Yes, what could he be reaching for? It's impossible to tell in the muggy reflection of the brushed metal. And across the room, Sibelius' suite is coming to an end as the record player's needle wanders through the last bars.

"Now see who's overthinking things. If I were nervous,"—though he can't help but tip his face faintly in Rutyer's direction—"I'd have said nothing else and let you think you'd had everything from me."