Isabel obeyed instantly, finding herself a tall gravestone, glad to be on solid surface.
‘Okay, let’s try it. The fire engines will take at least ten minutes to make it here. By then, the streets will be flooded. Let’s do it,’ Stefan conceded.
Re nodded, already drenched through and chilled to the bone in the cool night air.
‘So I’m heading back and taking the other side of the canal door. Just don’t get swept away!’ Stefan warned.
The officer carefully retraced his steps and took a roundabout route past St Margaret’s Chapel, back to the open pipeline. Re ensured that Stefan had reached his destination, then clutched the grilles of the arcaded tombs and, step by step, hoisted himself up against the water, while Isabel watched. It took him all his strength to reach the door, which was lying face down on the ground. Re tried to lift it, but the wet thick wood was impossible to raise. Finally, after several failed attempts, he slid it flat across the floor, positioning himself on his side of the pipeline.
‘I am sliding it over. You ready to catch it?’ Re shouted.
With full pressure he slid the door across and Stefan caught it on the other side of the gushing water.
‘On the count of three, okay?’ the officer shouted back. ‘One, two and three!’
On the count of three, both raised one end of the door and shoved it against the opening of the torn pipeline. The sound of thundering water filled Re’s ears, as the water thrust into his ears and face, spouting from all sides of the obstruction. He struggled to hold the door in place, his legs slipping dangerously.
‘Apply more force, Re!’ Stefan shouted. ‘The door’s sliding from below!’
‘Hold it! I’m going to try and get something to help you!’ Isabel bellowed.
Some long minutes later, Re saw her dragging a large slab of stone. She slithered on the slope, but managed to push the slab in the direction of the men, her face and body straining with the effort.
‘Where did you find this?’ Re shouted.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ she gasped. ‘I’m going to rest it against the bottom half of the door. It’s heavy, so hold on.’
She heaved and dragged and finally propelled it against the door, like a jamb.
‘Wonderful, Isabel! That helps!’ Stefan shouted.
Together they hurled all their weight against the door. The water flew overhead, like a cataract, but the intensity seemed to have been broken. Re’s shoulder ached and the resounding gush of water seemed to drill painfully through his brain. He longed for the nightmare to end. Where were the fire engines? How long before the water spilled into shops and offices, destroying precious articles and documents, perhaps drowning people? His breathing was laboured and he closed his eyes, willing the sound to go away.
Ten agonizing minutes later, the clanging of the fire engines could be heard over the gushing water. It was the sweetest sound Re had heard in a long time.
***
The ringing of the fire engines and the roar of the water still echoed into Re’s ears, as they sat in Dan’s office. They were drenched and cold and their teeth were chattering. Dan had enveloped them with warm blankets. Isabel supported a hot mug of coffee between her palms, the expression on her face distant.
Re’s arms ached. His body felt as if it had gone through a crushing machine. They had tried to achieve the impossible. But somehow, their desperate efforts had managed to minimize the damage. The immediate vicinity was full of ankle-high water and it had entered several shops, spoiling the merchandise. According to Stefan, the water had also seeped into the parts of the Roman Catholic Archdiocese. Also into the St Peter Stiftskeller, the restaurant, St Peter’s Abbey, flooding parts of the Library—the oldest library in Austria—the home of thousands of books and, most importantly, into the archival section with treasured manuscripts from the eighth to the twentieth centuries. Only the morning would reveal the full extent of the damage but Re could imagine that it would be severe. The graves were totally soggy, and Re knew that it would need a lot of caring and tending to bring the cemetery back to its former glory.
Slow anger burned inside him. The poisoning at the Mozart house had been bad enough, but this was insane. Who was doing this and why? It couldn’t be just for Reinhardt’s Gift? This smacked of something much more. Like something or someone huge was behind this. Someone who hated Salzburg and its people. Someone who knew his way around the town, was knowledgeable about the intricacies of its history. More than Isabel, who had spent a large part of her professional life studying Reinhardt and Salzburg.
