Wolf Tones (Standalone Psychological Thriller)

by JJ Marsh

  He had an urge to emphasise that this move was in the opposite direction; they were going up. Yet even he could recognise their small step on the ladder was nothing compared to the almighty fall when her father’s company went into liquidation. His humming, whistling and non sequiturs such as ‘I can’t wait to see the new apartment’ fizzled into a workmanlike silence as they wrapped their belongings in newspaper and put them into cardboard boxes.

  A friend of hers – she always had such useful friends – loaned them a truck to transport their possessions from Bratislava to Salzburg. Those were the kind of favours she would accept while stubbornly refusing any kind of financial bailout. Rolf once asked her why she kept turning down such generous offers. “I mean, all they’re trying to do is help out a mate. I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t expect you to.”

  They locked up their apartment, dropped the key at the renting agent’s office and left Slovakia to cross the border into Austria on a sunny Saturday morning in April. To his surprise, she wanted to drive. His impression of her emotional state made him wonder if that was a good idea, but he said nothing and climbed into the passenger seat. Conversation was limited for the first couple of hours, but as the landscape changed, so did the mood. More than one of his observations elicited more than “hmmm” and she even offered one comment herself. Without asking him, she pulled in at a service station and they each bought a sandwich. On the way back to the truck, she said she’d had enough of driving and wanted to eat. It was time for him to take over.

  Two hours later, his anticipation reached fever pitch as they parked outside a two-storey townhouse with well-kept gardens and a row of neat wheelie bins lining the path like sentinels in greeting. They left the contents of their old apartment in the truck and went inside to explore their quarters. A shared front door opened into a hallway with a granny flat, laundry rooms and a door to the cellar. Upstairs was their new home, at least three times the size of their tiny little bolthole in Bratislava.

  The whole place had been renovated and decorated, and possessed every convenience he could wish for. She seemed impressed, opening doors, testing windows, checking out the view and testing the water pressure in the shower. “Not bad,” she said. “Not bad at all.”

  The orchestra provided basic furniture such as kitchen appliances, a bed, a sofa and a dining-table and chairs. Within two hours, he and Leonor had emptied the truck, dumped the boxes in their respective rooms and made love on the carpet.

  “We should eat something. Why don’t we look around the area and find a restaurant? We should celebrate,” he said, kissing her shoulder.

  Leonor stood up and went to the window at the rear of the apartment. “There’s a garden with a pergola down there. I’m going to have a shower. You go out, get us a takeaway and we’ll eat in the garden. Buy some wine – or better still, champagne. You can afford it now.”

  He heaved himself up on his elbows, instantly afraid of crossing boundaries. “I don’t know if we have access to the garden. It might belong to the bottom flat.”

  She turned to him, naked and silhouetted in the French windows to the balcony, her form statuesque. “Downstairs is just the granny flat. This is the main property. We damn well better have access. Get dressed! I’m hungry. And don’t forget the champagne!”

  He pulled on his underwear and his trousers, eager to spend the first night of their new life eating, drinking and appreciating their luck.

  Three streets away, he found a Thai restaurant offering takeaway packages. He ordered in passable German and asked if there was shop nearby where he could buy wine. The young girl behind the counter was helpful and patient and assured him he could get to the mini-market and back in the ten minutes it would take the kitchen to cook their order.

  Half an hour or so after he left, he unlocked the front door and ran upstairs, carrying a brown paper bag filled with containers of Thai curry and rice. In his right hand, he held a bottle of champagne. The apartment was empty so he went onto the balcony to see if she was there.

  Down in the garden, Leonor was sitting at a wrought-iron table, laughing with a young man. Rolf didn’t even know how to get into the garden.

  “Food is ready!” he shouted, brandishing the bag.

  She looked up and her face broke into a beautiful smile. “Bring it down here with plates and glasses. I want you to meet our neighbour.”

  The guy lifted his face and gave a salute. “Hi! My name is Anton, I live downstairs. I don’t want to intrude on your first night. Just wanted to say hello.”

  “Give me a minute.” Rolf collected two plates, two sets of cutlery and two glasses. The gesture was pointed. Tonight they did not want company. But when he got downstairs and found the door to the garden, he saw Leonor and Anton were already drinking cocktails from martini glasses.

  “Hi,” said Anton, saluting again.

  “Meet Rolf, the one I’ve been telling you about.”

  “Hello, Anton,” said Rolf, forcing a smile.

  Leonor took the bag and inhaled. “Mmm, I love Thai food. Would you like to join us? I’m sure we can stretch this for three.”

  Anton held up both palms. “Thank you, but no. I’ve already eaten and I really don’t like spicy food. I have a typical Austrian palate, I’m afraid. I’ll leave you in peace to enjoy your meal. Just so you know, there’s a house cat called Blue. He’s currently favouring my place, but changes his mind about where he sleeps quite frequently.”

  Leonor waggled a glass at Rolf. “Are you ever going to open that bottle? That’s fine with us, we love animals. Thanks for the martini. Cocktails before champagne, I could get used to Salzburg.” She laughed up at him with the sparkle in her eye she always used when she wanted to charm someone.

