“I think it’s gorgeous,” Sunny blurted out, then pressed her lips together and gave an embarrassed smile.
“If that’s the case, I could always give it to you as payment for standing in for me. What do you think?”
Sunny shook her head dismissively. “Nah, Lilly, I’d rather take the five hundred you offered me. You can always give me the cupboard as a wedding present.”
“You’re not referring to the tattoo artist, are you?” Lilly winked.
“Whoever. I have no intention of marrying for at least ten years, but if the cupboard’s still here then . . . ”
“If that cupboard’s still here in ten years, I’ll give it to you for your birthday.”
For no reason, Lilly was suddenly painfully aware that she could have had a daughter Sunny’s age. Well, not quite. She had met Peter when she was twenty-one, but if fate had been kinder to her, she could have had a teenage daughter by now to help her out in the shop and help her get over her loss. Sometimes she noticed herself feeling almost motherly toward Sunny. She would quickly pull herself together—she liked the girl a lot, but she didn’t want to burden her with all her woes, and she probably wouldn’t be interested in any case.
You’re still young, she told herself. Young enough to find a new man. Young enough to have a child. Over the sound of her own comforting thoughts, Lilly could hear her biological clock ticking, but she still didn’t feel ready to get involved with another man.
“Well, in any case, you’ll be in charge of the shop, and I’m trusting that when I return I’ll find everything—except for the items that have sold—still here and in one piece.” Lilly took her wallet from her purse and handed her a hundred-euro note. “Here, a small down payment. I’ll give you the rest when I get back.”
“Thanks, that’s great.” Sunny stuffed the note into her jeans pocket. “So, are you all excited?”
Lilly glanced at her baggage, which was waiting for her by the door.
She had intended to travel light but had gathered an increasing number of “essentials,” gifts and other small things, until she was now taking a wheeled suitcase and a travel bag stuffed to bursting. And of course the violin case, which had resisted all attempts to stuff it in a suitcase or bag, as if it wanted all passersby to see it in Lilly’s possession.
“Very. I haven’t seen my friend for quite a while now.”
“And you’re taking the violin with you?”
“Yes, I want Ellen to cast her expert eye over it.”
“So you think it’s worth something?”
“No idea, but I’m interested in finding out who might have owned it. Maybe we can figure that much out.”
“I’m sure you will. It certainly won’t be lying around here for ten years before someone buys it!”
Lilly refrained from telling Sunny that she had no intention of selling the violin. Later, when she was back, she would perhaps tell her the story—if there was one.
Lilly looked around one last time, as if implanting the appearance of her shop in her memory, shouldered her travel bag, clamped the violin case under her arm, and with her free hand grasped the suitcase to drag it behind her.
“Have a good one, Sunny!”
“You too, Lilly!”
The bell rang above her head as she stepped out into the wintry cold.
Lilly found it amazing how fast things happened sometimes. No sooner had the idea of a trip occurred to her than she was off. The day after her phone conversation with Ellen she had rung Sunny’s doorbell. The young woman had been delighted at the idea of starting immediately, especially since she needed a refuge away from her roommates where she could get some studying done.
Everything else had fallen into place like clockwork. A call to Ellen, booking the flight, packing her bags. Her inquiry to Ellen about a good hotel had been brushed aside with a heartfelt “Are you crazy? You’ll be staying with us, of course!” And now she was on her way to London, her flight due to leave in a few hours.
She felt butterflies of anticipation in her stomach as she trudged toward the suburban railway station. The frost bit her cheeks and, as if the weather were telling her she was doing the right thing, the sun shone brightly in a cloudless morning sky. The heaps of snow that lined the streets and made parking almost impossible shone like innumerable diamonds, and it even seemed as though the faces of passersby didn’t look so sullen.
Lilly felt a pang of regret that she didn’t travel often enough. She used her shop as an excuse, but deep inside she knew the real reason was Peter. The fear of being alone on a journey, failing to find company, and being plagued by memories and homesickness that threatened to spoil everything was so strong that if she ever felt stirred by wanderlust, she would satisfy herself with a walk in the Botanical Garden.
After three-quarters of an hour Lilly arrived at the Berlin Tegel Airport and checked in immediately. As she did so, her cell phone rang, but it stopped before she had a chance to answer it. Once she had handed over her baggage and was finally able to look, she saw a message from Ellen in her in-box.
Ellen’s voice mail instructed Lilly to make her way straight to their house on arrival, since she had prepared something for her.
Lilly smiled to herself as she hung up. Even when she was under stress, Ellen never failed to have everything planned out.
As she boarded the plane, the flight attendant gave her a look of surprise when she caught sight of the violin but said nothing, merely resorting to a polite smile. Lilly couldn’t bring herself to hand over the lovely instrument with the rest of her baggage, and fortunately it was small and light enough to be taken on board.
Lilly struggled to heave the case into the overhead bin since she was not quite tall enough.
“Can I help you?” asked a man’s voice in English.
