Shadow Music

by Elisabeth Rose

  Nina sat beside Martin, quiet, tired, and disappointed at being unable to catch glimpses of famous London landmarks through the traffic and the rain. The trip from Singapore had been exhausting after a delayed departure, and the last part, when their destination appeared finally within reach, had been particularly bumpy and nerve-wracking as they flew into the atrocious London weather. She yawned so widely her eyes watered.

  She wanted to lie down and sleep for hours in a warm comfortable bed. Sleep and dream. A tingle of excitement penetrated the mist of weariness. Piers waited here for her, aware of their proximity, encouraged and pleased they were in England.

  But Piers didn’t like Martin’s insistence on knowing what she was thinking. She didn’t like it. But she needed Martin still, needed him to help her help Piers. Nina caught herself at that thought, frowning. Where had that come from? Needed Martin still? As if she were using him. Thoughts like that flew into her head at random as if someone else was thinking for her.

  She glanced at Martin and smiled as he turned his head. His mouth curved in that familiar, special way, his eyes were loving and kind, albeit surrounded by fatigue lines. He stretched out his hand and touched her cheek and she tilted her head to rest it on his open palm. He leaned over and kissed her gently, letting his lips linger on hers softly.

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  She smiled. She would be safe with Martin.

  The taxi pulled up with a jerk and they bundled out into the sleet and wind. Martin’s flat was down a flight of steps behind iron railings in a typical row of English terrace houses. The dark green front door flew open as they staggered down the steep, rain-slick steps with their luggage.

  A large, red-haired Viking boomed, “Welcome to civilisation. Man, you’ve got a tan.”

  He grabbed Martin in a rough bear hug then took Nina’s suitcase and kissed her warmly on both cheeks, his whiskers tickling her face. She caught a glimpse of a poky cream-painted room with a dull red sofa, a table and chairs and a blue curtain across one corner.

  “Hello Sven. This is Nina,” said Martin.

  “Man, I thought you’d turned into an Aussie by now. A kangaroo.” Sven dumped Nina’s bag through a door which must be to the only bedroom. “So.” He spread his arms wide. “Is it clean enough for you?” He winked at Nina who managed a feeble smile, too tired to do much else. “I make tea.” He pulled the blue curtain aside to reveal a tiny kitchenette.

  “Where’s the bathroom, Martin?”

  He indicated the bedroom. “Through there. It’s not much, Nina. Nothing like your place.” He yawned and blinked his eyes open. “Sorry.”

  “Stop worrying.” She went to investigate the facilities.

  Martin hadn’t exaggerated. The toilet and a half size bath only just fitted into the miniscule space. Sven had cleaned as well as he could but Nina suspected the brown stains on the porcelain of both were permanent. And like the other two rooms it was cold. Not just the normal chill but a bone freezing, damp coldness that oozed from the walls. Like a tomb.

  When she re-entered the living room Sven and Martin sat at the table drinking tea and talking. Sven poured her a mug from a brown china pot and Nina took it gratefully, cupping her hands around the warmth.

  “Cold?” asked Martin.

  Nina nodded. “It’s freezing.”

  “Sven doesn’t feel the cold. He’s from Sweden and he thinks this is balmy and warm. If the sun shines he puts shorts on.” Martin stood up. “I’ll light the gas fire.”

  Sven took a noisy slurp from his mug. “How is it in Sydney? Goot? You get plenty sun there, I bet.”

  “It was stinking hot,” said Martin, sitting again. He looked at Nina. “Sven said Jessica called me.”

  “Ja. An old lady. She sounded like my Oma.”

  “When? Recently?” asked Nina.

  “Two weeks ago, maybe. You call her she said.”

  “I will,” said Martin. “First thing tomorrow. We need sleep now.”

  “And I go. I have a gig tonight.” Sven standing up towered over them both. “I have a regular gig now. Two nights at a restaurant. Piano trio. Is goot.”

  “Excellent. Thanks for house-sitting, Sven. Where are you living now?” Martin opened the door to let Sven out. A blast of icy damp air rushed in.