  Anton laughed with her, evidently spellbound. “Great to meet you and I’m so pleased to have friendly neighbours again. The last woman was a miserable old bag. Hey, do you two fancy going out for a drink next week? I could show you some local bars and warn you which ones to avoid.”

  Leonor tilted her face to Rolf, her mouth an O of delight. She was handing him the mic and he couldn’t see a way out.

  “That’s kind of you. It would be useful to learn a bit more about the area.” He twisted the bottle and the cork popped out. He poured the overflow straight into a wine glass, aware of Leonor’s giddy laughter.

  Anton took his cocktail glasses, wished them a good evening and went inside his own apartment. There was no sign of any cat.

  They emptied the cartons onto their plates, drank champagne and toasted their new start. As the twilight deepened and lights came on in the apartments on the other side of the hedge, their building remained in darkness. Presumably Anton had gone out for the evening. Why not? Young, not bad looking and obviously familiar with the local nightlife. What reason would he have to stay home? Rolf relaxed a little and let go of the feeling they were being watched.

  They spent Sunday morning arranging their new apartment to Leonor’s liking, ate a simple lunch of tinned goulash and walked out to enjoy the sunshine. Hand-in-hand, they strolled the streets, delighting in the blossoms and civic floral displays. Salzburg, in his mind, was clean and white. But his one and only visit had been in the wintry days of February. Now it was a riot of colour with green buds and grassy parks and flowers everywhere. The wide, muddy Salzach River flowed through the city, much like the Danube through the Slovakian capital, lending a sense of openness and light. Rolf had left Bratislava to come to Salzburg, but the river was headed in the opposite direction. The water rushing past his feet would continue its journey to the Danube, past his home town and eventually into the Black Sea.

  Selfies against the backdrop of the castle, a coffee and pastry, the obligatory visit to Mozart’s birthplace and a pause to listen to a string quartet in one of the many beautiful squares. It was almost too much to take in, although as far as the quartet was concerned, he had some doubts about the second violinist’s fingering technique. Street performers puzzle
d him. The casual interest of passers-by was nothing like the breathless attention of a concert hall audience. Rolf was relieved he’d never have to play in the street like a busker. Fine for these music students, of course. It was a way to cut their teeth, but not appropriate for a professional.

  They only covered a fraction of the old town before Leonor announced her feet were tired and it was time for dinner. Salzburg was nothing new for her and he had the impression she was underwhelmed. “I don’t feel like cooking this evening. Let me have one more day of normality before I become a Hausfrau bargain-hunting in the supermarket.”

  “You won’t have to hunt bargains any more. You can buy whatever you like.” He was exaggerating. His income would be modest until his probation period was over. If the orchestra hadn’t offered subsidised accommodation, their budget would have been barely more than what he used to earn as a jobbing musician. “Yes, buy whatever you like and make exotic feasts for when I get home from work.”

  “How exciting. After all, my whole ambition in life is to cook for a man. That café looks pretty. Look, they even have Marchfelder Spargel with Hollandaise!”

  His sense of being the breadwinner had made him tactless and he bit his tongue. Instead of telling her how their lives would change, he should let it happen and watch her pride in him bloom.

  The white asparagus cheered her up and she compared Salzburg with other Austrian cities. She’d been all over the country before, naturally, with family or friends, and had seen everything that was worth seeing. Rolf relaxed. They weren’t just here for twenty-four hours; they had months to explore and appreciate this august metropolis. It was their home now, and he was going to make a name for himself. Unless of course, he got fired in his first week. He shared the thought with Leonor, expecting her to laugh, but her expression darkened.

  “After uprooting me from the city of my birth and bringing me here as a trailing not-quite spouse, you’d better not.”

  They walked alongside the banks of the Salzach, both lost in thought. One of these days, he would learn to think before he spoke. No matter what he said, he had an infallible skill at spoiling the moment.

  “I won’t get fired, I promise you. They think I’m some kind of wunderkind, an image I intend to live up to. I’ll work hard, we’ll have time to soak up everything the city has to offer and you will be happy. That is my mission in life, to make you happy.”

  She caught his arm and turned him to face her, her eyes locked on his. “As missions go, that shouldn’t be too difficult.” She grasped his jaw with a firm hand and pulled his face to hers. The kiss, hungry, possessive and demanding, changed the mood. Her pupils dilated and he took her hand to return to the apartment, already wondering which room she would choose to christen next.

  Like all new couples, their energy for love-making had been inexhaustible in the beginning. Things had changed since moving into that shitty little apartment, working long hours to keep themselves afloat. They were both exhausted, dragged down by the demands of bills, four flights of stairs, intractable bosses and cold winter months. Things had changed before that, if he was honest. And it was all his fault. Their boundless curiosity for each other’s bodies had led to whispers in the dark, voicing their most intimate fantasies. At her encouragement, he told her that the thing which most excited him was also his worst nightmare. So she indulged him. They did it properly, agreeing on a safe word and spending tender moments afterwards, coming out of character.

