The Devil's Harmony, page 14
After the call, waves of panic swept through Thaisa. It was the nightmare from the past – the thing her parents had always feared and tried to avoid. People investigating the past – delving and prying and turning up goodness-knew-what facts. And this was not just a few inquisitive people, it was a group of professionals, with a professor of music who would know about music history and musicians – who might know of musicians who had been in Poland – in Warsaw in the 1930s and 1940s. Not for the first time, Thaisa wished she knew exactly what her father had done during those years, and how well known he had been. Supposing there were documents – photographs, concert programmes – in this scrapbook that had apparently been found in Warsaw. Supposing it held evidence of old crimes?
There were always too many secrets to be sure of losing them all, he had said, as he was dying. And, We both lied, her mother had said. And we both did other things … But it was a bad way for them to die …
In the investigating of the past – of Helena Baran’s past; of the Warsaw scrapbook’s origins and provenance – what questions might be asked about the deaths of Thaisa’s parents?
Even though Thaisa had never entertained anybody to a meal in her life, she knew you could not offer just sandwiches and coffee to complete strangers who came to lunch. In the end, she thought she would cook a casserole the day before; she found a recipe that looked fairly straightforward, and it said the dish could be left to cool, and heated up before serving; in fact casseroles were often better if you did that. It recommended serving it with a potato dish that Thaisa had never heard of and that looked complicated. But you often saw people on TV eating food with wedges of French bread, so she would buy some crusty loaves and arrange them in a wicker basket.
She wondered about wine. You saw people on television offering wine to guests who came to eat. It would be a normal thing to do – it might even be thought odd not to do it. After thought, she went into the little wine section of the supermarket, and asked a helpful assistant what he would recommend to drink with a chicken dish.
‘Some quite special guests, and I want to get it right,’ she said. ‘But I’m not really a wine drinker myself.’
The young man said he would suggest a Sauvignon Blanc. And Prosecco was popular these days. Also, of course, there was Chablis, which was a bit more expensive, but they currently had quite a good offer.
The prices shocked Thaisa, but she bought a bottle of each and hoped three bottles would be enough, although she had no idea if they would. She added a bottle of sherry, so that she could offer that as well before the meal. Her mother had often had a glass of sherry before Sunday lunch, and there were still the sherry glasses in the sideboard which she had insisted on using, saying they might have sunk low, but she hoped she had not sunk so low as to have to drink her sherry out of a beaker.
By this time, Thaisa had decided it was not particularly Helena Baran and the nephew who were frightening her so much. She would be polite to them, of course – she would say to Helena that it was very nice, very interesting to be meeting after all the years of Christmas cards, but she did not see any way of establishing a link. She could say, with truth, that she did not know anything about the parcel of books apparently sent to Helena – that if they had been sent from her parents or someone linked to them, it would have been before Thaisa herself had even been born. As for any documents or photographs of her parents linked to their pasts, she could say with truth there was nothing – and that neither of them had talked about their early lives, so that she knew nothing at all.
Except, said her mind, for the fact that your father had been given a high Nazi award. And except for the fact that your mother accused you of murdering him, and that when he was on the brink of death, she had said that about people dying a bad death.
It was, of course, the professor of music and the researcher who were worrying her. Nina Randall had said the researcher’s name was Phineas Fox, and Thaisa, who seldom used the internet, suddenly thought she would try to find out a bit more about him. It was an unusual name – there were not likely to be many people called Phineas who were researchers.
There was, in fact, only one, and there was a small website. It was clearly the right person, because he was described as a music researcher and historian, and there was an agent’s name, email and phone number for enquiries. But although there were few details about Mr Fox himself, there was a list of books he had published, and among them was quite a scholarly sounding one on German and Jewish musicians prior to World War II. World War II. It all kept coming back to that.
Thaisa closed the website and switched off the laptop, but her mind was churning with fear. This Phineas Fox was the one who would pose the most danger. He knew about World War II – he knew about the musicians who had lived then.