‘I’m hungry!’ Isabel said suddenly.
‘You would be. We haven’t had any dinner,’ Re said.
He looked fondly at the Austrian woman. The manner in which she had fearlessly helped them at the cemetery was remarkable. She was gutsy and unselfish and he experienced a wave of warm affection for her.
‘Let’s go to the Meierhof café and eat something,’ he suggested.
‘Now? It’s almost three in the night.’
‘Well, I’m hungry too. So let’s see what they have to offer us.’
The girl at the reception was charming, and smilingly offered them apple pie and hot chocolate. They sat in a corner of the old-fashioned café, in the light of the fragrant candles, while the black–and-white photographs on the walls kept them silent company.
Re observed as Isabel concentrated on finishing her pie. She was quiet and he had no intention of disturbing the companiable silence that had built up between them. It was only when she had polished off her pie that she glanced up at him. ‘That felt good,’ she endorsed his own feeling with a contented sigh.
‘I’m glad,’ he smiled. ‘I think we should both catch some sleep. Dan has got two rooms ready for us.’
‘I won’t be able to sleep.’
‘But we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.’
‘That doesn’t change the fact that I’m totally wired-up for action.’
‘Try to switch yourself off mentally,’ he suggested. ‘Tell yourself that you need to rest. Talk to yourself. Congratulate yourself that you did a super job today but that you still need to rest.’
Isabel smiled at him, her light eyes now appearing almost dark and inscrutable.
‘You know, Re, I feel as if I’ve known you for a long time. Are you sure we haven’t met before?’
Re threw back his head and laughed.
‘What’s so funny?’ She seemed confused but she was still smiling.
‘Non, pas du tout! Just so honest.’ Re sobered. ‘Perhaps you are right. We may have met. Not in this life. Maybe in the last. And perhaps we’ve met for a reason. It may be the Trail or—’
‘It could be to find Justin,’ she completed.
He searched her face for a trace of her earlier melancholy, but she seemed more composed now. ‘You know, I’ve been thinking,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Finally, today, I think I can confess to you—someone who doesn’t know a thing about my life with Justin—that we did have problems in our married life. Of late, more so. Justin was impatient, feeling stifled all the time. Wanted to stay away from me. Didn’t like me touching him. It hurt, very much. He was also cruel sometimes, in the things he said. But I never really thought that he would just leave me one day.’ Her voice was low and soft, almost as if she was speaking to herself.
‘No, leaving without saying anything is unacceptable in a relationship. Communication is the answer to such problems.’
‘Exactly!’ She looked at him, searching his face for something. Not finding it, she smiled. ‘Are you married?’
‘I was. She was my college sweetheart. We were married briefly, years ago, but I had to devote more time to my work than to her. She didn’t like that, so she left me. But we are still in touch. She’s in Paris and we meet occasionally, and we are still friends. That’s my story.’
Isabel stared at him, contemplatively. ‘And do you love her still?’
‘Love! Amour. Yes, I am part-Frenchman, I sho
uld believe in love, romance, non?’
‘Yes, you ought to!’ Isabel chortled. ‘Otherwise, you fail to live up to the stereotype.’
‘I usually believe what the person who is sitting with me believes!’
‘Well, I believe in love. It’s the only emotion that counts.’
‘Well then, I feel the same.’
‘Oh come on! Let’s hear your honest definition of love, monsieur.’
‘D’accord. Love for me is like that monster which swallows you, body and soul and leaves you an empty shell, with heart stolen, squeezed dry, and left to survive!’
‘Mein Gott! That is the most horrendous definition I’ve ever heard!’ Isabel laughed, a soft tinkling laugh.
‘You asked for it, so now live it!’
‘I don’t believe you. Even you cannot be so dry.’
Re grinned. ‘You are right. I am not. But I like to pretend. It saves many a heart.’
Isabel stopped laughing. ‘You are a strange guy, Re Parkar.’
Re nodded. ‘I agree, madame. I get stranger at 3.30 at night. Sleepless in Salzburg. On a Trail which no one knows where it is leading—to a rainbow or a broken heart.’
