I imagine I must have been dreaming when I felt a hand on my cheek.
‘Magda, you aren’t asleep, are you?’
Diaz was standing over me.
‘No, no!’ I answered, in a voice made feeble by sleep. And I looked up at him.
‘Put something on and come downstairs, will you?’
‘What time is it?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. One o’clock.’
‘You’ve been working for over three hours, then!’
I sat up.
‘Yes,’ he said proudly. ‘Come along. I want to play you my notion of the overture. It’s only in the rough, but it’s there.’