Simon turned the instrument over in his hands and then passed it to Levi without comment. Roberto picked up a second one.
“This is a Giovanni Battista Guadagnini, made in Parma in 1767. Two-piece back and look at the narrow curl of the scroll. I’m going through the authentication process with this little beauty, and it could well be worth at least a hundred thousand pounds. Lovely golden brown tint. He made cellos and double basses as well. Rich sound.”
Simon took it from him. “It’s a beautiful instrument,” he said simply.
“Yes, it is. I often wonder at the artistry of these men. Given when they lived and the limited resources and technology they had, and yet, think of the masterpieces they created. All by trial and error and instinct. If you did it now, with computers and precision cutters and so on, the sound would be no better than the sound they created.”
Simon handed the violin to Levi, who’d put the Lupot down on the table.
“And this,” said Roberto proudly as he picked up the third, “is true genius. This is a 1730 Strad.”
He handed it over reverentially. It was a deep red color and had flames in the grain running vertically down the back.
“Antonio Stradivari,” Simon whispered as he took it. “I’ve never seen one, in the flesh.”
Roberto watched him as he did the standard examination, ran his finger over the back, traced the scroll, checked the bridge, and plucked the A string.
“Hello, my beauty,” Simon murmured.
Roberto picked up a bow and handed it over.
“Play something.”
Simon’s eyes opened wide in what looked like astonishment. Roberto couldn’t help the feeling of power his position sometimes gave him; he knew only too well what a thrill this was for the old man. Such experiences built trust, and that would be vital if he ever got to handle a sale for the family.
“Really?”
“Why not? They were made to be played, and you won’t do it any damage; you know what you’re doing.”
Simon hesitated and Roberto wondered what his reluctance was.
“It doesn’t matter how you play; they’re a lot more forgiving than the Guarneri.”
“I know. It’s just I haven’t played since . . . for many years. Since 1945.”
“Then it’s time you did, and a Strad is a very fitting way to warm up for a Guarneri.”
The two men exchanged knowing smiles, and Roberto walked over to the piano to play A above middle C. With his help Simon tuned the four pegs, then tightened the screw on the bow, and played a simple scale. The sound was crisp and clear. He hesitated again, and Roberto and Levi waited patiently. Then suddenly he launched into Vivaldi’s “Winter,” followed by snatches of Mendelssohn, Massenet, Mozart, and Bach. The violin responded to each minute change of tempo and technique as the luscious tone rose and fell away to pianissimo, only to build again. Finally he stopped and handed the violin back to Roberto with a shy smile.
“Thank you, sir.”
There were tears in the Englishman’s eyes.
“I don’t think you have any idea how good you are,” he said gently.
Simon smiled again, and Roberto could see what looked like a flush of embarrassment.
“I was expecting you to say that I should practice hard and then I might become very good, and give me a lump of rosin.”
Roberto couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice.
“Really?”
“Just a wrinkle in time, another life, another world.”
Chapter 47
Mayfair, London
Late October 2008
Mom. Stop fussing.”
Daniel put his hands to his throat and pulled Cindy’s fingers away as they fiddled with his bow tie. She ruffled his hair instead. He licked his palms and patted it down again.
“I’m very proud of you for doing this, for your poppa; you do know that, don’t you?”
He smiled at her.
“And I like it much better when we’re not fighting too. I have to warm up now, and Maestro will be here soon. You go find Dad.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”
“Yes, absolutely, certainly, definitely sure.”
She reached out and touched the violin case on the table and seemed about to say something more, then changed her mind and kissed him on the cheek. He felt a surge of relief.
“Good luck, precious boy.”
Outside people were streaming up the steps and through the open doors to Sergei’s London mansion, laughing and chatting happily as they came. His team of uniformed butlers stood in a row in the vast reception hall to receive their coats and gloves. Slowly they moved through the double doorway and into the music room. Five hundred chairs were set out in rows at one end of the long room, facing the platform where the orchestra would sit. At the other end the guests circulated, drank champagne cocktails, and nibbled on miniature hamburgers, hot dogs and bagels, beluga caviar, and Neufchâtel cheese savories. Sergei was in full concert mode, kissing women on each cheek, shaking hands, accepting congratulations, and repeating the story of his amazing “find,” who was the youngest competitor ever to win the Samuel J. Hillier.
Simon and Levi, both in brand-new suits, stood with Ruth, David, and Cindy and watched the huge Russian work the crowd. Cindy kept brushing her black taffeta skirt nervously with one hand.
“I should be with him,” she repeated, in David’s direction. He shook his head firmly.
“He’s better off with the maes—”
She started toward the door. “Nonsense, no one knows his routines like I do. I should—”
David grasped her wrist in his hand and looked into her eyes.
“Cindy, listen to me. He doesn’t want either of us there right now. The maestro will know what to say, and do, and Rafael promised to keep an eye on him. He’ll be just fine.”
“Sometimes family makes you more nervous.” Simon smiled at her. “David’s right; he has a performer’s temperament, and he will be fine.”