Lucek had changed his mind several times about what to wear for the meeting with Nina’s professor and the others at the White Hart. This was not at all like him. Usually he just pulled on whatever was nearest in his wardrobe, or, more often, lying at the foot of his bed. In the end, he put on the new brown jacket with a cream shirt which he decided to leave open at the neck. He thought it was casual but smart, and he was pleased when, having tapped on Nina’s door, she said, ‘Wow, don’t you look great.’
Helena had not gone for casual, at all. She had on a dark red jacket with what Lucek thought was some sort of brocade embroidery all over it, together with several strings of black beads that caught the light.
He managed not to blink, but Helena picked up his reaction, of course, and said, sweepingly, ‘Lucek, there’s no need to look so startled. If I’m going to be meeting ghosts from the past, I’d like the ghosts to think that at least I’m reasonably stylish.’
Lucek was somewhat relieved to hear the familiar, ironic note in her voice, although he hoped she had not gone over the top with the outfit. But then Nina – dear, tactful, warm-hearted Nina – said, ‘I think you’re brilliantly stylish, Helena. In fact I’m going back to get my silk wrap so that you don’t outshine me.’
At this, Lucek immediately wondered if he should go back to his own room to put on a tie, but Helena was already sweeping towards the stairs, so he followed. Nina caught them up, wearing a vivid blue wrap that made her eyes look like mischievous sapphires, and as they reached the turn in the staircase, she winked at him, which went a small way to alleviate the dreadful stage-fright he was now experiencing.
They went into the bar, and a man rose from a corner table and came towards them.
‘Nina,’ he said, and put out his hands.
And Nina said, ‘Professor,’ and took the outstretched hands in hers.
‘You don’t look a day older,’ he said.
‘Nor do you.’
They stood looking at one another, their hands still clasped. Lucek had the impression that something passed between them, but whether it was simply the affection of old friends, or whether it was nostalgia for something that might once have existed between them – or even gentle regret for something that might have existed, but had not – he could not tell.
Ernest Liripine was one of those people whose age was impossible to estimate. Lucek did not actually want to assess it, and in any case he would probably have got it wrong. But the thought went through his mind that the professor could be anything from fifty-five to seventy-five. He was wearing a rather untidy jacket and trousers, with a check waistcoat. He took Helena’s hand and smiled at her, and then said to Lucek that he was extremely pleased to be meeting them both, and he hoped they had had a smooth journey.
Nina translated this for Helena, who smiled and nodded. Lucek, however, had thought out what he would say, practising to get the English pronunciation as accurate as he could, and he said, very carefully, that the meeting was a great pleasure, that he was loving England, and that he and his aunt were happy to be here.
This appeared to go down well, and the professor’s colleague, who was Dr Theodore Purslove, shook their hands, and said good evening and welcome in Polish, which seemed to annoy the professor, who said something about it being typical of Theo to score a point by learning a few Polish words, parrot-fashion. Dr Purslove had wiry grey hair and he was wearing a plain dark suit, but with it he had put a very colourful bow-tie, and he seemed enthusiastic about life in general, which Lucek liked. He found it rather endearing that Dr Purslove had an English–Polish dictionary, from which he exchanged a few phrases with Helena.
He began to relax, and when Phineas Fox and his girlfriend, who was called Arabella Tallis, came in, he relaxed even more. He liked Mr Fox at once, and he was rather relieved to see that he was wearing a dark grey corduroy jacket over a pale grey shirt, but without a tie, so it looked as if Lucek had got that right. He was not startlingly good-looking, but Lucek had the feeling that most ladies would find him extremely attractive, possibly because of his voice which was nice, but also because he had such unusual eyes – they were a very clear grey, and fringed with black lashes. Lucek saw Nina look at Mr Fox with a very alert interest; not that this was anything to worry about.
