The Moonlit Garden

by Bomann, Corina

Rose whirled around. One of Carmichael’s more unpleasant habits was to appear behind her suddenly out of the blue, after listening in on her in secret.

  “What are you doing? Why are you creeping around after me like a thief?”

  “I’m not creeping around! I simply didn’t want to interrupt your conversation.”

  Blood shot to Rose’s cheeks. How much of their conversation had he overheard? Not that Havenden had gotten too personal, but she nevertheless felt as if Carmichael had been watching something intimate.

  “He was only telling me how much he admired me, nothing more. Anyway, he’s engaged.” Why did she feel the need to add that? And why did it give her such a strange burning feeling in her stomach?

  “I’ve been talking to van Swieten,” Carmichael said, finally getting to the point of why he had approached her. “He’s more than delighted with you—and more than disappointed that you’re not being seen at the party. He would really like to continue his conversation with you.”

  The way Carmichael’s eyes sparked as he spoke revealed that her agent meant every word. Artists were hired to perform, and they were usually expected to retire discreetly after their appearance.

  “You know that I’m only involved in occasions like this for as long as I’m playing. I’m not particularly keen on being ogled like a side of beef at a market. Anyway, it’s not the done thing to impose yourself on a host simply because you’ve been hired by him.”

  “So your Englishman wasn’t ogling you?”

  “That’s completely different.” Rose found it difficult to suppress the annoyance welling up inside her. Why was it any of Carmichael’s business? She had spoken to the man; that was all. She’d be leaving in the morning.

  “Very well, as you wish. In any case, I’ve got some good news for you, even if you insist on staying away from the company. Van Swieten wanted me to ask you if you’d like to stay on in Padang for a while—as a famous daughter of the city—to play a few concerts he’d like to organize for you.”

  “I don’t need a patron for a few appearances.”

  “Don’t you?” Carmichael raised his eyebrows. “You have to admit that it would be very nice to be able to play concerts without having to worry about audience numbers.”

  “As if we have a problem with our audience figures,” Rose said, and sniffed scornfully, wondering if her agent had had a drop too much to drink. “The concert in Surabaja was sold out.”

  “It was indeed, and let’s hope this lucky streak lasts. But it wouldn’t do any harm to count an influential man like the governor among your acquaintances—even your friends. He may govern this island, but that’s not to say he doesn’t also have contacts in Europe.”

  “We don’t have any difficulty getting engagements in Europe, either.”

  “But there may come a time when that’s not the case. Everyone sees you as the rising star at the moment, but at some point you’ll reach your zenith. And then we need to ensure that you shine for as long as possible, that you don’t immediately fall from the sky. Arrogance never achieved anything, and it’s all the more damaging to look a gift horse in the mouth—even when you’re on your way to the top. Anyway, I think it would be a good idea to remain here for a while and accept van Swieten’s offer. If I remember rightly, your parents live here. You could visit them between your engagements.”

  Rose had considered this and intended to visit her mother before she departed the next day. She had not had time before now, since they had arrived very late. And if she stayed, it might then be possible to see Paul Havenden again . . .

  “All right,” she said. “We’ll stay here for a while, and I’ll play the concerts.”

  Carmichael gave her a broad smile. “You won’t regret it. I must ask you now to come with me and give van Swieten the good news yourself. He’ll be delighted!”

  As they returned from the garden, Rose was again subject to the penetrating gazes of the guests. Van Swieten was waiting for her, surrounded by men.

  “Ah, here comes our musical sensation!” he called, handing his glass to a servant who had appeared silently beside him. “I thought you’d made your escape.”

  She had, but now Rose fixed him with a winning smile. “I’m sorry if I gave you that impression,” she replied in Dutch. “After my concerts I’m always in turmoil and need a few moments to get a grip on myself and reflect on my playing.” She could tell from the men’s expressions that none of them really knew what she meant. “You have a truly wonderful garden, Mijnheer van Swieten.”