Rafael stood outside the closed door and listened to the violin and piano together. It was an amazingly sweet sound, and it filled him with pride in his achievement. He couldn’t escape the fact that this boy was here, tonight, doing this huge and emotional thing, in front of all these people, because he, Rafael, had made it happen. For better or for worse, this was all his doing and he’d live with the consequences. The music stopped and he knocked on the door. There was a pause, and then he heard Montenagro’s voice.
“Yes?”
He opened the door and went in. Montenagro rose from the piano.
“Nearly finished?” Rafael asked.
“Sì. He’s yours and he’s ready.”
Montenagro shook Daniel’s hand as he walked past him.
“Enjoy yourself, young man. That is very important. Let her sing to you and she will sing to everyone else, sì?”
“Yes. Thank you, sir.”
Montenagro looked Rafael in the eye and nodded. They both knew that to say more would only increase Daniel’s nerves.
“We will talk later, sì?” he said and then he left.
Rafael turned his attention to Daniel.
“Put her down and come sit with me,” he said as he concertinaed his long body onto the sofa in the corner. Daniel did as he asked. The boy’s face was pallid, and his eyes were full of apprehension.
“How do you feel?” Rafael asked.
“Okay, I guess.”
“Remember that conversation we had, back in the hall, at D.C.?”
“About me giving up?”
“And about sports. Baseball and football . . . soccer.”
Daniel nodded.
“I want to tell you a trick, Dan. When you’re out there tonight, imagine that you’re, you know, walking out onto Wrigley Field. And the violin, she is
whichever you want, the ball or the bat. You take your stance and the crowd falls silent.”
He could see Daniel was fascinated.
“So when you start to play, it is like you wind up, yes? All your energy and concentration, it is focused on what you do, and then you score. It is a home run. Or it is a strike, the perfect pitch. As you play tonight it will be the best game of baseball ever. The crowd will cheer and you’ll be the hero.”
Daniel laughed. “Do you do that?”
“Oh my God, yes! I start to conduct and I am on the right wing for Real Madrid, Champion’s League final. I run and I run and the ball, she is at my feet, and I beat defender after defender until at last I curl her into the back of the net. Over the goalkeeper’s desperate leap.”
They were both laughing.
“But you don’t tell anyone, okay? It is our secret, that we play sport while we make music, okay?”
“Okay, no matter how much they torture me, I’ll never tell.”
“Good boy.”
The laughter subsided.
“Dan, there was something else I wanted to say. You know, you are doing a good thing tonight, for your family. Whatever happens, and I don’t think anything will, apart from lots of cheering, don’t be frightened. You know the violin, she means a great deal to your poppa and he will have a hard time seeing her again, and seeing you play her, but sometimes emotion like that is a good thing. It can be, for us, a healthy thing. You are not hurting him, you are helping him, yes?”
Daniel nodded.
“I know. Dad talked to me about that. He explained what a really hard time Poppa had in the war.”
“Yes, he did, and he is a very brave man. You know, you should be very proud of him. He is extremely proud of you, and so am I.” He pulled himself to his feet and held out his large hand. “And now it is time for us to go play some sports.”
Chapter 48
Together they walked through the hall, Rafael carrying his baton and Daniel, the violin and bow. Large portraits and paintings stared down from the walls on either side, and the thick carpet beneath their feet muffled their footsteps. In the doorway they stopped, and Rafael surveyed the huge room, the battleground.
The orchestra sat, tuned and ready, full of eager anticipation. The crowd had been directed to their seats. He knew Sergei was very pleased with the mix, potential managers and agents, reviewers for magazines and websites, professional musicians, luthiers and students, friends and fellow businesspeople, a sprinkling of celebrities with a well-known passion for classical music and Daniel’s family.
Tatiana was absent, and he was relieved Sergei had taken his advice; her presence would increase Daniel’s nerves and it wasn’t fair to her. He knew Sergei had been most displeased by her demonstration during the music lesson, and things between them seemed strained. Rafael wondered what she’d thought of her “treat,” a ticket to see Hairspray at the Shaftesbury Theater, a night at the Hilton, a wad of cash and instructions to go shopping. According to Sergei, she certainly intended to, judging by the size of all the suitcases she’d taken with her.
Roberto di Longi sat in the third row. His last comment to Rafael had been all about hubris and justice and how far people will go to keep what they desire and how satisfying it is to be proven right. It’d occurred to Rafael at the time that just because he admired the man’s expertise, that didn’t mean he had to actually like him, and if he saw anything close to a gloat, Roberto would feel the lash of a Spanish temper.
Two seats along from Roberto sat Rafael’s darling Mags. He knew she had serious doubts about the whole enterprise, but she loved him and understood him, and she admired the fact that doing what was right was fundamental to his personality. He’d come very close to telling her what he actually hoped would happen, and then he decided it was too much of a burden. The fate of the evening was his load alone.
Simon, Levi, Ruth, David, and Cindy sat in the front row. The sight of the two old men, sitting so straight and staring at the orchestra, tugged at his heart. Time must have been moving at a leaden pace for all five of them, ticking by almost in slow motion through a mist of pride, excitement, fear, and anticipation. Suddenly the lights dimmed and a buzz went around the room.