They both fell silent suddenly.
‘And what do you think is at the end of it?’ Isabel asked. ‘What does your vision tell you?’
‘It has already told me—that’s why I am here—black doom, misery, heartbreak?’
‘No, that sounds kind of irreversible. We are already halfway through the Trail. We can stop disaster from happening!’ Isabel leaned forward and clutched his hand on the table.
‘You are right. I sometimes go off on a pessimistic tangent,’ he conceded, with a sheepish look. ‘Thank you for bringing me back…Isabel, may I ask you something?’
She seemed taken slightly aback. The candle in front of them was burning low and the red glow in the café seemed to illuminate her from within. A soft rain had begun to fall, pitter-pattering on the metal chairs and table outside.
‘Oh, it’s raining! But then, Salzburg is famous for its erratic weather. You do know how Max Reinhardt built this outdoor theatre in the garden of the Schloss, with the lake and the Untersberg as backdrop. But on the opening night, it poured, and everything, his props and all, was completely spoilt! He was so frustrated that he shut down the theatre. We were lucky we had some sun for a few days in October.’
‘I had heard about this,’ Re said. ‘But Isabel, I asked you a question.’
‘I don’t know,’ she mumbled, averting her gaze. ‘I don’t know if I will be able to answer your question.’
Re smiled, his eyes crinkling behind his silver spectacles. ‘Too cautious, ma chérie.You need to unburden. To let go.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, do you ever wonder how life would’ve been with Stefan instead of Justin? Did it ever cross your mind that you perhaps married Justin in haste?’
Even in the low glow, Re could see the slow blush cross her face.
‘That is a very personal question, Re. I don’t know,’ she repeated.
‘Now’s your chance. To purge.’
A reluctant smile showed at the corners of her lips. ‘To confess, you mean? Okay, since we are at it. Not initially, I was too much in love, but gradually, as Justin began to change, almost into a stranger, I felt—I admit, many times—that I missed Stefan and his friendship. He’s kept his distance ever since I married and although in the beginning it was all to the good, later I began missing him. Little things about him. Like his perfumes. He loves to try on different perfumes, at work or at social gatherings. And the way he dotes on his nephews. They are adorable and I got along famously with them. And he worships his mother. He would share stories about his grandfather, too, whom he’d never met but is totally inspired by. He’s a family man, immensely dependable, steady and great fun to be with’
‘Wow, you really must miss him.’ Re curbed a smile.
‘Now that I think of it, yes, I think I really did miss him. Our skiing trips and swimming afternoons on holidays. He loves the sea and once he’s settled down on the beach in the sun, it took all my persuasive skill to get him to leave! He was my best friend, regardless of the dating, and I felt that perhaps life would’ve been so secure and safe with him.’
‘Safe? You mean you felt unsafe with Justin?’
‘Often. He was kind of odd. Would stare at me sometimes, when I wasn’t looking, with a strange look in his eyes. Almost like he hated me. And wanted to get rid of me. Which was of course my imagination because I knew that he loved me. Or he did at first or…well, whatever!’
‘That doesn’t sound particularly nice, non,’ Re agreed. ‘Would you like more hot chocolate?’
‘No, thank you. What about you? Do you miss your exwife? Or any girlfriend?’ Isabel asked casually.
Re pursed his lips and took in a deep breath. ‘Actually, I miss my sister Nisa. She died in a car accident two years ago.’
‘Oh no!’ Isabel was quick in her response.
Re read concern in her eyes. ‘But the wretched part was that I had seen the accident in my vision and I did nothing about it. I didn’t take it seriously enough. I could’ve stopped her from going on that trip. But she was adamant and I was unsure about my visions. It was one of the first times and I was still learning to trust them. When we heard of the accident, my mother was in shock and inconsolable. I thought that I had lost her too. I knew, then, that life for me had changed forever.’
‘And your father?’
‘My father accused me blatantly of being responsible for Nisa’s death. The worst part of it was that he was right! I failed my little sister. I allowed her to die.’