Lilly turned her head, and her eyes fell first on a dark gray shirt before moving up to the face of a man of about forty, framed by curly, lightly graying hair. Like a man from a commercial, Lilly thought fleetingly. Although she was confident that she would manage to stow the violin case away somehow, she nodded and replied, also in English, “Thanks, that would be very kind.”
The Englishman tucked the violin case safely away and then asked, “Are you a musician?”
Lilly shook her head. “I received the instrument as a gift, and I want to get an expert opinion on it.”
“You don’t play yourself?”
She shook her head again. “No, I sell antiques.”
“What a shame. I’m sure you’d look good onstage.”
Was that a compliment? Lilly felt herself blushing.
“I think I’d have to stand on a stool so people could see me,” she said in an attempt to hide her embarrassment. It had been so long since a man had said anything nice to her.
The stranger laughed warmly. “And people say the Germans don’t have a sense of humor!” He held out his hand to her. “I’m Gabriel Thornton, and I’m looking forward to spending the flight in your company.”
“Lilly Kaiser,” she replied, still a little embarrassed as she noticed he had a seat in the same row as she did. There was a spare seat between them, but when the man who was supposed to be sitting there arrived, the Englishman worked his charm and persuaded him to swap places. A good exchange, since he was offering him a window seat. A seat he was prepared to give up to talk to her.
Shortly after takeoff, Lilly had already found out that Mr. Thornton was head of a music school in London and also taught musicology. He had been in Berlin to give a series of guest lectures, which had finished the previous day. As he spoke, she caught herself looking at him—his mouth, his nose, his eyes. Trying not to appear obvious, she lowered her gaze, but his hands were also worth looking at. Strong but supple, and above all well cared for. He had the hands of a musician.
“What did you like about Berlin?” Lilly asked, once again feeling butterflies in her stomach, but of a different kind from the ones she’d felt on her way to the railway station. S
he was still full of anticipation about her visit, but now she had the added pleasure of finding her companion very pleasant company.
“It’s a lovely city. And it’s good to see it no longer divided by a wall.”
“It hasn’t been for twenty years,” Lilly said with amusement. Could it be that foreigners still expected to find a no-man’s-land running through the city?
“Believe it or not, my last visit was in 1987—the Berlin Wall was still standing then.”
“So you were a student here?”
Thornton nodded. “Yes, full of hopes and dreams. And full of curiosity about German girls.” He winked at her, and she felt her cheeks growing warm. Was she blushing? The man only happened to be sitting in the next seat. Perhaps he was married, with a pretty wife and children. Perhaps she would never see him again after they landed.
“How about you? Were you born in Berlin?” he asked her.
Lilly shook her head. “No, I’m originally from Hamburg. After the reunification of Germany, my husband and I moved to Berlin and opened a shop there.”
“Your husband’s a lucky man to have such a delightful wife.”
Lilly pressed her lips together. It was not her usual way to tell people what had happened, but since this man seemed so friendly, she made an exception.
“He was—perhaps.”
A pensive frown appeared between Thornton’s eyebrows.
“He died?” he guessed correctly. “I’m sorry.”
“It was three years ago,” Lilly replied, her head sinking. She didn’t tell him that her husband had suffered from a brain tumor.
Thornton pressed his lips together in consternation as Lilly tried to think of something to fill the silence. When the flight attendant came to ask if they would like anything, Lilly ordered a glass of water and Thornton a tomato juice.
“Did you know that tomato juice is the most popular drink on planes?” he asked her, the smile back on his face. “And that even people who don’t otherwise drink it will order a tomato juice?”
Lilly couldn’t help returning the smile. “Has there been a study about it?”
“No, I read it somewhere. Don’t ask me where.”
He laughed winningly, finally dispelling the dark cloud that had settled over their heads.
“How about you? I’m sure your wife will be pleased to have you back after such a long trip,” Lilly remarked as the flight attendant served their drinks. She stole a quick glance to the side and noticed four other glasses of red juice along their row.
A fleeting, enigmatic smile crossed Thornton’s lips. “I’m sure she would—if I had one.”
“You’re not—” Lilly broke off in embarrassment.
“No. Not anymore. We parted amicably. We still see each other once in a while, but that’s all.”
Another silence followed, several minutes long, before Thornton resumed. “So you want to have your violin examined?”
“Yes, that’s right. I don’t think it’s particularly valuable, but it’s got . . . sentimental value.”
“Was it given to you by a relative?”
“No, from a passing acquaintance. A man came into the shop and gave it to me. Just like that. Then he vanished, and I have no idea where to look for him. Now I want to know to what I owe the honor.”
“Sounds exciting. Who are you getting to look at it?”
“Ellen Morris. I’m sure you won’t have heard of her, but—”
“Oh, I have! She’s one of the best restorers. I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting her myself, but I’m always hearing good things about her.”
Ellen would love to hear that, Lilly thought. If he’s serious. But she had not detected a trace of irony in his voice.
“How did you find out about her?” he asked. “I mean, there must be plenty of experts in the field in Germany.”
“We’ve been friends since our school days. She’s German, but she married an Englishman and, thanks to her name, people always think she’s a native.”
Thornton raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Is she really? I don’t think anyone has any idea. Thanks for the info; perhaps it’ll come in handy sometime.”
