Caesare was already building a wood-fire in the fireplace, complaining of the chill.

Max Kreiling was furiously hunting missing sheets from a ragged stack of music on the piano and grumbling in German about his host's habits.

The fire flared.

Caesare's dark face, always tense, relaxed into smiles.

When Garry appeared the wood-fire was blazing and Caesare was plucking in nervous pizzicato at the strings of his fiddle.