by JJ Marsh
Rolf swallowed his misery. “We have no choice.”
The door buzzer sounded for several seconds, an insistent demand. Anton’s eyes widened and Rolf’s heart was in his mouth. She couldn’t find them together; that would be unbearable. Without a word, Rolf jerked his head at the French windows and escaped into the garden. He pressed himself against the wall, straining to hear the voices within the apartment, but they were too far away at the front door. Then he heard Anton’s voice, coming in his direction.
“… because if you can give me no idea of how long this is going to take, I need to make some arrangements. I’m afraid I have no experience of being questioned by the police. That’s why I must make sure the house is secure and leave the spare key with my neighbours so they can feed my cat.” The French windows closed. Rolf crept along the lawn to the garden door and ran up the stairs to his own apartment. After several minutes, he heard footsteps climbing the stairs and a polite rap came at the front door. He opened it immediately to see Anton’s fearful glance down at the hallway.
“Hello, Rolf, sorry to disturb you. It seems one of my pupils has accused me of inappropriate behaviour.” He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, ridiculous, I know. But I have to go with the police to answer some questions. Would you mind keeping an eye on the cat? Here’s my spare key and you know what to feed him. I’ll let you know as soon as I can when I’ll be home. Thanks.”
The policemen were out of Rolf’s sightline. He mouthed ‘What the fuck?’ with his hands open in enquiry. Anton replied with a shrug, handed over the key and went back downstairs.
Through the window, Rolf watched two officers escorting Anton from the building to an unmarked car. He sat there until darkness fell, staring at the street and trying to comprehend what had just happened. Anton’s words echoed again and again around his head. It seems one of my pupils has accused me of inappropriate behaviour. Leonor had mentioned something connected with Dieter. It was impossible. Anton was great with kids, relaxed and fun, and he was a really good teacher. He was on the organisation committee for the children’s festival, for God’s sake. There was no way he would do something to make a child feel uncomfortable. It had to be a mistake, a misunderstanding or deliberate slander. Rolf’s own words returned and he curled his hands into fists. Please don’t think I’m being dramatic, Anton, I’m not. She’s capable of revenge.
Nine o’clock came and went and still Leonor did not return. Rolf took a cup of tea onto the balcony and spotted Blue prowling along the hedge. He went downstairs, checked the cat had food and water and made sure the cat flap was unlocked. He was coming out of Anton’s apartment when the front door opened and Leonor came in.
Her eyes narrowed. “What were you doing in there?” she demanded.
“Checking on the cat. The police took Anton and he asked if I could keep an eye on Blue.”
“The police? What for?”
Rolf shook his head, weary to his bones of worry and stress. “I don’t know exactly, but one of his pupils seems to have made an allegation. He should be home soon and we can ask him.”
A strange expression crossed her face. “How do you know he’ll be home soon?”
“It’s almost ten o’clock. Surely they won’t keep him much longer?”
“Depends on how serious the allegations are. Have you eaten?”
“Yes, hours ago. How come you’re so late back from the stables?”
She gave him a flirtatious look. “I wasn’t at the stables. I had something far more important to do. Come upstairs and I’ll tell you all about it.”
He followed her up the stairs, already resigned to the fact he would not be having The Conversation tonight. It would keep until tomorrow and they had the weekend to talk things through.
She hung her bag on the coat rack. “Close the windows, I don’t want anyone overhearing this conversation. This is our moment.”
Rolf closed the windows, wondering who on earth could overhear them while their only neighbour was in police custody. She was in the kitchen, doing something with ice cubes.
“Leonor, I’m exhausted and worried and tomorrow’s going to be a challenge. I could do without any more drama. Will you just tell me what you want to say?”
She came out of the kitchen with two flutes. “A toast! To the next chapter in our lives!”
He hesitated, weighed down by the enormity of things unsaid. “We need to talk, Leonor. I mean, properly. But it’s late and I don’t want anything to drink. That’s part of the problem.”