  During those role-plays, she inflicted just enough pain to scare him. That combination of fear, lust and lack of control drove him crazy. He couldn’t get enough of it and eventually he took it too far. Switching roles didn’t interest her, but he wheedled and cajoled until she agreed, just once, to submit. That’s when it all went wrong. He forgot the safe word and kept going, even after he drew blood and she screamed. Afterwards, there was no tender moment, no reassurance, no sense of trust. She beat the shit out of him with her fists and feet and didn’t stop, even when he screamed. Rachmaninoff’s Preludes was the only music he listened to for weeks, assured the gentle solo piano pieces would not provoke her temper. Even in her fury, she’d been decent enough not to hurt his fingers.

  Nowadays, sex was on her terms and only when she was in an exceptional mood did she reach for his restraints. Rolf’s fantasies remained where they should have stayed in the first place – in his head. After a while they started listening to Strauss again but neither of them ever suggested Also sprach Zarathustra.

  4

  That first Monday morning in a new job was always going to be a steep learning curve, especially for a man who had little experience of regular work in a professional environment. Rolf’s colleagues were friendly and curious as to his history. The pretty young violinist from his audition showed him how to use the coffee machine and the trick with the lockers, reassuring him it happened to everyone. She gave him a bright smile and told him her name was Trudi, from Munich. They shook hands. He would have guessed her nationality right away. She had the solid, unshakeable air of a practical person who took no nonsense. Her face was striking, with wide-set blue eyes and a full mouth. He found himself watching her as she laughed with her fellow violinists, admiring her easy manner and the shape of her backside in black jeans.

  The rehearsal room was perfect. It had the kind of acoustics that make him want to sing, and even as he fought the urge to grab his cello and flee, he could not wait to take his place in front of the maestro. On the first day of the season, there were several newcomers just like him, standing shyly beside their instruments. This would be their first meeting, and nerves made everyone jumpy – even Rolf, the man who never got stage fright. Jurgen Wilk’s reputation was sharply imprinted in Rolf’s mind from all the hours he’d spent studying this orchestra, its achievements and Wilk’s reputation around the world. The idea of having such an imposing figure as his new boss was scary and thrilling. But he took his place with humility and smiles amongst his fellow players, channelling the positive, hard-working enthusiasm of a new boy.

  When Jurgen Wilk walked into the room, everyone stood up. He bowed and nodded a good morning to the entire room working from left to right. He greeted some individual members by name, welcoming them back from holiday and one from maternity leave. He spoke to each of the new members in turn and took his time moving around the room. It gave Rolf a few nervous moments to assess the man in his natural environment. He was tall and rangy, pacing like a hunter as he moved from one target to another. Dressed entirely in black, he stood out like a musical note on a white background. His hair was blonde and floppy, giving Rolf the impression of a young Andy Warhol.

  Finally, he stood in front of Rolf. Hands clasped in front of his stomach, he repeated the little bow with which he had greeted the entire room.

  “Welcome, Herr Jaro. I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance. I have heard very good things, both from the string section and from the recording you have made. I feel quite sure you will be an asset to the Salzburg City Orchestra.” His tone was perfectly modulated and his rhetoric designed to elicit enthusiasm.

  “That is a most generous welcome, maestro. I will do all in my power to survive your expectations and prove myself worthwhile to my fellow performers. To assume the position of a cellist with this orchestra is the climax of my life. Thank you.”

  A smattering of laughter then applause followed his little speech, during which he instantly realised he had made more than one glaring error in his English.

  Wilk gave a faint smile and inclined his head slightly before turning to his lectern. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, I would like you to familiarise yourselves with your schedule. The season commences this weekend and we will simultaneously be rehearsing for the grand opening in June. Rehearsals with your sections under your principals will take place Wednesday to Friday, with performances Friday and Saturday evenings, starting next week. Many of you will also be required to perform matinees or chamber quartets on Sunday afternoons. The plan on
the board outside this room indicates which room is assigned to which section. I wish you all a very good start to your week and here’s to making this the best season yet. Thank you.”

  Rolf got back to the apartment that night wretched and dejected. He kicked off his shoes in the hallway and leaned against the wall until he gathered sufficient courage to face Leonor. He found her in the kitchen, chopping various vegetables he’d never seen before. She saw his face and froze.

  “What is it?” she breathed.

  “It was a disaster. No, don’t pull that face, I’m not exaggerating. My timing was off, my fingering as loose as a schoolboy’s and I didn’t do myself any favours by taking criticism poorly. It was a disaster, Leonor. I’m not sure I’m good enough for this. The principal hates me, I can tell. Maybe it’s the Eastern European thing, I don’t know. But Sebastian Rahn picked on me from the very first bar until we finished rehearsals about half an hour ago. He was hard on other people as well, but most of his irritation and disappointment was focused on me.” He returned to the living room, placed the cello against the wall and slumped into an armchair.

  She said nothing for several minutes, continuing to clatter about in the kitchen. He rested his head in his hands and stared at the space between his feet, reliving every impatient sigh, tut and head shake. Leonor was by his side, with a cup of herbal tea. She sat on the arm of the chair and stroked his shoulders.

  “It was your first day, my love. There were bound to be teething problems.”