At first Arabella was not at all the kind of girlfriend he would have expected Phineas Fox to have – he thought she was very nearly ordinary. She was wearing a rather peculiar patchwork-velvet top, and amber beads, and she had apparently pinned her hair on the top of her head, but had not done so very securely, because some of it had tumbled down. And then she smiled at him, and said she was more grateful than she could possibly describe that he had found the scrapbook because it was just about the most fascinating thing she had ever worked on. By the time Lucek managed to reply that he was looking forward to hearing about the scrapbook, he had completely changed his mind about Arabella being ordinary. He thought it might be the smile, and then he thought it might be the way she seemed so delighted with everything and everyone, and he saw that Phineas and Arabella were actually extremely well suited to one another.
He managed to have quite a good conversation with Arabella and Mr Fox, who said he liked to be called Phin, and he began to think he was not acquitting himself so badly. Dr Purslove was resorting to his phrase book to translate the menu for Helena – there seemed to be some amusement between them over that – and the professor and Nina were engrossed in what looked like quite an intense discussion. They would be reminiscing about her days as his student, of course.
Lucek was not sure how it came about that they all ended up in what the White Hart called a coffee room after their meal, but Phineas Fox seemed to have come to some arrangement with the White Hart that they would use it as a semi-private sitting room for the evening. Lucek regarded Phin admiringly, and wondered whether he would ever possess that kind of confidence. It was polite and understated and Lucek would probably never manage it if he lived to be twice Mr Fox’s age.
Arabella had brought the scrapbook down with her. ‘I’ve become completely neurotic about leaving it on its own and it being pilfered,’ she said, confidingly.
Lucek asked what a ‘pilfer’ was, and it was explained that it was English slang for stealing.
‘Old English slang,’ murmured the professor. ‘Nina, do you remember that walrus-faced visiting lecturer at Durham reading a paper on street musicians in Victorian London?’
‘Dr Glaum,’ said Nina, nodding. ‘I do remember him. I also remember you standing up halfway through and accusing him of lifting his entire lecture from Henry Mayhew. The two of you nearly came to fisticuffs.’
Dr Purslove instantly demanded to know more about this, and Lucek was about to ask what a fisticuff was, when Phin Fox said, ‘I think I’ll ask them to bring another pot of coffee in, and we can let your aunt look through the scrapbook.’
Phin thought there was a strong sense of closeness between Nina and the professor, although he would not have taken any bets on whether it was physical, mental, or even spiritual. He liked Nina, and he liked Lucek Socha as well. When he commented on how good Lucek’s English was, Lucek was delighted.
‘I’ve been practising,’ he confided. ‘We can talk of the scrapbook better if I can follow you, and I can tell it to Helena, without troubling Nina each time.’
Helena. All the way to Causwain, Phin had been thinking of her as that forlorn abandoned child, lost in the ruins of a dying city. The reality was that she was rather a striking-looking lady in her seventies, with the high cheekbones that Phin thought might be characteristic of Ukraine – even of Russia – rather than Poland. But, shaking her hand and managing to exchange greetings, the image of that long-ago child was still with him. He thought: Helena, you might be one of the few people still alive who once actually saw the Chopin Library. Those ruins where you were found might have been what was left of the Library, and somewhere in your lost memories, you might have some scrap of knowledge that would unlock the mystery of that place.
Partly with the help of Lucek and Nina, he tried to tell Helena that he hoped it would not be an upsetting experience for her to see the scrapbook.
‘She says it might be rewarding,’ said Nina, having relayed this. ‘There may be memories, but they may be good ones.’
Phin looked at Helena, and hoped Nina was right.
Then Arabella folded back the bubble-wrap, and began slowly to turn the pages, and Helena and Lucek leaned forward eagerly. Nina occasionally murmured something, and once or twice Lucek pointed to a page or a scrap of a document. But each time, Helena shook her head, as if saying, No, this did not mean anything – nor this … Phin began to be aware of disappointment, although he was not sure if it was disappointment for Helena or for himself. But she had been so very small when she had been found, that surely she would not really remember anything.