  “Upstairs. Top floor. I move from the cellar to the attic.” He laughed. “Franz begged me to move in when that weird guy moved out.”

  Martin rolled his eyes. “I bet. What weird guy? Jeffrey isn’t weird. He’s an accountant.”

  “Weird, man. Wore a suit and carried a brief case. Nice to meet you, Nina.” Sven waved through the window as he went up the steps.

  Martin went back to sit opposite Nina at the table.

  “Warmer now?” he asked. “We’ll have to get you a better coat.” Nervous now that they were alone and Nina could see the true squalor of his living conditions.

  The little gas heater gave out a pitiful glow, struggling against the arctic chill of the basement. She nodded and kept her fingers curved around the mug of tea. She yawned. She hadn’t commented at all. He had no idea what she was thinking.

  “I think Sven made the bed with clean sheets. I’ll check. I think I’ve a hot water bottle somewhere. Don’t know why but I’m pretty sure there’s one in a cupboard in the bedroom.”

  He got up and hurried through the inner door. After a rummage about in the bottom of the wardrobe he came up with a green rubber hot water bottle.

  “Would you like a bath?” he asked. “No shower I’m afraid. I’ll just fill this and stick it in the bed then it’ll be nice and warm when you get in.”

  Nina stood up and walked over to Martin. She took the floppy green bottle out of his hands, tossed it onto the table and put her arms around him, holding him tight and resting her head on his chest.

  “Shut up, Martin.” She stretched up to kiss him. “Let’s go to bed and keep each other warm. I could sleep for a week.”

  They snuggled together in the warmth of Martin’s bed with Nina wearing woollen socks and an extra t-shirt under her warmest pyjamas.

  “Why do you think Jessica called you?” she murmured, eyes closed, mind drifting into sleep.

  He didn’t reply and she thought he was asleep, but he said, “Maybe she found those missing parts.”

  “Call her tomorrow.” Her words faded and she wasn’t sure she’d spoken aloud or in her sleep.

  “You are here. You’re close to me. You have come to me.”

  “Yes,” breathed Nina.

  Piers stood before her, dark eyes glittering and those sensual lips inviting passion and seduction. His habitual loose white shirt was carelessly open at the throat, revealing the tight curled dark hair covering his chest. Dark pants belted with a thick leather strap and a distinctive silver buckle she hadn’t noticed before. He held out his hand.

  Nina took it, moving straight into his arms, into his embrace, his lips on hers, her body pressed against his, feeling his desire hard against her, senses reeling, overwhelmed.

  “You’re mine,” he murmured. “Mine.”

  “Yes, yes.”

  “You must do what I want. You must follow the path. Follow the music. The Shadow Music. The key of life. For me.”

  He kissed her again and she was falling out of control, spinning and whirling into an abyss. She flung out her arms to clutch onto him as she fell, to grasp Piers to save herself from the blackness.

  “Piers,” she screamed. “Save me! Save me!”

  The pitch black was cold. Deathly cold. Arms encircled her. Piers’ arms, holding her, comforting her, his voice whispering words of love. She sobbed. Great heaving, gasping sobs of relief. She clung to him as he lay her down, felt the warmth as he pulled covers over her, felt his body lying next to hers, his arms around her, his lips on her face, his lips on hers. The sobs died away as she succumbed to his love and her body responded to his touch.

  Martin woke first the next day. Nina slept on, her face childlike and inn
ocent on the pillow. He watched her as she lay beside him. He wondered. Wondered what had happened last night. Wondered if she would remember. Wondered if she would tell him. Wondered if she knew she had made love not to him last night but to Piers.

  And he was afraid with bone-chilling fear. Afraid for them both.

  Her abrupt mood changes in Australia had seemed unconscious, as if she wasn’t aware it was happening. Then today, in the taxi, when heʼd told her he loved her, sheʼd offered a mysterious smile, but didn’t reply in kind. That was unsettling in its own way. But it was the other times that truly frightened him. The times when he questioned the value of continuing their bizarre mission. Then she clearly changed, or was taken over. If he was to protect her as he had promised himself and her father, he would have to stay close by her side.

