Katherine finished her café au lait, and Mimi poured her some more from two small white china pitchers. “The acoustics will be completely different.”
“I assume that’s occurred to them.”
Katherine put down her cup with annoyance. “It means, among other things, that my practicing in St. Ansgar’s chapel has been useless. I’ll have to go back up to the Cathedral and work the whole program out with what are going to be totally different acoustical problems.”
“You could be arbitrary,” Mimi suggested, “and announce that the concert will be in St. Ansgar’s or else.”
“No.” Katherine pondered her coffee cup. “I can’t do that. I said I’d do the benefit to raise money, and the more people, the more money. And, after all, what else do I have to do? I keep forgetting that I’m not tucking this benefit into the midst of my usual schedule.”
“All right. I just don’t want them to think they can use you.”
Katherine was silent for a moment. Then, “If you’re going to speak to Dave, I suppose I’ll have to speak to Felix about last night.”
Mimi picked up the breakfast tray and started toward the kitchen. “I think it would be a good idea. You’re going to have to call him back, anyhow.”
“Somehow—I don’t want to tell him over the phone.”
Mimi paused in the doorway. “I understand. That’s why I’m going up to talk to Dave.”
Should the dean know that Felix had been getting frightening calls? That was something for Felix to decide. She would not tell Mimi.
10
At a few minutes before three, Jos and Emily arrived. He waited only till his sister was inside, then said, “I’ve got to dash to class,” and took off.
Emily stood, hands clasped, very still.
She had never been in the apartment before. She would not notice anything different. The picture over the mantelpiece would look to her as though it had always been there. “Don’t be afraid, child.” Katherine drew her into the room. “I don’t bite. And nothing is going to happen this first lesson. We’re going to have to feel things out. Sit down at the piano.” Emily obeyed, and Katherine went to the music chest, which she had put back in order after Mimi had left. “How’s your sight-reading?”
“Fair.” Emily’s voice and body were tense.
“Relax. You couldn’t dance with a muscle-taut body, could you? Neither can you play the piano. We’ll start with some duets, just for fun. Here’s one of Schubert’s I used to enjoy. I’ll play treble.” And she sat beside Emily.
“It’s much too difficult for me.”
“I doubt if it is. Don’t worry about the pedal. We’ll play at a moderate tempo, and if you get lost, just wait until you’ve found your place and then come in again.”
Emily scowled, then nodded.
“We’ll count three measures, then begin.”
The child was amazingly quick to follow Katherine’s lead. The duet was doing exactly what Katherine had hoped it would, making Emily concentrate on the music so that she forgot to be self-conscious. Only once did she fumble and break the rhythm, and then she took her hands off the keys, stared fiercely at the music, counting under her breath, and was back again after only a few measures.
When they had finished the last notes triumphantly together, Emily laughed in delight. “That was like partnering in ballet!”
“Have you played duets before?”
“Only accompanying Daddy or playing with the whole family. But that—oh, Madame Vigneras, I love it.”
“We’ll play some more together at your next lesson. But now I want to start you on some things to practice at home. Here’s a book of Mozart sonatinas, and we’re going to go through them, one by one. I think you’ll enjoy them. But first I want you to run a few scales for me. Start with C major, then A minor.”
For nearly an hour they worked on scales, Katherine gently correcting Emily’s wrist position, her fingering. Finally she said, “Enough. That was good work. Scales are dull, until you get the knack of them, then they can be fun. And if you get to the point where you can run through all the scales without having to think, I’ll read to you while you do it, the way Justin—my husband—used to do for me. Now let’s start this first sonatina. It’s sheer delight.”
The two hours were almost up when there was a knock on the door, rather than a ring, and a voice calling, “It’s Dorcas.” When Katherine opened the door she said, “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m interrupting—”
“It’s all right. Come in. Emily and I were just finishing a lesson.”
Dorcas looked, not at Emily, but at the seascape. “Where’s the portrait?”
There were bound to be explanations, and Katherine didn’t want to make them. But there was no use prevaricating. “Someone broke into my apartment last night and knocked things around. The only thing that was hurt was the portrait, and Mother Catherine of Siena, who brought me home, took it to be repaired.” She kept her voice quiet.
Both Dorcas and Emily looked at her in horror. Dorcas cried, “But I was downstairs all evening and I never heard anything. I thought I heard a siren, but we hear so many I didn’t pay any attention.”
“It was the police,” Katherine said, “but they didn’t have any clues. Nothing was taken. You may have noticed that I have new locks. Now, my dears, it’s over with, I’m properly protected, and I really would like to put it out of my mind. Emily, Dr. Oppenheimer is going to talk to your father tonight, so please don’t say anything till then.”
Dorcas looked at Emily, who had risen and was standing at the piano. “Don’t I know you?”
Emily made her bob of a curtsy. “I’m Emily Davidson, Mrs. Gibson. I was one of the kids in the ballet school.”
Dorcas moved toward her, smiling, then stopped. “You’re the one who—”
“I lost my left leg in an accident,” Emily stated flatly.
“But we all thought—” Dorcas put her hand up and put it to her mouth.
