by JJ Marsh
He could hear voices. Presumably Leonor and her guests were sitting on the balcony.
The weather was changing fast and for the worse. Another thunderstorm was imminent. He decided to call a taxi. That way, he could leave the apartment, rush out the front door and into the waiting cab before the people upstairs became alerted to his presence. His hands trembled and he crouched behind the sofa, peering out of the front windows for the first sign of the cab. He heard steps coming down the stairs and lively chatter. As they drew closer to the granny flat, his bile rose and sweat covered his forehead. Leonor and two men were conversing in Russian. What the hell was she playing at? They exchanged friendly farewells, she shut the front door and skipped upstairs.
The guttural tones of Russian, spoken by men, still freaked him out. He started humming a childish song just to block out the memory of Sokolov’s voice. Out in the street, a movement caught his eye – a Mercedes indicating left. Rolf checked the spy hole, locked the apartment and ran out the main door before the taxi attracted any attention.
She was unlikely to be watching in this rain, but he was taking no chances. He told the driver the address and shuffled across the back seat out of sight of the upper floor. The taxi cruised down the street and indicated left. As they turned, Rolf saw a figure in a white T-shirt hunched under a small black umbrella, walking in the opposite direction. He rolled down the window and called out.
“Anton!”
The figure kept walking. With the storm and traffic, maybe he hadn’t heard a passing voice. Rolf asked the driver to stop. After much grumbling about timewasters, he pulled over. Rolf paid him and ran back through the rain towards Gerhardstrasse. When he arrived, the entire house stood in darkness against the downpour, lifeless and indifferent to the rattling thunderbolts. He waited a good twenty minutes under the bus shelter, but nothing happened. The house was silent as a grave.
22
After his shower on Friday morning, Rolf took his list and spread every item he needed for the evening on the bed, then packed it carefully into his suitcase. He was ready long before eight and decided to drink some coffee and eat some bread before the maestro emerged.
Unusually, Wilk was already in the kitchen, humming a melody from Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker. “And here he is, the one we’ve all been waiting for.”
Confused, Rolf glanced at his watch. “But you said eight o’clock! It’s only twenty minutes to eight.”
“Not me. The one the world is waiting for! A star cellist in the making. Come, let’s drink a coffee and eat some eggs. Are you hungry?”
It was so peculiar to find the maestro in the kitchen, in a good mood and uncharacteristically verbose that Rolf took a moment to catch up. “Thank you, maestro. I’m starving, in fact. I also have a question, if you don’t mind. It’s about my complimentary tickets for tonight. It occurred to me to offer them to Dieter Fitz and Susana Baia, but as Dieter is your godson, perhaps he’s already coming.”
Wilk raised his eyebrows. “That’s a very generous gesture. I intended to offer the family complimentary tickets at some point during the run, but chose to avoid the dress rehearsal. The reason being that I thought your girlfriend might be in attendance. That would be most awkward for Dieter, as you can imagine.”
“My God! There’s no way I want Leonor to have a ticket. I don’t want to see her, let alone have her attend a performance. She would put me off my stride, I know it.”
He nodded. “In that case, why don’t you offer Susana and Dieter a ticket to the public dress? I will offer two more tickets so a family member can accompany the young people. If he is sufficiently recovered and there is no danger of encountering Frau von Rosenheim, Dieter will enjoy it. Thank you for a most thoughtful gesture.”
“Terrific! I’ll shoot them a text right now.” Rolf searched his contacts for the names he needed and typed a clumsy message of invitation. When he raised his head from the screen, Wilk was watching him.
“Rolf Jaro. Much like Jun, Trudi, Anton and myself, you’re an outsider. I suppose that’s what draws us together. The in-crowd has never appealed to me. It’s far more fun to be with the ‘out’ crowd.”
“The ‘out’ crowd? Great expression. I wanted to ask you about that. Anton mentioned there was a story to tell about his demotion. He said Trudi, Jun and Bertrand were bored of hearing it and he was going to tell me that evening. But then the police arrived. Do you know what he was talking about?”
The maestro turned back to the eggs, speaking over his shoulder. “I don’t believe I do. Before my time, I expect.”
Rolf sent the text to the two families and pondered the maestro’s words.
Before his time? Wilk had been with the orchestra for three years and Anton’s fall from grace happened a year ago. For someone so habitually direct, that was an oddly evasive response. But Rolf dug no deeper.
“Those eggs smell terrific. I do appreciate your feeding as well as housing me. Perhaps not this weekend but next, can I invite you and Jun for a meal to demonstrate my gratitude? It’s funny, don’t you think? Next weekend seems a lifetime away. Almost as far away as last weekend.”
Wilk handed him a coffee. “Yes, during times of change and upheaval, time can be strangely elastic. Months, years condense themselves into a moment where one day or week can expand into a lifetime. To answer your question, I would be delighted to accept your invitation and I know Jun would not wish to miss it either.” His calm expression invited confidence. “Could you slice us some bread?”