  “Now you’re embarrassing me.” He laughed. “I don’t think it’s a particularly fine example, and it’s in urgent need of attention. You must have seen many far more beautiful gardens in England.”

  “I have to disagree—your garden can hold its own against any English garden, not least because it’s not as dull here, and you can enjoy the flowers all year round.”

  Van Swieten’s gaze rested on her for a moment; then he offered her his arm and led her out onto the terrace. “You have an extraordinary musical talent, and you’re a daughter of my country. I therefore feel an obligation to give you my support. I’ll be welcoming a large number of foreign visitors in the coming weeks, some of them very influential men from Europe, Asia, and America. If these people hear you play, they’re bound to be enraptured and make sure your reputation is spread throughout the world.”

  “Mr. Carmichael and I are already working on that.”

  “But it would make your task so much easier! You know the musical world better than I do, so I don’t need to tell you that there are times when it’s not only about talent and ability but also about connections and being in the right place at the right time. I’ve followed your career since the day I heard that a young woman from Padang was causing a stir in the concert halls. Some people may take me for uncouth, but if there’s anything I love unconditionally, it’s my family and music. Your playing fascinates me, and on the basis of what I’ve heard about you, I believe I should offer you some support.”

  Where was this leading? Rose could not shake off the impression that his patronage would come with a condition—one that she might not want to accept.

  “As I’ve already told Mr. Carmichael, I would like you to play ten concerts here in Padang before you continue your tour. Your agent assures me this would be possible.”

  Ten concerts! Carmichael had spoken of a few, but she had never thought it would be as many as ten. Would her tour schedule allow it?

  “It’s probably possible,” Rose replied, her thoughts on one thing alone. America! How long had she dreamed of playing in New York? Would there be someone among these visitors who could get her there? And at what price?

  “And what do you want from me in return?” she asked a little uneasily.

  Van Swieten looked at her for a moment, then smiled. “Not what you may be thinking. No, I’ll admit, there’s only one thing I want in return. I want to make sure you achieve the greatest possible fame and tell everyone where you came from so the whole world learns of the existence of our beautiful island. And consider me a fatherly friend, nothing more.”

  Rose was ashamed to think that anything else had crossed her mind. For as long as she had been appearing on stage, certain men had always attempted to make immoral propositions under the guise of offering support. Clearly this Dutchman was an exception.

  “I promise I will,” she said. Van Swieten extended his hand to her.

  When they returned to the hall, she saw that Paul Havenden was standing nearby. The graceful woman on his arm was obviously the fiancée he had spoken of, and she was giving him quite a look.

  Get him out of your head, she told herself as she hurried over to Carmichael, who must have been burning to hear what she had to report about her conversation with the governor.

  10

  London, 2011

  “Extracting the video shouldn’t be a problem,” Sunny said. Guided by Lilly over the telephone, she had taken down the camera and removed th
e memory card. “But there’s hours of video there. You ought to think about deleting sections from time to time.”

  “Can you fast-forward through it? I only need one section, when that man appeared with the violin case.”

  Lilly had given Sunny a brief account of what it was all about. Of course Sunny’s imagination had run wild, and she had come to the conclusion that this instrument was “hot” and that the old man wanted to get rid of it under some flimsy pretext.

  “So why do you need it if you don’t think the violin was stolen?”

  Lilly sighed. She should have known that Sunny would probe.

  “I want to ask my mother if she knows the man. It’s a family matter. But you may as well not ask, because I’m not going to say any more about it. You wouldn’t tell me your complete family history, would you?”

  “Oh, well, there’s not much to tell there. A typical middle-class family, that’s all. You should see the way they look at me whenever I get a new tattoo.”

  “They must have gotten used to the way you look.”

  “Maybe they have, but I can assure you that every new tat is another shock for them. Anyway, I’ll have a look at that video. It’s completely dead here in the shop, sorry.”

