‘That’s pretty damning. Is that what your mother told you?’
‘Yes. And knowing Felix, I completely believe her,’ Thom said flatly. ‘She had a really rough time after I was born. Her own parents disowned her – they were a country family from the north and very old-fashioned about these things. Martha, my mother, was practically destitute. You have to remember that thirty years ago, Norway was still a relatively poor country.’
‘How awful, Thom. So, what did she do?’
‘Thankfully, my great-grandparents, Horst and Astrid, stepped in and offered us both a home here with them. Although I feel my mum never recovered from what my father did to her. She had terrible bouts of depression on and off for the rest of her life. And never fulfilled her potential as a singer.’
‘Does Felix now recognise you as his son?’
‘He was forced to when the court ordered a DNA test when I was in my teens,’ Thom explained, his face grim. ‘My great-grandmother had died and left the house in trust to me rather than to Felix, their grandson. Felix contested the will, saying my mum and I were money-grabbing imposters, hence the DNA test. And bingo! One hundred per cent proof that Halvorsen blood runs through my veins. Not that I ever thought it didn’t. My mum would never have lied about something like that.’
‘Right. Well, firstly, I’d just like to say that your past sounds every bit as dramatic as mine,’ I added with a grin, which I was relieved to see Thom returned. ‘Do you ever see your father?’
‘Occasionally in town, but not socially, no.’
‘So he lives locally?’
‘Oh yes, up in the hills with his whisky bottles and an endless trail of women beating a path to his front door. Now he really is a “Peer Gynt”, who never saw the error of his ways.’ Thom shrugged sadly.
‘Then I’m a bit confused . . .You’ve talked about your great-grandparents, but there seems to be a generation missing. What happened to your grandparents? Felix’s mum and dad?’
‘That’s the story I mentioned to you last night. I never actually met either of them. They both died before I was born.’
‘I’m sorry, Thom.’ I was amazed to find tears springing to my eyes.
‘Oh God, Ally, don’t cry. Really, I’m fine and getting on with my life. You’ve faced far worse recently.’
‘I know you are, Thom. Sorry, the story moved me, that’s all,’ I said, not understanding quite why it did.
‘As you can imagine, it’s not the kind of thing I discuss often. In fact, I’m amazed I’ve been able to tell you so honestly.’
‘And I’m grateful to you for sharing it, Thom, really. Just one more question. Have you ever listened to your father’s side of the story?’
Thom looked at me oddly. ‘How could there be another side?’
‘Oh, you know . . .’
‘Apart from him being a useless, selfish bastard who left my mum in the lurch and pregnant, you mean?’
‘Yes,’ I breathed, realising I was on shaky ground. I backtracked hastily. ‘From what you’ve said, you’re probably right, there isn’t any more to it than that.’
‘That’s not to say I don’t feel sorry for Felix sometimes,’ he conceded. ‘He’s made an utter mess of his life and wasted his fabulous talent. Thankfully, I inherited a modicum of it and for that I’ll always be grateful.’
I saw Thom check his watch and took it as a cue to leave. ‘I must be going. I’ve taken up enough of your time as it is.’
‘No, Ally, please don’t go yet. Actually, I was just thinking how hungry I was. It’s around breakfast time in New York. Fancy some pancakes? They’re about the one thing I can make without a recipe book.’
‘Thom, really, tell me if you want to kick me out.’
‘I will, and I don’t. But you can come and be sous-chef in the kitchen. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
As we made the pancakes, Thom began to question me more about my life.
‘From what you said earlier, it sounds like your adoptive father was very special.’
‘He was, yes.’
‘And all those sisters of yours . . . you can’t ever have lacked for company. Being an only child sometimes got very lonely. I was desperate for siblings when I was growing up.’
‘The one thing I never suffered from was loneliness. There was always someone to play with, something to do. And I certainly learnt to share.’
‘Whereas I had everything to myself and resented the fact that I was my mother’s Crown Prince,’ he said, flipping the pancakes onto the plates. ‘I always felt a pressure from her to live up to her expectations. I was all she had.’
