There was an odd expression in his voice. It confirmed my first impression. He was tired, and under some unusual kind of strain. Others might not have noticed it, but I could feel it under my skin.

“Do you still keep the apartment up north?” he went on. “The one you don’t need.”

“Of course.”

It was a luxury, but when you travel as much as I do you really crave for a place where you can practice quietly and add to your repertoire. I’ve never been one of the Rubinstein types, who seem to be able to stay on top form without much daily practice. Maybe that’s one reason I’ll never be the world’s number one. But if you want to get into even the top hundred concert pianists, you have to work at it — and don’t believe anyone who tells you otherwise. It’s hard work, too.

“I haven’t been up there for a couple of months,” I said. “But it’s well looked after.”

“Good. I want to go there so we can talk in peace for an hour or two.” Leo was looking all around him as he spoke, very edgy. I was picking up his nervousness, and I didn’t like it at all.

“We don’t have time for a trip north if you have to leave tomorrow.” I accepted his need for a place to talk privately without even thinking about it.

“Yes, we do.” Leo managed a grin. “I called in here from Zurich and booked a helicopter. By the time we get over there the flight plan should all be cleared.”

“Up to Middlesbrough ?”

“Right. No Chinese meal tonight. You’ll have to feed me on black pudding and tripe.”

He faked a shudder. I’d been raised on them, but Leo’s American palate had trouble with some of the delicacies from the north of England .

It was clear that he didn’t want to talk any more serious matters until we were out of the airport, so I didn’t push it. We chatted about trivia on the shuttle bus to the pad, about two miles away, and when we got there found a little BMR-33 four-seater waiting for us. She was a lovely trim job, blue and red painted, with the engines all warmed up for us and ready to go when we walked up to her.