Fred turns to look at her. His tone is serious. “I don’t know what the problem is. And I’m not going to try and boost your morale by telling you lies or things I’ve never understood. You’re right: music is all I understand. And do you know why I understand it? Because music doesn’t need words or experience. It is what it is. Your mother would have understood you. Not me. But your mother’s not here.”

They look at each other, but say not another word.

The elegant chanteuse of “Lili Marlene”, with her aristocratic, old-fashioned profile, is the only presence in the deserted restaurant. She is sitting at a random table, in her evening dress, with her eyes lowered, as she devours a chicken leg held between her fingers, concentrating on it like a ravenous beast. Suddenly, she stops. She looks up into empty space, a fixed and stern expression on her face, and in that precise moment a line of the “Lili Marlene” she sang echoes unaccompanied in her mind. Her gaze falls on the chicken leg and the song comes to an end. She starts eating again with the same voracity as before.

*

It is late. There is no longer anyone in the garden where they hold the concerts, except for Fred Ballinger who has fallen asleep in one of the chairs. The lights are low. He opens his eyes and sees a dozen swing seats spread about the garden moving in unison to the breeze. Everything else is still.

*

The hotel lobby is empty but for one figure sitting on a couch: the young dumpy escort girl, just as ill at ease as before.

Mick Boyle walks across the lobby. He is going to his room for the night. He spots the girl. She gives him a gauche nod and a wink.

He smiles at her, but the smile is a fatherly one that signifies a gentle refusal. He walks on.

The girl looks serious and sad again, but after a few metres Mick stops, as if he has had second thoughts.

The girl has noticed he has stopped, but deliberately keeps her eyes off him.

Mick turns towards her. He is tempted. He stares at the girl and reflects a moment.

She then decides to catch his eye, but it is too late. Mick has gone.

27

Fred and Lena are asleep in the double bed.

Outside, behind the windows, a theatrical light slowly appears on the balcony and illuminates ten female figures dressed in black. All are motionless and severe.

At the same time, gradually, comes the sound of a violin with the first notes of “Simple Song, Number 3”.

The ten women join the violin and start to sing beautifully in soprano voices.

Fred opens his eyes and says, “That’s enough.”

Then, all of a sudden, like someone possessed, he throws off the covers and hurls himself against the window. But there is no-one on the balcony. It is empty and dark. Fred punches the glass violently and screams, “That’s enough! Stop singing right now. Enough.”