“You got that right! Drink, my darling, because this will be the last for a long time.” Her voice became threatening. “Rolf, I made you a champagne cocktail and I want you to drink it.”
His mind played a speeded-up video of what would happen if he refused. He took the glass.
“One glass and then I’m going to bed.”
She laughed, a brittle ironic sound. “The dog scents the rabbit! Patience, mon brave, because you’re going to work on your timing. Chin, chin!” She slugged at least half of her glass.
Rolf took a sip, his mind attempting to solve the puzzle of her side of the conversation. “Let’s talk tomorrow night, OK? I’m not in the mood tonight.”
She came closer to run a finger down his cheek. “You’re nervous and so am I. But we’re a great team and can do anything if we put our minds to it. Drink up!”
He drank, the dryness of the bubbles sweetened by something floral. After having eaten nothing more than a handful of raw veg, it went straight to his head. “Where have you been if not at the stables?” The minute he asked, he wished he hadn’t.
“At my specialist’s surgery.” She gave him her softest smile. “According to the doctors, I’m fertile, in great physical shape and if I want to get pregnant, we can start as soon as we like. How about that for fabulous news?”
He stared at her in bewilderment, his brain fizzing in confusion. He walked away and opened the balcony door, inhaling deeply. His intention was genuinely to get some fresh air but he couldn’t help looking to see if the lights were on downstairs. They weren’t. He emptied his glass, reeling from this latest blindside. His instincts told him to run and not look back. Do not engage!
“Rolf, darling, are you OK? You don’t look so good.”
“Why are you doing this to me?” he asked, his voice low. “What sort of fucked-up game are you playing?”
She took a step towards him and he jerked away. The sudden movement made him dizzy.
“Relax, will you? I was just going to check your temperature. You look a little feverish. Sit down, my love. Please? You’re worrying me.” She eased him into a dining chair and placed a hand on his neck. That was the last thing he remembered.
14
The sound of Rolf’s phone woke him from the deepest of sleeps. His eyes were painfully dry and scratchy. Squinting at the screen hurt. The caller was Leonor. He looked over his shoulder and saw he was in their bedroom. Her side was empty. He took the call.
“You are awake! I just wanted to make sure you are up and on your way to the orchestra. You were dead to the world when I left. Darling, it’s ten past eight and you are due at the Konzerthalle at nine o’clock. Hurry up, jump in the shower and if you take the bus you might just make it.”
Rolf shoved back the duvet and swung his legs out of bed. Dizzy and disoriented, he could barely form a sentence. “Where are you? What happened?”
From her end of the line came an exasperated sigh. “It’s Friday morning, Rolf. Where do you think I am? At the conservatoire, of course! You know I teach here all day on Fridays. I have to go, my first class is about to start. Get yourself in the shower and go to work! I’ll see you this evening, around half past six. I love you.” She rang off before Rolf could reply.
Whatever he’d been drinking last night, he would never touch it again. Bands of pain pulsed around his skull and the bedroom was blindingly bright. With his hands over his eyes, he stumbled to the bathroom and without putting on the light, got into the shower.
His whole body ached as if he’d been fighting. With numb fingers, he switched on the water and lifted his head to let the spray cascade over his face and into his mouth. Several minutes passed and without using shampoo or shower gel, he switched the water off again.
He found his robe by patting his hands along the wall in darkness until he located the towel rail. There was no way on earth he would make it to the Konzerthalle in the next hour. He needed to drink something fizzy and sweet. With a deep breath, he slid back the bathroom door, wincing at all the illumination. The curtains were flung open, all the lights were on, including the bedside lamps, making the place feel like a film set. Shading his eyes, he switched off all the lights and half drew the curtains. Why would she leave all the lights on?
First priority, drink something. His mouth was drier than a sand dune. Next on the agenda, call Trudi or Jun and explain he would be late. He dropped his phone into the pocket of his robe and headed for the fridge. Hopefully, something in the kitchen would remind him of what happened last night because his mind was a blank.
