He was so much in thrall to his mother that I feared she would refuse to let him come, particularly as she had not been a party to the arrangement. But in the event, they both turned up on the dot of one o’clock. I went out to greet them on the forecourt. Ludmilla was paying the taxi driver who had brought them from Cremona, Yevgeny standing beside her with his violin case. I smiled at him warmly and shook his hand. “Yevgeny, how nice to see you again. How are you? You have recovered from last night’s reception?” “Yes, thank you.” “Did you stay long?” “Awhile. Mama enjoys these things.” “One can’t leave too soon; it would be rude,” Ludmilla said, turning away from the taxi. “These civic receptions are an honour, Yevgeny. You have a duty to attend them.” She held out her hand. “Dottor Castiglione, it is kind of you to invite us.” “Please call me Gianni.” “Then you must call me Ludmilla,” she said graciously. If she harboured any resentment towards me for insisting that she leave my workshop the previous afternoon, it certainly wasn’t obvious.