  Lilly shrugged. “That’s fine. I wouldn’t have expected anything else. Can you e-mail the footage over when you’ve got it?”

  “I’ll try. Otherwise I’ll burn it onto a CD.”

  “And make sure you reset the camera when you’ve finished. I don’t want to be robbed while nothing’s being recorded.”

  Sunny sniffed as if she doubted that anyone would want to snatch their antiques. “Don’t worry, Lilly, I’ve got it covered. And if anyone comes here wanting to rob me, I’ll—”

  “Hopefully you won’t bash them over the head with anything!”

  “No, call the police, of course.”

  “Good girl.” Lilly took a quick breath, then continued, “Would you have anything against looking after the shop for another two weeks perhaps? My friend thinks the identification of my violin could take a while yet. I’ll double the amount we agreed on and give you a little bonus on top.”

  “No problem. My study leave lasts until April—I can stay here for that long.”

  “I won’t need that much time. You’ve got to have some of your vacation to yourself. Otherwise your tattoo studio will be reporting you missing.”

  “No, no worries, I’m in touch with them on Facebook; they’re not missing me. And I really enjoy running your shop. You know what? Yesterday an old lady nearly bought something!”

  “So it’s not completely dead?”

  “No, people do come in occasionally.”

  “Good, that eases my mind. Don’t forget the video, will you?”

  “I’m on it now. Later, Lilly.”

  “Take care, Sunny.”

  Since Ellen had offered her computer, Lilly went into the study and booted up the machine. She was secretly hoping for a message from Gabriel, but her common sense told her it was impossible. He had a full schedule, and the fact that he had agreed to see her the previous day had been pure luck.

  She was a little disappointed all the same to see that, although her in-box was full, apart from ads and spam there was only a message from her father, asking how she was and telling her briefly about a sailing trip he wanted to make with members of his club.

  Lilly toyed with the idea of using this communication as a way of asking about the old man, but something held her back. I need the video, she thought. It will be better to show them the man instead of disturbing them with a set of stories.

  Lilly merely wrote that she had come to London to spend a few days with her friend and would be in touch as soon as she was back home.

  Not long after she sent the e-mail, the house phone rang. Was someone trying to reach Ellen? Or was it Sunny calling back? A look at the display told her it was not Sunny; it was a London number.

  “This is Lilly Kaiser,” she said as she answered.

  She was surprised to hear a sharp woman’s voice. That dragon of a secretary, she thought.

  “Mrs. Kaiser? Just a moment, I’m putting you through to Mr. Thornton.”

  Lilly pressed her hand to her mouth to stop herself from shouting for joy. He was calling her! Her heart was suddenly beating wildly.

  “Mrs. Kaiser?” the secretary asked, clearly expecting a response.

  “Yes, I’m here. Please put me through.”

  There was no reply—just annoying hold music, though Lilly didn’t have to endure it for long.

  “Hello, Lilly.” Gabriel sounded in a good mood. “I hope you can spare me a moment.”

  “Of course I can. Where are you?” Lilly heard a soft echo in the background, just like something she’d heard when they were down in the archive.

  “I’m here among a stack of ancient wax cylinders and shellac disks,” Gabriel said mysteriously. “And guess what I’ve found.”

  “A recording of Rose Gallway?”

  “Yes, of the first concert she gave, in Cremona on June 12, 1895. Rose was just fifteen then, if the records are correct. Mrs. Faraday had obviously taken her star pupil to the city of the violin.”

  “Have you listened to the recording?”

  “No, not yet. The cylinders are very delicate, and this is one that’s particularly at risk. It may turn out that we can only play it once, so I’ve asked our technician to make a digital recording of it at the same time.”

  “Oh, of course . . . ” Lilly bit her lip. She wanted to ask if she could be there when it was played back. What must it have sounded like when Rose played her violin?

  “The reason I’m calling is to ask you if you wanted to listen to the recording with me—provided you’ve got the time.”