He found a litre bottle of Coke in the fridge and poured half of it into a glass. He sat at the kitchen table and drank it steadily, like a man drinking his medicine. It was a long time since he’d experienced a hangover like this, but his misspent youth had taught him how to deal with the effects of overindulgence. When things got this bad, the best you could hope for was to vomit, emptying your stomach of any remaining toxins yet to be digested. But the Coca-Cola did not trigger the urge to throw up; it just added a caffeine tremble to his existing shakes. How the hell was he supposed to play cello in this state? There was nothing for it but to take morning off and claim a stomach bug.
He emptied the glass and reached for his phone. The screen made no sense. The time display in the middle was wrong. The date was correct, but Leonor had called him at least half an hour ago and she’d said it was ten past eight. So why was his phone saying 06.47? He blinked stupidly at it for a second and then glanced at the kitchen clock. Ten to seven. In the living room, the smart TV showed the time as 06.48. He turned on the television and watched a few minutes of the morning news. The display at the bottom right hand of the screen said 06.48. Rolf returned to the bedroom and opened his bedside drawer. Inside was his wristwatch, which informed him it was ten minutes to seven.
He sat heavily on the bed, resting his head in his hands and checked his phone. The last incoming call had been from Leonor at 06.20. His muddled head raised another concern. He knew Leonor’s routine. She only taught at the conservatoire on Wednesdays. On Mondays and Fridays she taught private lessons at home. Tuesdays and Thursdays she went to the stables. Why would she call him before the conservatoire even opened on a day she didn’t teach there and tell him her first class was about to start? He pressed his fingers to his eyes, willing himself to remember what had happened the evening before.
Start from the beginning, he told himself. Yesterday was Thursday. The orchestra played well in the morning, the string section a tight unit. At lunch they had a picnic in the park with Anton. Anton! A flurry of images erupted from his dormant consciousness like birds startled from the undergrowth. The package. The underwear. A pair of talented twins. The police. Blue. And then Leonor coming home with some news. They had a row … but what about? They had definitely argued, he remembered that much, but about what? It wasn’t Anton, he was sure. So what was it? He dismissed the concern. If it was important, she would bring it up again. Far more crucially, the police had taken Anton in for questioning about some accusation made by a pupil.
Rolf threw off his robe and dragged on jeans and a T-shirt. Barefoot, he went downstairs and rang the bell at Anton’s apartment. No answer. Using the key he’d been given, he unlocked the door and went inside. He knew immediately the place was empty, but checked every room just in case Anton had returned in the night and fallen asleep. Blue was curled up in his basket by the French windows but raised his head to give Rolf an appraising look. Rolf found the cat biscuits and shook a few into his bowl, but Blue wasn’t yet hungry as he curled his nose back under his forepaw. Rolf checked the cat flap was open and the water bowl was full then left the apartment, locking it behind him.
Upstairs, he got dressed ready for work and on a whim, slid out Leonor’s underwear drawer. The gun in the plastic bag had gone.
He couldn’t face coffee. Instead, he drank the remaining Coca-Cola and made himself two fried eggs on a piece of toast. His head was buzzing with questions and confusion. All he could do was rely on routine. Go to work, play the cello, have lunch and then try to work out how to deal with the approaching weekend. Because one thing was certain, the shit was going to hit the fan.
Although he’d been woken two hours before he’d needed to be out of bed, Rolf still managed to be a few minutes late for the beginning of rehearsals. Everything seemed to take twice as long as usual, even down to tying his shoelaces. When he was eventually ready, he put on his sunglasses to deflect the morning glare and paced up the street, ignoring the bus stop. Part of him could not bear to see any of Anton’s pupils, not knowing which one had made an accusation. He had gone twenty paces past the stop when he realised there was something missing. He had actually left for orchestra practice without his cello. He ran back to the apartment, rushed upstairs and grabbed his cello case. The case swung open and Rolf only just managed to catch his instrument before it crashed to the floor. Adrenalin shot through him. Why would his cello case be open? He always, always closed it carefully and checked the clasps were secure. He placed it back inside and noticed his bow was upside down. Someone had been into his case. What the hell for? He had no time to worry about that now and hurried in the direction of the Konzerthalle.
