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Work began that day on producing a suitable vacuum tube. We were hampered on every side. Desertions at the glass-works; promises of copper wire which failed to have any substance; engineers suddenly disappearing; Russian mechanics hearing of some Bolshevik or insurgent victory and trying to get to Odessa or Yalta before all escape routes were cut off. The chaos in the streets returned. Petlyura’s forces were melting away. The French were right not to trust him. In the meantime the bell-tower of St Andrew’s became the housing for my equipment’s alternative power-source: banks of Voltaic batteries, connected with heavy copper wire, operated by a monstrous Nife Switch. In the chamber below I discarded tube after tube, mirror after mirror. Power cables were carried through the sacred corridors and up the steps of that wonderful building, ready to connect to my machine when it was ready. The monks were bewildered, but had been convinced by Petlyura of the necessity for using the place in the war against the Bolsheviks. The tube was secured in a sturdy tripod frame of aluminium and wood and looked makeshift. The mirrors were large at the end nearest the tube and shrank to smaller sizes, tapering almost to a point. Quartz lenses would have worked much better. Some were being ‘requisitioned’ but did not arrive. We looked down over the Podol ghetto. I could almost see my own street, higher up the hill. As one of the soldiers remarked, ‘If we can’t wipe out Antonov, we can finish off a few Jews before we leave.’

With the help of some cocaine, I worked rapidly at the device. Petlyura himself came to see me three times. On the third I was able to demonstrate some of the machine’s potential by directing the fluorescence onto a sheet of newspaper which almost immediately burst into flames. He was impressed.

‘But will it burn Bolsheviks?’

‘It’s a question of power,’ I said, it should have limitless capacity so long as it has enough electricity.’

Petlyura seemed not to have slept. He was sallow. His eyes had a withdrawn look. ‘I shall give you the entire city, the entire Ukraine,’ he told me, ‘if it will work. This will offer the people heart. This will bring the soldiers back.’

He had become desperate. I began to wonder what my next move should be. At the first opportunity I had my official car take me to Mother’s flat. There I warned her of the possibility of the Bolsheviks re-occupying the city. She laughed at me.

‘The Bolsheviks were here before. And we are still safe. So what is there to worry about?’

‘It might be necessary, mother, to go to Odessa. The French are in control there. We shall be safe in Odessa.’

‘Safe in Odessa?’ For some bizarre and mysterious reason she began to cackle.

I waited until Esmé arrived and told her my news. It was getting late. I was due back at my equipment. I could not afford to offend Petlyura, especially since he was becoming obviously overtired. I gave her an outline of what was happening. I begged her to be ready to leave with Mother and Captain Brown, if he would go.

She was confused. ‘The countryside is full of bandits. I have my work.’

‘There’ll be as much work for you in Odessa as here.’

She saw the point. ‘When should we leave?’

‘It might be wise to go before me. I can send for you if things quieten down. I am working ...’ I held my tongue. ‘There is some hope.’

‘I will not go to Odessa,’ said my mother. ‘I have never been to Odessa.’

I took my watch from my pocket: It was getting too late. ‘What harm will come to you? You can stay with Uncle Semya.’

‘Semya has been very kind. I don’t think Evgenia would like me there. She wrote a funny letter about you. And some girl. I burned it. She’s always been jealous.’

‘Mother, the Bolsheviks could take Kiev any day, unless my work is effective. I am asking you to be ready to leave. Once they are here, it will be impossible to get on a train.’

‘That’s true,’ Esmé agreed. ‘You should do as Max says, Yelisaveta Filipovna. We love you.’

‘My laundry,’ she said, ‘is my life. I would be foolish to go to Odessa. Am I to retire to a seaside datcha?’

‘You could,’ I said. ‘You would enjoy it.’

‘I would not.’

I had no more time to coax her. ‘You must promise to take Mother and Captain Brown. When you get my message.’ I looked into Esmé’s wonderful blue eyes. I kissed her on the lips before leaving.