‘He won’t mind you staying overnight in London, as needs arise?’

‘He’ll get used to it,’ she smiles. ‘Or not, as the case may be.’

I congratulate her on her decisiveness. Sandra will be an asset, quick as a whippet and keen to prove herself. I can’t wait till she meets Myrtle, who will bridle at someone so flashily underclass, bluntly provincial and upwardly mobile – all her social nightmares encased in a throbbing pink outfit.

‘More coffee?’ moans the waiter.

‘Not for me,’ says Sandra. ‘I’ve got a heavy day ahead. Let me have sample contracts for the young artists, Mr S, and I’ll get them typed up and signed by the parents before you leave. I’ll also type up a letter of engagement on the terms we have agreed for you to counter-sign. Mr S, I’m so excited, I could burst my bra straps.’

‘Not in a public restaurant,’ I implore.

‘Oh, you know what I mean. We’re very down-to-earth around here. You know, as a kid in this godforsaken town I used to dream of being in a backing group or becoming a disc-jockey. I was smitten by showbiz, but this is worlds better: it’s got class. Do I get to meet the Queen?’

‘Prince Charles, perhaps.’

‘He’ll do. One last thing, Mr S, before I dash. This is a bit weird. I know we only met three days ago, but I feel we’ve known each other for ever. I have a terrible memory for faces. Can you remember, Mr S, have we ever met before?’

‘Maybe,’ I reply truthfully, ‘in a previous life.’

There was once a Liverpool youth called William Roberts who, rejected by the Indian civil service, went to work in a bank but longed to become a music critic. When he got a job on the Manchester Guardian in 1904, he took the name ‘Ernest Newman’, signalling that he had become, in all earnest, a completely new man. I met Newman in his dotage, when he was the doyen of British critics, a world authority on Wagner and castigator of all things modern, a man locked in what he had made of himself. I am beginning to grasp the limits of metamorphosis. Dovidl has changed his name, location and way of life, yet he cannot cast off his past. I have altered no part of my identity, merely embalmed it for forty years. Now, by restoring Dovidl to his true self, I can reclaim mine. I feel like a new man – no, not new: whole again. Like Sandra, I can’t wait to get cracking.