As a result, he arrived hot and sweaty and feeling almost as sick as when he first woke up. His own discomforts preoccupied the majority of his attention so it took a few minutes to pick up on the atmosphere inside the rehearsal room. The whispering and hushed discussions Rolf initially attributed to himself until he saw Trudi and Jun’s miserable expressions. He just managed to take his seat before the maestro entered the room, his face whiter than he’d ever seen it. Trudi’s face was stained with tears, but Rolf could not even formulate a question.
The maestro spoke. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen of the orchestra. As many of you know, we received distressing news this morning. Our colleague, Anton Berger, has been arrested after allegations of inappropriate behaviour towards a child.” In response to the chorus of gasps and exclamations of protest, he held up a hand. “Of course, each of us has faith in our colleague’s integrity and rightly so. One is always innocent until proven guilty. That said, Herr Berger’s association with the younger element, such as the children’s orchestra will throw a great deal of unwanted attention in our direction. News like this can destabilise the most resilient amongst us. Therefore, I beg you for unity. None of us shall speak to the press. Should any sponsor or member of the board approach you for comment, direct them to our press spokesman. A handy phrase to remember would be ‘No comment’. Colleagues, we have less than a week until our public dress rehearsal. I entreat you to put this unfortunate circumstance from your minds and concentrate on our programme. All smaller performances including those of quartets are cancelled until further notice. Fortitude, resilience, strength. These will be our watchwords in the next week. My request to you is to support one another and realise your own potential. We are professionals and, to use the old cliché, the show must go on.”
Around the orchestra, players exchanged concerned glances but picked up their instruments and prepared to rehearse. Rolf looked at his sheet music, focusing his attention on a bass clef. He stared at it as if it were a hypnotic circle drawing him into a protective vortex. He straightened his spine and placed his faith in the music. Everything else in his life would have to wait. He put aside the pain in his head, ignored the tingling in his fingertips and lifted his bow. He was ready to perform.
The day lasted seventy-two hours, if
not more. The morning was excruciating and Rolf’s playing worse than amateurish. He was not the only one. The entire string section, including concertmaster René, had lost their sense of timing, and even when they got it right it was a mechanical rendering of the notes on page. In exasperation, the maestro released them early for lunch and advised going out into the sunshine to clear their minds. They did as they were bidden, at least the going-outside part. Rolf made sure he took his sunglasses as the midday light seemed unusually harsh. Conversations circled like a Möbius strip, unable to deviate from their repeated assertions.
“I’ve known him for years. There’s absolutely no way he would do such a thing.”
“Of course not! I saw him conduct two pieces at last year’s Children’s Festival. He is fantastic with young people.”
“Kids often get the wrong idea and say something that can be misinterpreted. I’m sure when the police get to the bottom of this, Anton will be cleared of any wrongdoing.”
Bertrand was the first to inject a doubt. “We all know Anton well as a friend. But how well do we know him as a man?”
A furious defence leapt into Rolf’s mouth but Trudi got there first.
“Don’t be so stupid! Anton is a friend and colleague we trust. Accusations of paedophilia are the last resort of the desperate. Someone wants to harm him and in most underhand possible way. We know he’s not fussy about sexual partners – he says so himself – but they are all consenting adults. Anyway, that is irrelevant. Anton is one of the most principled and compassionate people I know. He is innocent. What I want to know is the name of the nasty little shit who made the accusation.”
Jun nodded, making a noise of agreement. “You’re right. My worry is that Anton already upset the board once and got demoted. This is their opportunity to get rid of him completely. Even if he’s declared innocent and completely exonerated, it makes no difference. He’s going to get fired and nobody can stop it. Not us, not the maestro, no one.”