Esther laughed, caught off guard by the compliment. ‘Actually, Marcos, I think the truth is my real talent lies in being extremely mediocre at a few things – useless pieces of general knowledge and piano-playing included – and not truly good at anything…’ She had meant to sound self-deprecating and funny, but somehow a tinge of regret had crept into her tone.

‘Well, being okay at lots of things sounds good to me.’ He eyed her carefully. ‘Not that I’m sure I altogether believe you. I mean, for a start, you’re clearly a hotshot on Goths.’

Esther smiled, bringing him and the conversation properly back into focus, and sneaking a look at her watch.

‘I must go,’ he said tactfully, ‘but could I put two questions to you first?’

‘Sure.’ She placed her empty mug on the table and sat more upright, making a jokey show of attempting to concentrate. ‘Ask away.’

‘Would you play something?’ He gestured again at the piano. ‘Anything. One minute’s worth. A page.’

Esther readjusted the position of the mug. ‘Really?’

‘Really.’

‘I get stupidly nervous playing to other people – it’s one of the many reasons I abandoned plans for a career in music.’

‘Pretend I’m not here, in that case.’ He settled deeper into the chair, draping his arms over the sides and closing his eyes. ‘Something classical-ish would be nice. I’m rubbish at knowing composers, though, so don’t expect any suggestions.’

Esther did not want to play the piano. But Marcus was just sitting there, very still, his closed eyelids fluttering. Waiting. She wiped her hands, slightly sticky from the spa oil in her hair, and nervousness now too. Crossing to the piano, she plucked out Bach’s easy-peasy ‘Prelude in C’ from the pile on the carpet, a short but moving piece currently being tackled by a thirteen-year-old pupil called Alice, who had lately progressed to Grade 5. Esther played the piece with all the tenderness it warranted, humming Gounod’s ‘Ave Maria’ – which had been composed as an accompaniment a hundred or so years later – over the main tune. Afterwards, she swivelled round on the stool, self-consciously tucking her slippers out of view, aware of feeling wide awake again, and soothed.

Marcus took a while to open his eyes; and when he did so she could discern, much to her amazement, the unmistakeable glassiness of tears.

‘Thank you, Esther.’ He sighed as he spoke. ‘That was exquisite. I mean, really.’

‘It’s a piece that has had several incarnations, and is actually very easy to play. It’s always popping up in film scores, though perhaps not ones for younger audiences,’ she teased, in a bid to lighten the atmosphere, suddenly weighted with something she could not quite put her finger on. ‘And by the way, if your second request is for more playing, the answer is not on your nelly.’