  But how could he protect her if Piers came to her in her dreams? Dreams which had been strong in Sydney but which now if last night was any indication came with more strength and power. He knew she hadn’t meditated; neither of them had since they’d left Sydney and they literally hadn’t been apart, but Piers didn’t need that assistance to make contact with Nina anymore. Nor did he need the music.

  He shuddered to think what effect meditation and the Shadow Music combined would have now, here in England. They were clinging to a raft in a swollen river, powerless to change course, unable to get off, at the mercy of the torrent. They had to stick together or they’d be swept away. Nina must understand that. But how could he warn her without triggering that explosion of fury? Not her fury but Piers’ fury channelled through her.

  Martin eased out of bed slowly, pulled on socks and a pullover and went into the bathroom. Now more than ever he missed the luxury of a shower but he stuck the plug in the bath and turned the hot tap on full blast. Then to the kitchen to boil the jug for tea and light the gas fire. He squinted out the window and up the steps to the little patch of sky visible between the railings and the footpath overhead. Grey and dismal. Depressing in its rain-soaked dullness. Oh, for Sydney and the sun, sitting in Nina’s small back garden with Soda curled at his feet and a cold beer on the table.

  He padded back to check the bath water, turned off the hot tap, added cold water and then stripped and hopped in quickly before the cold air penetrated his skin. Neither the size of the tub nor the temperature of the bathroom was conducive to lying and soaking, so he soaped up vigorously and washed the travel staleness from his body, concentrating on the task at hand, trying not to think. Unsuccessfully.

  The big question kept circling like an eagle waiting for its prey to make a dash for safety, ready to pounce. What to say to Nina? She was increasingly touchy. Like a lover not wanting to hear anything against the beloved. What could he say to her? How could he voice his fear without getting his head snapped off. How could he make her see Piers was using her, manipulating her in the cruellest most callous way possible?

  He reached no conclusion and towelled himself briskly before piling on layers of warm clothes and thick woollen socks. They needed to go shopping today for a weather proof coat for Nina and some boots. She’d only brought sneakers, totally inadequate for London in midwinter. Then he’d call Jessica.

  When Nina blearily wandered into the kitchen, Martin had the gas fire glowing hot and was sitting at the table going through two months worth of mail.

  “Got a cup of tea going?” She hugged her arms around herself, moving to crouch in front of the little heater.

  “Certainly.” Martin jumped up to refill the electric jug. “Would you like a bath?”

  “Yes, please. I must smell terrible.” She grimaced. “Sorry.”

  “No worse than I did. Hell of a trip we had.”

  He disappeared into the bathroom and Nina heard the splash of water as he turned on the taps. She remained huddled by the heater, her head filled with muddled and disturbing memories of last night. Piers had spoken to her again and started to make love to her but something odd happened, something frightening, then he had come to her again and held her warm and safe and they made love and the images after that were quite different.

  She was in a small copse of trees, shaded from the hot sun by their arching, leafy green branches. It was private, a secret trysting place and she was waiting impatiently for someone. She leaned against a tree trunk as she waited, the rough bark poking through her thin white cotton shirt into her back. She looked down. A dark brown jacket lay on the grass at her feet. She wore boots—dusty brown leather boots. Man’s boots.

  Someone was coming and she peered anxiously, excited through the trees. A flash of white, a light step and then she could see a girl. A long white dress with small blue flowers, a straw summer hat with trailing blue ribbons, dark hair, brown eyes, a familiar face…her own! Love and desire swept over her as the girl ran into her open arms.

  Then it was night. Warm summer night with a full moon and she was waiting again in the same place made silver and enchanted by the moon light but this time she was angry. Seething with rage, pacing restlessly.

  Chanting. She could hear voices chanting and then she heard the violin. She was playing the melody, the Shadow Music. Playing brilliantly the way Piers himself played. She could see her fingers on the fingerboard and the hand holding the bow. They were strong, large fingers with dark hair on the wrist. Piers’ hands. Tears fell from her eyes and she had awoken with an utterable sense of desolation and loss.