‘Me and my sisters were only encouraged to be ourselves,’ I said as we sat down at the kitchen table to eat. ‘Did you feel guilty that your mother had suffered so much to bring you into the world?’
‘I did. And to be brutal, when she went into her bouts of depression and told me it was all my fault that her life had gone off the tracks, I wanted to shout at her that I had never asked to be born, and that it was her choice.’
‘Well, we are a pair, aren’t we?’
He looked up at me, fork poised. ‘Yes, Ally, we really are. Actually, it is nice to have someone who can understand my unusual family circumstances.’
‘Me too.’ I looked across the table and smiled at him. He grinned back and I felt the strongest sense of déjà vu.
‘It’s odd,’ mused Thom a few seconds later, ‘I feel like I’ve known you forever.’
‘I know what you mean,’ I agreed.
Later, Thom drove me back down into the city to my hotel.
‘Are you free tomorrow morning?’ he asked me.
‘I have nothing planned.’
‘Great. Then I’ll collect you and we’ll take a little boat ride around the harbour. And I’ll tell you what happened to Pip and Karine, my grandparents. As I’ve said, it’s a difficult and painful chapter in Halvorsen history. ’
‘Well, would you mind if we did it on dry land? My sea legs have completely disappeared since Theo died.’
‘I understand. Why don’t you come up to me at Froskehuset again? I’ll pick you up at eleven. Goodnight, Ally.’
‘Goodnight, Thom.’
I waved him off from the front of the hotel, then went up to my room. I stood by the window, looking out over the water, marvelling at the hours that Thom and I had spent talking about anything – everything – and how it had felt effortless and natural. I showered, then got into bed, knowing that whatever came of my investigations into the past, I was at least making new friends along the way.
And with that thought, I went straight to sleep.
37
When I woke up the next morning, the calmness I’d felt last night deserted me as I ran to the bathroom to vomit. Staggering back to the bed, I lay there with tears in my eyes, not understanding why I felt so awful. I’d always taken my health for granted, hardly suffering a single childhood illness and always being the stalwart one who helped Ma when a particularly virulent bug passed from sister to sister.
Today, I felt absolutely dreadful and pondered whether that initial bout of sickness I’d suffered on Naxos had actually been due to some form of bug in my stomach that still hadn’t shifted, as I definitely hadn’t felt right since. And it was getting worse . . . Surely, I thought helplessly, it was simply the tension of the past few weeks catching up with me? I needed to eat – my sugar levels were probably low – so I ordered a large continental breakfast and was determined to plough through it. That’s how you treat seasickness, Ally, I told myself as I sat with the tray on my knee in bed and valiantly battled to eat as much as I could.
Twenty minutes later, I flushed my entire breakfast away. As I dressed shakily, knowing that Thom would be arriving in half an hour, I decided I’d ask him for the name of a good doctor as I was quite obviously ill. Just as I was thinking this, my mobile rang.
‘Hello?’
‘Ally?’
‘Tiggy, how are you?’
/> ‘I’m . . . okay. Where are you?’
‘Still in Norway.’
There was a pause before she said, ‘Oh.’
‘What is it, Tiggy?’
‘Nothing . . . nothing at all. I just wondered if you were back at Atlantis yet.’
‘No, sorry. Is everything all right?’
‘Yes, it’s fine, absolutely fine. I was just calling to see how you were.’
‘I’m okay, and finding out lots of things about the clues Pa left me.’
‘Good. Well, let me know when you’re back from Norway and maybe we can meet up,’ she said, with a false brightness to her voice. ‘I love you, Ally.’
‘I love you too.’
Taking the lift downstairs, I puzzled at how odd Tiggy had sounded. I was used to her serenity, her ability to always make everyone around her feel better by dispensing her own brand of esoteric hope. Just now, she hadn’t sounded like that at all. I promised myself I would email her later.
‘Hello.’ Thom came towards me as I got out of the lift.
‘Hi,’ I said, smiling as I tried to gather my composure.
‘Are you all right, Ally? You look . . . pale.’
‘Yes, well, no, actually,’ I said as we walked towards the hotel exit. ‘I’m not feeling too well. To be honest, I haven’t been for a few days. It’s nothing serious, I’m sure, just a stomach bug, but I wanted to ask you if you knew of a doctor I could see.’