“Kick off!” Rafael whispered to Daniel, and the boy grinned up at him, excitement in his dark eyes.
As applause broke out, the maestro walked quickly across to the podium at the edge of the platform, smiled warmly at the orchestra, and turned to the expectant crowd.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and a big welcome to this very special performance. To begin, shall we make a little music of the night?”
He turned back, tapped the top of his music stand, waited for the orchestra to focus on him, and gave them his signature wink. The familiar opening to Mozart’s Serenade no. 13, K525, more commonly known as “Eine Kleine Nachtmusik,” rang out crisply, and the audience settled comfortably into their seats.
Daniel stood in the doorway from the hall, the violin and bow in his hands, his foot tapping in time to the rhythmic music, the nerves evaporating. What a genius Mozart was! It sounded like a musical game of questions and answers, one phrase responding to another, a piece of frivolous party music, written while the composer was deep in the middle of the opera Don Giovanni, and yet it’d become one of the most recognized and loved compositions of all time. That was the amazing thing about music; there was always something more to discover and love.
He watched Maestro Gomez from his side angle and was, as always, mesmerized by the way he made the complex job seem so effortless. He’d taken the maestro’s advice and spent some time by himself just sitting with the violin, holding it, talking to it, playing bits and pieces as they came into his head, and now it felt more like a friend, not like some huge task at which he might fail. It was a member of his family, he told himself, just a piece of wood that was at home in the hands of a Horowitz, nothing mystical or symbolic.
The piece came to its conclusion, and the maestro motioned to the orchestra to stand as he turned to take his own bow. Then he stepped off the podium and walked into the space between the orchestra and the audience. Before he spoke, he glanced sideways at Daniel and smiled. Daniel gave him a nod to show he was ready. As ready as I’ll ever be, he thought.
“My friends, it is a real joy for me to tell you a little about the performer you will hear play now. I first met him about eight months ago, when he made the finals of the Samuel J. Hillier competition. You know he was only just fourteen and the rest, they were much older! I was the conductor that night and chairman of the judging panel and, in the finals, he played the piece he’s going to play for you first tonight, Paganini’s Allegro maestoso, the first movement of Violin Concerto no. 1 in D Major. He won that competition, and as one of my students is so fond of saying, ‘daylight came second.’ ”
There was a rumble of laughter and appreciation around the room.
“So instead of me telling you about his talent, I shall let you hear for yourself. He also plays a very, very special instrument tonight. It has been loaned to him by our wonderful host, Sergei Valentino. Without Sergei’s generosity, none of this could happen, no? It is the extraordinary 1729 Giuseppe Guarneri del Gesú violin.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in giving a warm welcome to Daniel Horowitz and the Guarneri!”
Daniel felt a light touch on the small of his back, and he stepped forward and walked toward Rafael, who was extending his arm toward him. The crowd was applauding and he bowed to them. He could see his family smiling and clapping and his mother nodding and tears on her cheeks, and his poppa’s gaze locked on the violin in his hands. Rafael shook his hand, then mounted the podium. Daniel took his place, to Rafael’s left, in front of the concertmaster. The pianist played an A and he tuned the violin, tightened the bow, and gave Rafael another small nod. The orchestra had quite a long introduction. After a tiny pause, he began
to play, sweet, clear, strong notes that gave way to a lilting melody, punctuated by complex runs.
His body moved gently, and at times his eyes closed and at times he glanced at Rafael, who was constantly apace with him, almost breathing for him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his poppa start to rise from his seat as, four minutes into the piece, the continuous trills spilled forth and built to breathtaking high notes. His uncle put his hand on his poppa’s shoulder and pushed him back down, and his nana grabbed his poppa’s hand.
The last two minutes were almost entirely solo, ending with just a few accompanying notes from the orchestra, and the applause started before the piece concluded. Everyone was on their feet, and the noise was deafening. Daniel turned to Rafael, who stepped off the podium, took his hand, and raised the two joined hands in the air.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Daniel Horowitz.”
Still the clapping continued and shouts of “Bravo!” Daniel bowed and smiled happily at his family. Cindy was still crying and Daniel knew she hadn’t stopped, but it gave him a sudden jolt to realize that his nana, poppa, and feter were crying too. He wanted to go to them, hug them, show them the violin, but Maestro Gomez still held his hand tightly. Finally it slowed down, and Rafael let him go and gestured for him to walk off, back to the doorway. He could see a woman waiting there with a bottle of water and a towel to wipe away the sweat.
Rafael turned back to the audience, now seated. He could feel their energy and enthusiasm matching his own racing heart.
“I won’t say, ‘I told you so,’ but it makes you glad, yes? Before he plays for us again, I want to tell you a little story. A few months ago I heard that Daniel wasn’t sure if he wanted to keep playing the violin. As I know all of you will appreciate, it takes a special level of dedication to play like that, and it is a hard thing, to be fourteen and have such incredible talent. But he is here tonight for a very special person in his life. Daniel’s poppa, Simon Horowitz, is sitting over there.”
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