And then Nina turned to the page with the concert programme, and the reaction Phin had been waiting for was there.
Helena did not quite recoil, but she almost did. But then she looked more closely at the programme, and very tentatively touched the paper’s surface, tracing the words at the top – Kwartet Burzowy – Tempest Quartet, and then the words beneath it – ‘Temnaya Kadentsiya’. Phin felt the sudden tension around the table. She’s recognized something, he thought. But what? Is it the Tempest name or is it the ‘Temnaya Kadentsiya’?
Helena said something to Lucek, who turned to the others. ‘There is something – um – that she knows on this page.’
‘Recognizes?’
‘Yes, recognizes.’
Phin said, ‘The name of the quartet? Or …’ He hesitated, then said, ‘Or is it the title of the music?’
‘It’s the piano,’ said Lucek. ‘The drawing of the piano.’
‘The piano?’ Phin thought none of them had expected this.
Lucek indicated on the page. ‘The music stand on the piano,’ he said. ‘Very clear – very carefully drawn. She says it’s a firebird.’
Dr Purslove leaned closer to see. ‘I believe it is,’ he said. ‘How extraordinary. D’you know, I hadn’t realized that until now.’
‘Helena thinks she remembers the piano from when she was very small,’ said Lucek. ‘She says she can remember listening to someone playing it.’ Helena said something else, and Lucek nodded, then said, ‘She thinks it was that memory that encouraged her to learn to play later on. My great-grandparents arranged for lessons for her, I think. She’s actually very good,’ said Lucek, anxiously.
‘It’d certainly be distinctive enough for a child to remember. And I shouldn’t think you’d find many music stands like that,’ said Dr Purslove. ‘Ernest?’
‘No. Possibly even custom-made?’
‘The firebird,’ said Dr Purslove, thoughtfully. ‘It’s one of the famous Russian symbols, immortalized in all those classic fairy stories.’
‘It makes for another link,’ said Phin, thoughtfully. ‘And the piano – and the pianist – must have been important for her to remember it and recognize that sketch. Lucek, what exactly is the link between your aunt and this Thaisa Wyngham?’
‘A very little link,’ said Lucek. ‘There was a parcel of books sent to Helena when she was small. It was never known where it was from, but it mentioned a Wyngham family in Causwain, and that there might be a connection to Helena. Later, Helena managed to find Miss Wyngham – Causwain is a small place, so not difficult. Christmas cards have been exchanged for many years.’
‘That’s interesting,’ said Phin. ‘What were the books?’
‘Children’s books – very old ones, but very beautiful,’ he said. ‘Illustrations and smooth, expensive paper.’
Children’s books … Or the books of just one child? Phin saw again the small lost girl in the ruins of a city.
Lucek said, ‘The books were all in the Russian language.’
There was another of the silences, but then Dr Purslove said, softly, ‘Russia again.’
He leaned back, and Phin saw that he suddenly looked tired, and he remembered that neither Dr Purslove nor the professor were young men any longer, and that Helena Baran must be well into her seventies. He said, ‘This is all very thought-provoking, isn’t it? But we’ve all had quite long journeys – what does anyone think about calling it a day, and returning to the fray tomorrow?’
‘I’m in favour of that,’ said Dr Purslove. ‘Nina, you and Miss Baran and Lucek are going to Miss Wyngham’s for lunch, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, and we’re taking the scrapbook to show her. The idea is that the rest of you come along later – mid-afternoon, if that’s all right – and we can have a kind of general discussion about any discoveries. Thaisa Wyngham sounded a bit daunted at the prospect of so many people at once, so that should dilute it a bit.’
‘In that case, the rest of us can have lunch here,’ said Dr Purslove. ‘And then Ernest can have his post-prandial snooze.’
‘I do not have post-prandial snoozes. In fact, I shall most likely go for a brisk walk and look round Causwain.’
‘Then I’d better come with you, because you’re bound to get lost,’ said Dr Purslove.
‘I’ve got a better sense of direction than you have.’
