girl, she was in love with a farmer who never cast a glance in her direction. She did all she could to get his attention and, seeing that her efforts were fruitless, she called on the devil. He came holding a mirror in his hand. She looked at herself in its icy glass and then the devil asked her what she wanted. She told him of her love for the farmer.