The eggs were perfect, as was the coffee. The two men cleared up after their breakfast and set off in the Volvo, Wilk chatting cheerfully about interpretations of brunch, the evening ahead, the weather forecast for the weekend and his relationship with Mozart.
“For a musician, and I’m sure you appreciate this, it’s like having an overbearing patriarch. A parent who has been successful in his or her field casts a long shadow over future generations of musicians. In no other city is that as true as in Salzburg. His influence, his music and his spirit are everywhere, impossible to ignore. This is why I rarely include a Mozart composition in the summer festival. At least in the official programme.” He gave him a knowing look, then continued. “I encourage the chamber ensembles to play the crowd-pleasers but the City Orchestra is different. Our commitment, our passion is essentially the same as that of Wolfgang Amadeus. He too wanted to bring music forward, to experiment, to stretch the imagination and the tolerance of his audience. Unfortunately, not all of his contemporaries appreciated this, particularly those of status. Today, it is much the same. Hence I would never dare list a Mozart piece in our programme unless it underwent such a radical makeover as our encore. People like to be surprised, but only if expectations are met in the first place. Our little surreal version will round off the programme with a perfect nod to the beginning and the majority won’t even realise they’re hearing Mozart. I sense your questioning glance, Herr Rolf Jaro. You see me as an autocrat who is enforcing his orchestral vision beyond permitted boundaries. Not true. I just employ a little psychological trickery to enrich the audience’s experience. We’re not just here to entertain, but also to inspire – and a little provocation at the right moment will achieve said aim precisely. I know what I’m doing, don’t you worry. My mantra still stands – in order to break the rules you first have to master them. On a side note, I would like to say that I think you already have. If all goes as I hope it will, tonight will be a vindication of us both.”
The nerves in Rolf’s stomach made it impossible for him to respond with a similar speech, so he restricted himself to saying, “That’s very generous of you, maestro. I will do everything I can to make us proud. Isn’t that Jun?”
A slight figure in sunglasses was slipping through the entrance of the Konzerthalle, her hand lifted in an uncertain wave. Rolf waved back but she’d gone. They descended into the underground garage and Wilk gave his formal bow and wished Rolf a good day, leaving him to retrieve his suitcase and cello.
They broke for lunch and Rolf asked Jun to help him learn how to do his own bowtie. The plan was to grab a sandwich and practise in Jun’s dressing room. Rolf took a detour to use the bathroom and agreed to meet Jun at the stage door. When he got there, she was yet to arrive. He waited for the guy on the stage door to finish a call so he could ask if there were any messages. But the moment he noticed him, he jerked a thumb to the exit. Rolf understood. Jun must be waiting outside. He swiped his way out of the building and froze. Waiting outside, in a white linen suit, was Leonor von Rosenheim.
“Please, Leonor, this is not a good moment,” he said, in a voice barely above a whisper.
She gave him a look of such tender sympathy he wanted to turn around and hide in the Konzerthalle, somewhere she couldn’t get at him.
“I know you must be busy. I’ll keep it short, I promise. But Rolf, there’s something you should know. It’s important. Please, just hear me out. Then I will leave you in peace, I promise. Let’s go sit in the park.”
Rolf chewed his lip and glanced over his shoulder at the stage door. A movement one floor up caught his attention and he saw Jun looking down at him, her hands clasped in concern.
“We’d better make this quick. I only have half an hour.” He strode in the direction of the park.
“I understand. This won’t take long. I brought you some lunch.” She handed him a sealed package of sandwiches as if she’d just taken it from a supermarket shelf.
“I’ve eaten, thanks. Maybe I’ll save it for later. What was it you wanted to say, Leonor? I can do without any extra dramas today.”
“Extra dramas? Oh yes, it’s the public dress rehearsal tonight! I’d forgotten, I’m sorry. Well, I wish you all the success in the world and I know you’ll be wonderful. But I hope this will be your last season in Salzburg. This is not the right place for you, Rolf, I know it. For months now, I’ve been corresponding with my contact in the US. He could get you into the Chicago City Orchestra string section. Tutti to begin with, of course, but he’s impressed by what you’ve achieved and believes you could be one of the principals. Think about it, Rolf. Chicago. That’s what you call real prestige.” Her face was fresh and hopeful, her expression affectionate.
He wanted to trust her. It would be the easiest thing in the world to believe what she said. “With a little help from Hofmeister, I assume?”
She dipped her head as if chastened and led him into the park. They sat on a bench between buskers which suited Rolf as their conversation could not be overheard.
“Listen, Rolf. That’s not all. Last night, I lay awake for hours wondering whether to tell you what I learned about the City Orchestra management and Jurgen Wilk.” She gave a bitter laugh through her nose. “The bitch in me said I should just leave and let you find out for yourself. But the woman who loves you prevailed. There’s no way I can leave you to circumstances such as these. That’s why I came to meet you today and offer you an escape route. Whether you take it or not is up to you.”
Rolf narrowed his eyes. Now everybody and their aunt were taking him under their wings and he found it humiliating. “As far as escaping goes, I think I’m doing pretty well. Sorry, Leonor, but today is important to me and I don’t have time or energy for any of your mind games.” He stood up to leave.
