‘Clearly, a child of nine years old cannot be left in a hotel or boarding-house, and he has nowhere else to turn in this great city. I have heard what Professor Flesch has to say, and am more than a little impressed. I am willing to accommodate him here and I suspect that your mother, with her notable endeavours in the refugee cause, will not object.

‘But the burden of entertaining the boy will fall principally on you, Martin, since your mother and I are so heavily committed. I cannot, therefore, offer to put him up without your consent. I should point out that it would be an act of great kindness and mercy to take him in. Also, that we might be performing an act of some artistic value, since the boy’s potential is evidently quite exceptional. But I mention these considerations without in any way wishing to influence your decision, since you are the one who will have to put up with the greatest disruption.’

This was turning into some afternoon. First, my longest chat with a boy of my age; then, the most serious attention I had received from a parent since the day I was rushed to hospital with suspected appendicitis, which turned out to be aggravated indigestion caused by a surfit of KitKats. I threw up in the ambulance, all over my mother’s new Liberty two-piece – which failed to increase her sympathy for me. She took a taxi home while the nurses cleaned me up, sending Florrie later to collect me, like laundry, when ready. Where was my father during this juvenile drama? Using the matron’s phone for a few minutes, then off to the office.

His interest in this new boy was evidently commercial. If Flesch was able to groom him, Simmonds would have a star on its hands, our first violinist of world pedigree. The opportunity had its humanitarian side as well, making it morally rewarding. I was being called to do my part as heir to the business, and for the benefit of my spiritual education.

What the boy wanted from me was just as transparent. With his talk of making ‘good team’, he urgently needed me on his side to secure this refuge. I was a guard he had to lull to gain entry to the palace. I might not be a genius, but I saw his scheme a mile off. Nevertheless, recognising all the motives at play, I was suddenly in a position to influence events – and it was a power I relished.

I counted silently to ten before answering my father. ‘If this boy stays with us, where will he sleep? Will he go to school with me? Won’t he need private tutors in English and history? Where will he practise?’

‘Those questions hadn’t really crossed my mind.’

‘I suppose I’ll have to give up my playroom – unless you and Mother were to move back into the same room.’