“You think?” Lilly made a face. “I doubt that any of it would move her to accept any less for her services.”
“No, but I’d have a readymade topic of conversation if I see her. I can simply ask her how her lovely friend is and let one thing lead to another.”
The pilot’s announcement that they would shortly be landing at Heathrow brought their conversation to an end. Seat belts were fastened and flight attendants swept once more down the aisle as they readied for landing.
A pity, Lilly thought. I would have enjoyed getting to know this man during a long-haul flight. She was sure they still had so much to say to one another.
But there was no time left for that. They said good-bye after landing and lost sight of one another at baggage claim. Lilly felt a little sad.
4
Lilly took it as a good omen that London was not showing its clichéd face of dull clouds and rain. The sky above the airport was postcard blue, and there were only a few feathery clouds to be seen. It seemed as if she’d brought the good weather with her from Berlin.
Ellen had offered to pick her up from the airport, but Lilly had declined. She knew only too well what a heavy workload her friend had. After briefly wondering whether to rent a car, she decided on a taxi. The driver was in his fifties and, judging by his accent, Scottish. With his slightly baggy tweed jacket, cord pants, and peaked cap, he looked like a typical pub regular from every British TV series.
“Are you a musician?” he asked as they left Heathrow behind them, gesturing with his chin toward the violin case that lay across her lap.
“No, I’m an antiques dealer.” Lilly silently asked herself how often she would have to explain.
“So do you play as a hobby?” he persisted. “My son sends his little girl to a music school in Belgravia, thinking that one day she’ll be a top violinist.” The man sniffed scornfully.
“Doesn’t your granddaughter play well?”
“Yes, she does—for a seven-year-old. But I believe that kids should play outside, mixing with others of their own age.”
Of course the man had a point, Lilly thought. If the girl were forced to play the violin, she would probably suffer for it and reject the instrument as soon as puberty injected enough rebellion into her. But maybe she enjoyed it. There were many artists who knew from an early age what they wanted to do; those were the ones who didn’t care whether or not they were considered normal. Not all children enjoyed romping in the mud or climbing trees after all.
“Perhaps she really might be a star one day,” she said eventually. “And if she doesn’t enjoy it, she’ll stop soon enough, believe me.”
As the conversation with the taxi driver petered out, Lilly’s thoughts returned to Thornton. It suddenly occurred to her that something about him reminded her of Peter. They were completely different in appearance—Peter had blond hair and blue eyes, while Thornton had graying hair and dark eyes—but in retrospect she discovered a few similarities in the Englishman’s mannerisms. The way he spoke, the way he smiled as he looked at her . . .
“My goodness, that’s quite a place!” The driver’s whistle of amazement tore Lilly from her thoughts. As she looked up, she saw they had arrived at Ellen’s house.
“Are you really going there?”
“Yes, that’s where my friend lives,” Lilly explained, beginning to feel warmth flooding through her. All at once her nostrils were filled with the scent of a Christmas she had once spent here with Ellen and her family. The whole house had smelled of toasted almonds, sugar candy, raisins, and plum pudding.
The taxi stopped in front of the tall wrought-iron gates that must have dated back to Elizabethan times. Lilly paid the driver, who heaved the suitcase and bag from the trunk before roaring off. The taxi’s radio had called for his attention with an impatient stream of noise while they we
re still on the way, so he had no time to stare at the property for any longer than it took to unload the bags.
Lilly was under its spell immediately. She peered through the railings, enchanted but pierced by more than a little stab of envy. Her friend had always been the lucky one. Not only was she pursuing her dream career, but she also had a wonderful husband, two adorable daughters, and this house. Though the word house was a bit of a misnomer, as this truly was a mansion.
Frosted with rime, the house bristled with gables, turrets, and chimneys, and the blue winter sky was reflected in the ancient windows.
Ellen and her husband, Dean, had bought the house around ten years ago from an English businessman with noble roots. It had been rather neglected at the time, as the businessman had cared little for it and was happy to be rid of the “pile.”
In just six months Dean, who owned a large building firm in London, had transformed the eyesore into a real gem, which, despite all the modernization, still transported visitors back to Tudor times.
Lilly regretted not having come here more often since Peter’s death. Dean and Peter had gotten along really well. Perhaps she had been afraid that Dean, and even Ellen, would drown her in excessive pity. But those times were past, and Lilly now felt that this visit would change something within her. She pressed the button on the intercom.
Her ringing triggered a deep, threatening-sounding bark, and two Rottweilers came running. The massive animals hurtled down the narrow gravel path, jostling for position and baring their dangerous-looking teeth. But as soon as they recognized Lilly, they jumped up against the gate and panted hot breath over her. This made them look no less threatening, but Lilly, despite taking a cautious step back from the gate, knew that they would only actually bite if commanded to do so. Probably.
“Yes, hello?” A child’s voice could be heard over a loud crackling. Lilly recognized the voice immediately, although it was a little more mature than it had been on her last visit.
“Norma? It’s me, Aunt Lilly.”
The Moonlit Garden Page 3