“That it wasn’t an accident?” Emily asked. “Nobody will ever know, so there’s no point in brooding about it.” Her voice was so brittle that the words came out like shards of glass.
“I’m so sorry,” Dorcas said. “I’ve put my foot in it—” and stopped again.
“You live downstairs, don’t you?” Emily asked. “You and Mr. Gibson?”
“Just me,” Dorcas said, “and soon, the baby.”
Emily winced. “Now I’ve put my foot in it.”
Dorcas shook her head as though to clear it. “Llew Owen called, Madame Vigneras. He’s coming down tonight with the crib and the things for the baby. And he said just to say when you want to go up to the Cathedral, and he’ll come for you, and he’s going to be around to see that the Bösendorfer’s moved properly and he’s sorry for the change—” She stopped as the doorbell rang.
“That’ll be Jos,” Emily said.
“Let him in, please, child, but double-check first.”
Although she was not much shorter than Katherine, Emily was not quite tall enough for the peephole, and tiptoeing was evidently difficult for her. So she called, “Who is it?” and, on her brother’s reply, opened the door.
“Good lesson?” he asked.
“For me, it was gorgerific.”
Katherine introduced Dorcas and Jos. “It was a fine lesson,” she corroborated. “I’ll expect you to have that first sonatina memorized by next week. Half an hour a day minimum practicing. Then I’d like you to spend some time doing whatever you want, making up your own pieces, playing whatever you like, having fun. But practicing first. Scales.”
“I promise.”
“And watch those elbows.”
“I promise,” Emily repeated.
When she and Jos had gone, Dorcas said, “I’m so sorry I interrupted. I didn’t know—”
“Of course you didn’t. Emily will be coming on Monday afternoons between three and five. Dorcas, this is the first time I’ve heard that Emily’s accident may not have been an accident.”
Dorcas looked uncomfortable. “It was company gossip, and that can’t be trusted. We’re always looking for drama, especially when things are a bit dull. I wonder what they’re saying about me?”
Katherine sat in her grey wing chair and ignored this. “Her parents have never indicated … Nor Dr. Oppenheimer.”
Dorcas dropped onto the sofa. “Oh, Madame Vigneras, I never should have mentioned it. I was just surprised at seeing Emily. She’s so beautiful, and we were all so horrified—everybody thought she had a brilliant career ahead of her—so we just wanted to blame someone.” Her eyes strayed to the mantelpiece. “Madame Vigneras, I feel so dreadful about the apartment, and the portrait, and that I didn’t hear anything.”
“It’s a well-built house, and whoever it was must have been trying to be quiet. It’s just one of these stupidities that are becoming more and more a part of the contemporary scene. Did you come up about anything in particular?”
“Just about Llew. And—I saw my obstetrician today and he says everything’s fine, but it looks to him as if the baby may come in about a week. It’s dropped into position, or whatever they call it. I haven’t been nervous about it, and today, suddenly, I am.”
“Of course you’re nervous. But I meant it when I said I’d come to the hospital with you—which hospital, by the way?”
“St. Vincent’s.”
“Good, that’s Dr. Oppenheimer’s hospital. I’ll speak to her; she may even know your obstetrician.”
“He’s a dear. He’s being terribly kind to me. But—I didn’t realize till today how terribly alone I was going to feel, and you’ve made it all seem possible, and even all right.”
“I’m glad,” Katherine replied absently. She was thinking more of Emily than of Dorcas. Now that the possibility had been raised that the loss of Emily’s leg might not have been an accident, it had a horrible inevitability about it.
11
She called Mimi that evening. She did not want to wait for a chance encounter. But there was no answer. She called twice more, and went to bed. Mimi was, after all, telling the dean her version of all that had happened. Small wonder she was out late.
In the morning, after her coffee and two hours at the piano, Katherine called again, annoyed at herself for not trying earlier, when Mimi was more likely to be in. But the doctor promptly answered.
Katherine asked, “Are you very busy, or could you come down for a few minutes?”
“I’ll be seeing patients this afternoon. I’ve already been to the hospital and just got back, so I’m free till a little after two. I’ll be down.”
Katherine talked first about Dorcas. Mimi knew the obstetrician and approved. “He’s first-rate. Compassionate and competent. You’re really going to the hospital with her?”
“There doesn’t seem to be anybody else.”
“Well, I’ll come, too, to keep you company.”
“Thanks. I’ll really appreciate that. Did you talk to Dave?” Mimi nodded. “What did he say?”
“Dave doesn’t say much until he has something to say. He listened. When I’d finished, he looked a little more tired. He just said that a cathedral attracts neurotics and psychotics, people looking for help and not knowing how to ask for it. Have you spoken to Felix yet?”
“Not yet. I will when I go up to the Cathedral to practice.”
“Dave will be mum, meanwhile. As I said, he’s not a talker, unless there’s a reason to talk. You’ve got something else on your mind. What is it?”
“Emily.”
“That’s right. How was her lesson? Isn’t she going to be any good?”
“She’s going to be more than good, ultimately. Dorcas came in just as we were finishing—they knew each other slightly when Emily was dancing, you remember.”
“Yes. Emily called her husband a turd. What else?”