The silence that followed was dense with emotion. Isabel’s eyes were moist and filled with compassion. She leaned over and grasped Re’s trembling hand, pressing it warmly.
‘I truly am sorry to hear this, Re. I wish I hadn’t asked you…’
‘No, it’s all right. I needed to unburden. This is the first time I am speaking about the incident. The pain and guilt are now like a chronic disease. I just hope that one day, bearing it will get a little easier, even if it is simply out of force of habit.’
‘Poor Nisa,’ Isabel murmured.
Re nodded. ‘One wrong choice and everything changed. If only one right choice would set everything back to normal again,’ he murmured, almost to himself.
She yawned suddenly. ‘I guess we do need to grab a couple of hours of sleep.’
‘We do. I believe the first guest arrives at six. I’ll meet you here in the lobby at seven?’
‘Right! Thanks, Re.’
‘Thank you!’
Re smiled faintly and, bending down, kissed her on both her cheeks.
‘Let me accompany you to your room, madame.’
***
The two shadows slunk out of the main door of the Meierhof, shutting it soundlessly behind them. The light of the single lamp outside the hotel showed them the path to the dark edge of the lake.
‘Are you sure we’re doing the right thing?’ she whispered, her voice riddled with doubt.
‘No, but the more I think of it, the more I feel we should get rid of this. We don’t know what’s happening here but what if we get entangled in it?’
‘I guess you are right,’ she agreed, a little reluctantly.
They were at the bench by the lake.
‘You do it,’ she whispered and handed the things to her companion.
He inhaled deeply and raised his arm to fling.
‘Stop!’ Re commanded.
With a start, the man pulled back.
‘What—what are you doing here at this hour?’ he stammered.
‘I can ask you the same question, Perth and Joanna,’ the journalist retorted coolly, as he rose from the bench to face them. Dressed in their nightwear, they seemed like a couple straight out of their bed.
‘We… we couldn’t sleep, so we—’ Joanna began.
‘Spare me!’ Re lifted
a hand to silence her. ‘Can you show me what you were getting rid of?’
Joanna and Perth glanced at each other hesitantly. Without another word, the young man held out the two articles in his hand: a small, buff-coloured, smooth-surfaced flute, and a white, laced apron.
These were the same articles Re had discovered in their rooms the day before but concealed any sign of recognition.
‘Where did you get these and why were you throwing them in the lake?’ he demanded.
A smell of burnt wood suddenly filled his nostrils and it almost startled him. Within seconds, the whiff had disappeared. He glanced at the couple to gauge if they had sensed it too, but they seemed preoccupied with their thoughts.
Perth sighed. ‘It came with the Schloss reservation, in the envelope.’
‘The flute was in my envelope,’ Joanna clarified as Re picked up the articles and studied them.
‘And the apron was in mine,’ Perth completed.
‘Curious. And was there no explanatory message with it?’ Re asked, frowning.
‘None.’
‘And do you have any theory about why someone one would send you here along with a flute and an apron?’
‘No.’ Perth replied, his face shuttered.
But Joanna looked hesitant. She flashed Perth a quick glance and Re sensed that she had something to confess.
‘I don’t know if it’s connected in any way,’ she began, a little cautiously. ‘But my grandfather used to play the flute in Max Reinhardt’s company, when he was very young, but they fell out.’
‘Now that’s interesting.’ Re gave her his full attention. ‘What happened?’
‘I don’t know the details, of course. But from the notes I discovered in his cupboard, it had something to do with the Garden Theatre that Max Reinhardt built at the Schloss.’
‘But wasn’t that outdoor theatre shut down because of the torrential rains on the day of its opening?’
‘Yes, from what I heard. But this was connected with the very day the garden theatre was going to be inaugurated. My grandfather was one of the flautists for that play that evening, but unfortunately fell severely ill and couldn’t make it. Reinhardt dismissed him. After that, my grandfather had a tough time finding another job as a musician, to the point that he had to give up the profession forever.’
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