  Nina stared at the flickering gas flame. If the room wasn’t so cold she would have doubted the reality of her present state and whereabouts. Just like the quote of the ancient Chinese Taoist writer Chuang Tzu on awakening from a dream.

  “He didn’t know whether he was Chuang Tzu who dreamt he was a butterfly or a butterfly who dreamt he was Chuang Tzu.”

  Nobody could deny the fact, however, that her toes were like ice blocks and that when she had woken in Martin’s bed her breath had steamed in the chill air of the bedroom.

  But her dreams last night had seemed more real than ever. She had been Piers. And then Piers had been with her. She could touch him and hear him, feel the strength of his arms and the roughness of his stubbly cheek as he kissed her, taste his kisses on her lips, feel his body desiring hers as she desired him, as she gave herself to him completely and utterly.

  Martin said, “Bath’s ready,” and startled her.

  She rose slowly and went into the bathroom where she scrubbed away the travel grime. Dressed, wide awake and acclimatised to her position in time again, Nina joined Martin at the table. She picked up the mug of tea he’d poured.

  “Thanks.” Here was a caring, reliable and truly wonderful man. A man who loved her. She smiled. “Anything interesting in that lot?” She nodded at the pile of discarded envelopes and neat stack of papers he’d accumulated while she bathed.

  “There’s a letter from Jessica. Listen to this.” He picked up a piece of blue notepaper and read:

  “Dear Martin,

  I wonder how you got on in your search for the music we discussed. Your visit and our conversation got me thinking and I decided to do a bit of sleuthing on my own. I started back in George’s things and found a whole suitcase full of photographs collected over many years. Mostly of people long gone and forgotten but I did find some pictures of his grandfather Stanley West and Stanley’s father, Michael. You may be interested in seeing them. One is of a group of musicians. Perhaps they were playing your music!

  I’m going away over Christmas and shan’t be back until early January. I’ll telephone when I return and perhaps we can get together again. If you would be interested, of course. I must admit to a degree of curiosity about that music. I remember the fascination of that melody very clearly.

  Yours sincerely,

  Jessica Harrow”

  “Call her,” said Nina. “Have you already?”

  “No. I was waiting for you to wake up.”

  Martin fingered the letter, licked his lips and pursed them. What he was going to say? Surely not backing off again? Hadn’t
they had that conversation already? She sipped her tea, face and body flushed warm from the bath, mind alive with the excitement of Jessica’s find. “Nina?”

  “What?”

  “You had a nightmare last night. Do you remember it?” he asked, almost cautious, afraid of her reaction.

  “I didn’t wake up,” she said obliquely. What had so frightened him about a nightmare of hers? One she didn’t even remember?

  “You screamed out ‘Save me’.”

  “And did you?” she asked mildly but her heart thumped a wild beat. A flash of memory, Piers, whirling blackness, terror…

  “You didn’t cry out to me. You wanted Piers.”

  Hot blood rose in her body but she said nothing. Martin pinioned her with those hazel eyes that usually regarded her with gentle love.

  “What’s going on?”

  “How do I know?” she snapped. “You know as much if not more about this than I do.” Her mouth finished in a firm straight line. Topic closed.

  “Do I? I’m not sure about that.” He stood up. “We need to buy you a coat.”

  “Aren’t you going to call Jessica?” Nina stayed seated at the red Formica topped table scratching her finger over a chip on the surface. “I’m hungry. Call her while I have some toast.”

  She looked at him with an expression of such hard, calculating determination he hardly recognised the girl he’d fallen in love with. She got up and pulled the blue curtain aside, grabbed the packet of bread and shoved two slices into the toaster. Arms folded she leaned against the narrow bench and regarded him through impassive dark eyes. Martin held her gaze and they stared at each other like two wary dogs weighing up each other’s capabilities.

  “Nina, you made love to Piers last night. Not me.” The hurt seeped into his voice.

  “That’s ridiculous,” she said loudly.