“Evidently it was gossip that Emily’s accident was not an accident.”
“Are they still going on about that?” Mimi asked in annoyance. “Artists do tend to make things more complex than they need be—sorry, my dear, I don’t think you do. Suzy and Dave heard the gossip but there was nothing to substantiate it. I myself can’t believe that anyone would deliberately run Emily down. The quicker such gossip is squelched, the better. The thing is to see that Emily gets on with her life, and you’re helping with that.”
“Wolfi was killed because of an accident—why there aren’t more accidents in Rome than there are, I’ll never know. He was crossing the street and was hit by a driver who was coming around the corner—an American tourist who swore Wolfi crossed without looking. The bystanders swore that of course the cardinal was careful, and I’m sure he was. Wolfi was too intelligent to get lost in prayer while crossing a Roman road. He lived for several days—he was badly hurt internally, and ultimately the bleeding could not be controlled.”
It was not long before Justin’s death, but she had been on the road, urged by both Justin and Jean Paul to continue work as usual. She had, in fact, just given a concert in Munich when the cardinal’s secretary called her from Rome.
She was not with Justin when he died, but she had been with Wolfi.
His injuries were severe. He had known that he was dying, and had insisted on being brought home from the hospital. His secretary, grey with grief, but with features emotionless, had escorted Katherine to his room and discreetly withdrawn. The room could have been a monk’s cell: whitewashed walls, a narrow bed, a plain table which served as desk, a straight chair. A washbasin. A small crucifix over the bed.
His hands groped toward hers and she knelt on the bare floor, unaware of the discomfort to her knees. ‘It is all right,’ he said then. ‘Now it is all right. I couldn’t go home till you came.’
‘I am here.’ She held his hands, lightly, not too hard, for fear of hurting him.
‘It is all right,’ he said again. ‘The pain drained away with the blood. Hold my hands tightly so that I can feel you are here.’ His hands were cold, cold as the marble floor, cold as the ivory of the figure on the cross. She felt his fingers twitching in hers. ‘My love … how strange that you … feeling no need for all that I profess … should have taught me the meaning of promises … to my Lord, and …’ His breath came in shallow gasps.
She felt strength ebbing from her hands into his.
‘Under my pillow … my rosary …’
She freed one hand and reached for the wooden beads, the carving smoothed by use like pebbles rounded by flowing water, and put them in his hand. He was too weak to grasp them, so she put her fingers around his, and the rosary was entwined between both their fingers.
‘I have made my confession, received unction. I am ready to go. All that I needed to wait for was to say goodbye to you, my heart’s love.’
‘Wolfi—’ But she would not try to hold him back.
He opened his mouth once more, and a small, pale trickle of blood came out, but no words. The breathing stopped, almost imperceptibly. He was alive, and then, silently, he was dead. She continued to hold the cold fingers, but now he was drawing no life from her. Carefully, she put his hand, holding the rosary, across his chest. She rose, slowly, her knees stiff from kneeling so long, and left the room.
The secretary looked at her questioningly, and she nodded. He looked briefly through the open door at the still figure on the bed, then escorted Katherine to the waiting car. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘You were kind to come.’ His features began to distort with the effort not to cry. He opened the door and helped her into the dark interior of the car. ‘Wait,’ he said, ‘please wait.’ In a few minutes he returned and put something in her hand. The rosary. ‘He would have wanted you to have this.’ He shut the car door, and as it closed she heard him sob.
12
Llew came for her early the next afternoon. As she let him in, he looked automatically over the mantelpiece.
Before he could speak, Katherine said, “Yes, the portrait is gone.”
“But why? It’s my favorite thin
g that you have.”
“Mine, too.”
“What’s wrong? What happened?”
“My apartment was broken into Sunday night while I was at the convent, and vandalized. The portrait was slashed with a knife. Nothing else was hurt, just thrown around. Mother Cat and Sister Isobel were with me. I’m grateful; I would not have wanted to see such destruction unprepared and alone. Mother Cat has taken the portrait to be repaired. I’d appreciate it if you don’t talk about this, Llew. Mimi has told Dave and I will tell Felix. It just seems nastier to make it public.”
“Of course. I won’t say a word. Do the police think it was local vandals?”
“That’s their theory.” She hoped he would believe her.
“Do you still want to come up to the Cathedral after this?”
“Of course. It’s behind me now. Nothing terrible happened, so it’s best to leave the past and get on with the present. I have to check out those acoustics.”
Once they were in the car, he was silent till they were moving up Sixth Avenue. Then he said, “It seemed a very final thing to do, to give away all the baby’s things.”
She was grateful that his mind was far more on his own problems than on hers. “Yes, I know. When my son died, we gave away all his clothes. Death is final, but to hang on to clothes or other possessions is in a way to hold back whoever has died, to make a tomb out of a room and keep love imprisoned there. And so when Justin died, I gave away everything that could be useful.”
“Does it bother you that you weren’t with your husband when he died?”
“Of course. Part of life is getting used to living with the things which will always hurt you. Far worse than not being with him when he died was that our last hours together were not pleasant, were, in fact, a bitter quarrel.”
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