‘I am empowered to inform you, in confidence, that His Majesty’s Government is engaged in rather delicate negotiations with these states with a view to securing our co-operation with an economic union that is being formed among several European states. In order to foster a harmonious atmosphere at these talks, my master wishes to obtain twelve best seats for the concert next Thursday.’

Mortimer Simmonds pressed his fingers together beneath his chin, an ominous gesture to those who knew him well. ‘You are aware, Mr, er, ffitch’ – he could snub as good as he got – ‘that these concerts are commercial promotions, put on at my own risk without a penny of public funding?’

The envoy nodded.

‘Then you might also appreciate that, on the night in question, His Majesty the King will attend the opening concert of the Royal Festival Hall, erected at vast public expense and sustained by permanent subsidies. May I suggest that your guests are escorted to the extravagance organised and paid for by His Majesty’s Government rather than to our modest private enterprise?’

The diplomat withdrew a silver cigarette-case from his inner jacket pocket, offered us each an exclusive Turkish brand and, when we declined, asked if we minded if he did. Through a puff of faintly perfumed smoke he proceeded to the next level of negotiation.

‘Perhaps I should have made myself clearer, Mr Simmonds,’ he said, pronouncing the surname correctly this time. ‘Our guest from Brussels, Monsieur van Vleeckt, who is himself a capable violinist, has been asked by Her Majesty Queen Elisabeth of the Belgians to report to her in person on this evidently exceptional young artist, Mr Eli Rapoport, whose concert is under your management. Queen Elisabeth is, as you probably know, a pupil of the legendary virtuoso Eugene Ysaÿe, in whose memory she has founded an important violin competition.

‘HM Government are most anxious to accommodate our Belgian allies, who are being exceptionally helpful to us in the councils of Europe. The Foreign Office will, of course, purchase the seats at the full ticket price – with,’ he dropped his voice, ‘any additional premium that may be required for the inconvenience.’

‘I should, perhaps, have specified,’ said my father, his tone a degree drier, ‘that all three concerts are completely sold out.’ This was not strictly true. No concert is ever completely sold out: there are always what are known as ‘management tickets’ to cater for last-minute emergencies – but that is a trade secret, which the general public and government officials are not supposed to know.

‘I have also been asked,’ continued Horneyman-ffitch, unruffled, ‘to advise you that the contribution made by Simmonds Limited to British cultural life has not passed unnoticed. Indeed, its senior partner may be due – some feel, overdue – appropriate recognition in the King’s Birthday Honours List.’