She spoke. “Their operation is the same set-up as Sokolov.”
Rolf froze and opened his mouth, but she continued talking.
“They seek talented young individuals like yourself, like Jun Takei, like Anton Berger. They extol their talents and groom them, inveigling their way into every aspect of the musicians’ lives. The board, the sponsors and even the maestro himself are part of this organisation. Starry-eyed youngsters are lured into relationships with one or other of the puppet-masters, then passed around between them. When everyone has taken a turn, the victims are either cut loose or recruited as procurers. I know this is shocking, I was horrified myself until I learned that amongst others, Trudi Schneider and Anton Berger work as agents for this sex ring. You and I were targeted from the beginning. I take no pride in telling you I refused a sexual liaison with our downstairs neighbour, despite his insistence. Sadly, you fell for it – and in a way, I understand why. You are naïve and far too trusting. Through my contacts, I learned that the management and board of the orchestra are serial abusers. Not all of them, it’s only a small cabal of perverts – one of whom is Jurgen Wilk.”
Rolf faced her, shaking his head. “I’ve been performing with these people for months and I know who to trust. The only pervert I met was through you...”
“Hofmeister is only the tip of the iceberg, I understand that now. Everything that happened makes sense all of a sudden, don’t you see?”
“I have no idea what I’m seeing, Leonor. Am I the crazy one or is it you?”
He flinched as she took his hands in hers. “It’s not us, it’s them. The way they approach it is simple. Stage one, they put a wedge between us. That was pretty effective, you can’t deny. Then they go in for the kill. I’ll bet they have already pinned all sorts of horrible stories on me. Don’t tell me, Rolf, I daren’t think about how far they will go. They separate us to make us weaker. Together, we’re more powerful than they can imagine, especially if they think all is going to plan.”
Rolf stared at her.
She smiled and nodded frantically. “We’ll double-cross them. Hofmeister is strategically important, and he will be the one that tips the scales in Chicago. I have him almost where I need him, it’s practically done. Once the contract is ready, we’re off. But before this, we must plan our every move – in total secrecy.”
His mind spiralled, unable to trust the ground under his feet.
She placed her hands on his shoulders. “Go now. Live up to your reputation as a player. I will do the rest, and next week we’ll be sitting in First Class seats on American Airlines. We can slip the net. Just don’t let them drip poison in your ear. Be alert, watch your back. They have a small army of helpers who aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty. I can’t protect you during the next days as we must keep the illusion alive, but I’ll feed you information. You’re strong enough for this, Rolf. We’re strong enough.”
With that, she clasped his right hand, drew it to her lips and kissed it. Then she left, leaving him on the bench, holding a packet of sandwiches. He made his way out of the park as if he’d just woken up, threw the sandwiches in a litter bin and got back to work.
Rehearsals ended at four-thirty for the orchestra as a whole, although the maestro asked at least three musicians if they would return to the stage at the times he specified. To Rolf’s relief, he was not one of them. Neither were Jun or Trudi. The three of them decided to get a salad and retire to an unused dressing room for a debrief.
His best option was to be economical with the truth. Repeating the accusations Leonor had made would cause upset and outrage. With fewer than two hours to go before the concert began, that was not a good idea.
“She wants me to go to Chicago. Prestigious, she says. I’m not sure I even believe anything she says anymore – not that it matters, as I’m convinced my place is here. She threw one last mudsling against this orchestra. Classic Leonor. She has to have the last word.”
Trudi and Jun exchanged
a glance. “What sort of mudsling?” Trudi asked.
Jun stopped eating and watched Rolf carefully.
“She wasn’t specific. All she did was allude to corruption at board level. She didn’t have details. My focus for this weekend is on the orchestra. Perhaps next week, I can think about returning to my apartment and considering where I place my trust.” He caught their startled expressions. “I mean in a romantic sense, you know that. Without you two as friends and the maestro as mentor, I would be lost.”
“Yeah, we know that,” said Trudi, blunt as ever. “What interests me is what kind of mud she’s slinging at the orchestra’s board. Is this typical tabloid chuck-crap-and-see-what-sticks, or does she have any kind of information? It’s something I’d like to know, as would Anton. He’s always spoken out against financial interests superseding artistic vision and he has a theory …”
“Trudi,” Jun interrupted. “Now is not the time. It’s ten past five and we have just over an hour to dress and prepare for this evening’s performance. We need to talk about what Rolf just told us, but let’s leave it until Sunday at the earliest. Rolf, thank you for confiding in us, and I want to say on a personal note, well done. Walking away from an abusive relationship is the hardest thing anyone can do. You are very brave.”
They took their empty salad packages and left the room, Trudi punching him lightly on the shoulder. He appreciated the gesture. It was good to know they understood. He intended to shower and change and spend a while warming up. His own past and uncertain future must all take a backseat. He was still on probation so had everything to play for in order to earn his permanent position. Tonight, his first public performance with the whole Salzburg City Orchestra, he intended to do them proud.