‘Of course I do. Shall I take you there now?’
‘God no, I’m not that bad, just not feeling . . . myself,’ I said as he helped me into his battered Renault.
‘You really do look awful, Ally,’ he said as he picked up his mobile. ‘Why don’t I book you an appointment for later on today?’
‘Okay, thanks. Sorry,’ I murmured as he dialled a number on his mobile and spoke to the person at the other end of the line in Norwegian.
‘Right, you’re booked in for four thirty. So’ – he gazed at my pale features and smiled – ‘I suggest that I take you straight to Froskehuset to tuck you under a cosy eiderdown on the sofa. Then you can decide whether you would prefer to hear the story of my grandparents or for me to play my violin for you.’
‘Couldn’t we do both?’ I smiled weakly back, wondering how on earth he could know that on this chilly autumnal day, with my queasy stomach, the thought of an eiderdown, a story and some music was exactly what I needed.
Half an hour later, snuggled up on the sofa, with the added bonus of the enormous iron stove being lit, I asked Thom to play the violin for me.
‘Why don’t you start with your absolutely favourite ever piece on the violin?’
‘Okay.’ He gave a mock sigh. ‘Although looking at the state of you today, I don’t want you to think it’s relevant in any way.’
‘I won’t,’ I promised, slightly puzzled by his comment.
‘Okay then.’
Thom put his violin lovingly under his chin, tuned it up for a few seconds, and then the haunting strains of one of my own favourite pieces of music began to flow from his bow. I laughed out loud, understanding what he’d meant.
Thom paused in his playing and grinned. ‘Told you.’
‘Really, The Dying Swan is one of my favourite pieces too.’
‘Good.’
With that, he began again, and as I lay there, cosy and comfortable, being serenaded by a naturally gifted virtuoso player, I felt honoured to have a private recital. The last poignant note died away and I put my hands together and clapped. ‘That was gorgeous.’
‘Thank you. So now, what would you like next?’
‘Whatever you enjoy playing best.’
‘Okay then. Here goes.’
For the next forty minutes, I listened to Thom playing a marvellous selection of his favourite pieces, including the first movement from Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto in D Major and the Devil’s Trill sonata by Tartini, and saw the way he disappeared into another world, a world I’d seen every true musician enter when they played. And I wondered again how I could have lived without music and musicians in my life for the past ten years. I’d once known that feeling too. I must have dozed off at some point, feeling so relaxed and safe and warm that I simply floated away. Until I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder.
‘Sorry, so sorry,’ I said, flicking my eyes open to find Thom looking down at me in concern.
‘I could be seriously offended by the fact that the one member of my audience drifted off to sleep, but I won’t take it personally.’
‘You mustn’t, Thom, really. I promise you, it’s a compliment, in an ironic sort of way. Can I use your bathroom?’ I asked him, slowly getting out from under the quilt.
‘Yes, it’s just along the corridor to the left.’
‘Thanks.’
When I returned, relieved I felt a little better than I had this morning, I found Thom in the kitchen with something bubbling on the stove.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked.
‘Making lunch. It’s past one o’clock. I let you sleep for over two hours.’
‘Oh my God! No wonder you’re insulted. I’m so sorry.’
‘Really, Ally, from what you’ve told me, you’ve been through a lot recently.’
‘Yes, I have,’ I agreed, not ashamed to admit it in front of him. ‘I miss Theo so much.’
‘I’m sure you do. I know this sounds bizarre, but in one way I envy you.’
‘How?’
‘In the sense that I’m yet to feel that for a woman. I’ve had relationships, yes, but none of them have led anywhere. I’m yet to find “the one” that everyone talks about.’
‘You will, Thom, I’m sure.’
‘Maybe, but I’ll be honest, I’m losing faith as I get older. It all seems too much of an effort, Ally.’
‘Thom, someone will appear just as Theo did for me, and you’ll just know. Now, what it is you’re cooking?’
‘The only other thing I can’t mess up – it’s pasta. À la Thom.’