  Lilly gasped. “Of course I’ve got the time.” What else would I be doing, she thought.

  Gabriel laughed. “Excellent. I’d really love you to be there when we play it back.”

  “When do you intend to start?” Lilly glanced at the clock. Twenty past ten.

  “Whenever you can get here.”

  “Right away, then?” Lilly’s heart was pounding. She would have liked to call Ellen so that she could listen to the recording, too, but then she remembered what she had said the evening before about her institute not having much to do with Gabriel Thornton’s school.

  “If you’re here in less than ten minutes, I’ll have to pass, but I think we’ll be ready to begin in half an hour. So you’re coming?”

  Lilly spent the whole of the taxi ride sitting on the backseat on tenterhooks. The traffic was fairly heavy that morning, slowing to a standstill again and again. Time, on the other hand, marched on, indifferent to Lilly’s eagerness. She looked at her watch with a sigh. The half hour had already passed. Gabriel had promised to wait for her, but she hated to be late.

  The taxi was forced to wait for another five minutes before continuing on its hesitant way. Lilly was about to give in to the urge to ask the driver to find a way around when she saw the school appear before them. At last!

  “I’m sorry it took so long,” the driver said as she handed over the fare. “The city’s always hellish around noon.”

  “It’s fine,” Lilly replied politely, although she’d been about to lose her cool a few minutes before.

  The warm notes of stringed instruments followed her through the corridors as she made for Gabriel’s office. His secretary was no more welcoming than the first time, but she knew why Lilly was there and allowed her in to see her boss without objection.

  Gabriel appeared to have been waiting for her and jumped up from his seat as soon as she entered. His sleeve was rumpled as if he’d just looked at his watch.

  “Lilly, you’re here at last! I was about to send out a search party.”

  “I’m so sorry. The traffic was particularly bad today,” Lilly replied. “I hope you haven’t begun yet.”

  “No, of course not. Come this way.”

  Gabriel led her down a
long corridor. They stopped in front of a door through which muffled sounds could be heard.

  “Our sound laboratory,” he said as they entered.

  Waiting for them at one of the workbenches was a man of around forty in jeans and a gray shirt with rolled-up sleeves. He was surrounded by a range of equipment and several other people who appeared to be technicians.

  “Bob? This is the lady we’ve all been waiting for,” Gabriel said, turning to Lilly. “Lilly, this is Bob Henderson, a true genius when it comes to computers and wax cylinders.”

  “He’s exaggerating wildly,” Henderson said as he offered her his hand. “I do what I have to do.”

  His modesty brought a smile to Lilly’s lips.

  “Good, we can start now,” Henderson said, turning to his test apparatus.

  As Lilly was trying to figure out how it worked, she noticed a narrow wax-covered cylinder fitted in place.

  “We’re fortunate that this wax cylinder—the one with the recording of Rose Gallway—is one of the more modern types,” Henderson said.

  He pressed a button, and the cylinder began to revolve slowly. There was an initial rush of white noise that was almost deafening, causing Lilly to worry that the recording would be irretrievable. But then the first note broke through, and the computer settings modified it so it could be heard more clearly.

  Lilly smiled broadly as she heard the first phrases of The Four Seasons penetrate the insistent crackling. She recognized Spring immediately, as the Vivaldi was one of the few classical pieces she listened to regularly; she could even hum along to it.

  The violinist was a virtuoso. Now Lilly knew what Ellen had meant the day before—this interpretation had soul. Even someone who had only a passing interest in classical music could hear it. The violinist’s fingers seemed to fly over the fingerboard. Lilly was unable to analyze the ornamentation she used in her playing, but she was fascinated by the way she could produce the notes so rapidly and skillfully.

  The recording was brief, reaching only the April storms of Spring before it came to an end. A rapt silence followed—even the technicians involved in testing the apparatus had paused in their work to listen. After a while, Gabriel shook his head, clearly stunned.