‘Well, I don’t know what you put in it, but I’m sure my “special pasta” is far better than yours,’ I teased him. ‘It’s my signature dish.’
‘Really? I doubt it can beat mine. People flock in from the hills of Bergen simply to taste it,’ he said as he drained the pasta, then poured a sauce over it and stirred. ‘Kindly sit down.’
I ate tentatively, not relishing the thought of another visit to the bathroom, but found that actually, Thom’s dish – a tasty mixture of cheese, herbs and ham – was going down very well indeed.
‘So,’ he said as he gazed at my empty bowl. ‘Good?’
‘Excellent. Your special pasta has revived me. I’m now ready to hear your great-great-grandfather’s concerto. That is, if you’re willing to play it for me?’
‘Of course. Although you must remember the piano isn’t my first instrument, so I won’t do it justice.’
We went back into the sitting room and I settled myself back on the sofa again, upright this time, as Thom collected the music from a shelf.
‘Is that the original piano score?’
‘Yes,’ he said, arranging it on the music rest. ‘Okay, bear with me as I struggle through it, won’t you?’
As Thom began to play, I closed my eyes and concentrated on the music. There was no doubt there were overtones of Grieg, but also something unique, with a gorgeous, hypnotic theme running through it, reminiscent of Rachmaninoff and perhaps a touch of Stravinsky. Thom finished with a flourish and turned to me.
‘What do you think?’
‘I’m humming it in my head already. It’s mesmerising, Thom, really.’
‘I think so too, and so do David Stewart and Andrew Litton. Tomorrow, I’m going to concentrate on trying to find someone to get on with the orchestrations. I’m not sure now if anyone else can do them in time, but it’s worth a shot. Honestly, I don’t know how our forebears did it. It’s hard enough these days with all our computerised modern aids, but to manually write each note for each instru
ment onto sheet music for an entire orchestra must have been a mammoth undertaking. No wonder the great composers took so long to score their symphonies and concertos. I take my hat off to Jens and his ilk, I really do.’
‘You really are part of an illustrious line, aren’t you?’
‘Well, the big question is, Ally, are you?’ Thom said slowly. ‘When you left last night, I had a long think about how you could be related to the Halvorsen clan. As my father Felix was an only child, and neither grandparent had siblings either, I’ve only come up with one solution.’
‘And what is that?’
‘I’m worried you’ll be offended, Ally.’
‘Just hit me with it, Thom, really, I can take it,’ I urged him.
‘Okay, well, given my father’s chequered history with women, I’ve wondered whether there is a possibility he had an illegitimate child. That perhaps even he doesn’t know about.’
I stared at Thom, collating mentally what he was saying.
‘I suppose it’s a theory, yes. But Thom, please remember there’s no proof yet that I’m any blood relation to the Halvorsens. And I feel very uncomfortable appearing out of the blue and crashing in on your family history.’
‘Listen, the more Halvorsens, the merrier in my book. I’m currently the last of the line.’
‘Well, there’s only one way to find out. And that’s to ask your father.’
‘I’m sure he’ll lie,’ Thom said bitterly, ‘as he normally does.’
‘From how you describe him, I’m hoping he’s nothing to do with me at all.’
‘I’m really not trying to be negative, Ally. There just isn’t an awful lot of positive,’ Thom shrugged.
‘Okay,’ I said, moving the conversation on, ‘let me work out the generations. So, Jens and Anna had a son named Horst.’
‘They did, yes.’ Thom went to his bureau and took a book from the top of it. ‘This is the biography I wrote and I drew up a Halvorsen family tree. Here,’ he said, handing it to me. ‘It’s at the back of the book before the acknowledgements.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Horst was a fine cellist and went away to study in Paris, rather than Leipzig,’ Thom continued as I searched for the page. ‘He returned to Norway and played for the Bergen Philharmonic for most of his life. He was a lovely man, and even though he was ninety-two when I was born, I still remember him being active in my early years. It was he who first put my fingers to the violin when I was three, so my mum told me. He died at the age of one hundred and one, having never suffered a day’s illness in his life. Let’s hope I’ve inherited his genes.’
The Storm Sister Page 42