Tomorrow, I’d go and search out Jens and Anna’s house and perhaps go back and see Erling, the friendly curator of the Grieg Museum, to hear more of their story. I liked it here in Bergen, even if, for the present, my investigation had come to a grinding halt.
The telephone by my bed jangled suddenly, making me jump.
‘Hello?’
‘It’s Willem Caspari here. Are you okay?’
‘Yes, I’m fine, thank you.’
‘Good. Ally, would you like to have breakfast with me tomorrow morning? I have an idea I’d like to put to you.’
‘Er . . . yes, that would be fine.’
‘Excellent. Sleep well.’
The line was terminated abruptly and I replaced the receiver, feeling vaguely uncomfortable about agreeing to Willem’s request. I tried to work out why, then admitted it was guilt. If I was honest with myself, there was a small flicker of something inside me that told me I was physically attracted to him. Even if my head and heart forbade it, my body was disobeying their orders and reacting of its own accord. But it was hardly a ‘date’. And more to the point, from what he’d said about his partner, Jack, dying, Willem was clearly gay.
As I readied myself to go to sleep, I allowed myself a giggle; at least it was a safe crush, and probably had far more to do with his talent as a pianist than anything else. I was aware it was a powerful aphrodisiac and I forgave myself for succumbing to it.
‘So, what do you think?’ Willem’s intense turquoise eyes bored into mine over breakfast the next morning.
‘When is the recital?’
‘Saturday evening. But you’ve played the piece before and we have the rest of the week to practise.’
‘God, Willem, that was ten years ago. I’m very flattered that you’ve asked me, but—’
‘“Sonata for Flute and Piano” is so beautiful and I’ve never forgotten you playing it that night at the Conservatoire in Geneva. By definition, to remember it and you ten years on means it was an outstanding performance.’
‘I’m not anywhere near as gifted or successful as you,’ I protested. ‘I’ve looked you up on the internet and you are seriously big time, Willem. You played at Carnegie Hall last year! So thank you very much for asking, but no thanks.’
He eyed me and my untouched breakfast. I really did feel horribly sick. ‘You’re nervous, aren’t you?’
‘Of course I am! Can you imagine how rusty you’d be after ten years of not putting your hands on the keys?’
‘Yes, but I’d also play with a new vim and vigour. Stop being a coward and at least give it a try. Why don’t you at least join me in the hall after my lunchtime concert today and we can play through the piece together? I’m sure Erling won’t mind, even though he might think it blasphemy to play Francis Poulenc on Grieg’s hallowed turf. And the Logen Theatre, where the recital will take place on Saturday, is a lovely venue. It’s the perfect way to ease you back into playing.’
‘You’re bullying me, Willem,’ I said, now on the verge of tears. ‘Why are you so keen on me doing this?’
‘If someone hadn’t forced me back to the keys after Jack’s death, I’d probably never have played another note on the piano again, so you could say that karmically, I’m returning the favour. Please?’
‘Oh, all right then. I’ll come up to Troldhaugen this afternoon and give it a go,’ I agreed, feeling I’d been battered into submission.
‘Good.’ Willem clapped his hands together in pleasure.
‘You’ll probably be horrified when you hear me. I did play at Theo’s funeral, but that was different.’
‘Then this will be a walk in the park after that. So,’ he said, rising from the table, ‘I’ll see you at three.’
I watched Willem as he left, his slim frame belying the enormous breakfast I’d just watched him eat. He obviously lived completely on adrenaline. Back in my room ten minutes later, I opened my flute case tentatively and gazed at it as though it was an enemy to do battle with.
‘What have I done?’ I murmured as I took out the parts and assembled them, slowly twisting the joints together and aligning the instrument correctly. After tuning up and playing a few quick scales, I tried the sonata’s first movement from memory. For an initial attempt, it didn’t sound too bad, I thought as I automatically wiped off any excess moisture and cleaned under the keys before packing the flute away.
I then went out for a walk along the quay and stopped in one of the wooden clapboard shops to buy a Norwegian fisherman’s jumper, as the temperature seemed to have plummeted and I only had summer clothes in my rucksack.
After heading back to the hotel to retrieve my flute, I took a taxi up into the hills, asking the driver if he knew a house on the same road as the Grieg Museum called Froskehuset. He said he didn’t, but that we could both look at the names of the houses as we passed. Sure enough, we spotted it, only a few minutes’ walk down the hill from the museum. Letting the taxi go, I looked up at the pretty wooden house, painted cream and traditional in design. As I walked to the gate I saw that it looked rather dilapidated, the paintwork peeling from the wood and the garden unkempt. Hovering outside, feeling like a burglar planning a raid, I wondered who lived there now, and whether I should just go and knock on the door to find out. I chose not to and continued up the hill towards the Grieg Museum.
I made for the café, feeling vaguely sick again. My appetite had deserted me since Theo had died and I knew I’d lost weight. Even though I wasn’t hungry, I ordered an open tuna sandwich and forced myself to eat it.
‘Hello, Ally.’ Erling smiled as he came to greet me in the corner of the café. ‘I hear you have an impromptu rehearsal after the recital in the concert hall this afternoon?’
‘If you don’t mind, Erling.’
‘I never mind anyone playing beautiful music here,’ he assured me. ‘Have you read any more of Jens Halvorsen’s biography?’
‘As a matter of fact, I finished it last night. I’ve just been to see the house that he and Anna once lived in.’
‘Ah, that’s where Thom Halvorsen, the biographer and great-great-grandson, now lives, as a matter of fact. So, do you think you might be related to the Halvorsen family?’
‘If I am, I can’t see how. Not at present anyway.’
‘Well, maybe Thom will be able to enlighten you when he returns from New York later this week. Are you watching Willem’s lunchtime concert today?’
‘Yes. He’s extremely talented, isn’t he?’
‘He is indeed. As he may have told you, he had a personal tragedy a while ago. I think it’s made him more accomplished as a pianist. These events in life can kill or cure, if you know what I mean.’
‘I do,’ I replied with feeling.
‘See you there, Ally.’ Erling nodded at me and walked away.
Half an hour later, I was once again in Troldsalen, the concert hall, listening to Willem play. This time it was a lesser known piece called ‘Moods’ that Grieg had written towards the end of his life, when he’d hardly been able to leave the house due to illness but had still staggered to the cabin to write. Willem played it superbly and I wondered what on earth I was doing to even consider playing with such a consummate pianist. Or more accurately, what he was doing suggesting he play with me.
After the appreciative audience had filed out at the end of the concert, Willem beckoned me down to the platform and I joined him nervously.
‘I’ve never heard that before. It’s a gorgeous piece and you played it beautifully,’ I said.
‘Thank you.’ He gave me a curt bow, then stopped to study me. ‘Ally, you’re as white as a sheet! So, before you turn chicken and run out on me, let’s get on with it, shall we?’
‘No one can come in, can they?’ I said, looking up at the doors at the back of the auditorium.
‘Good God, Ally! You’re starting to sound as deeply paranoid as me.’
‘Sorry,’ I mumbled as I took out my flute and put it together before Willem indicated we should begin.
I was proud that I managed to get all the way through the whole twelve minutes without dropping a note, but I was helped hugely by Willem’s intuitive accompaniment and the incredible sweeping timbre of the Steinway piano.
Willem applauded me, the sound echoing loudly around the empty auditorium. ‘Well, if that’s how you play after ten years, I think I’ll ask them to double the entry fee for Saturday night’s recital.’
‘That’s very kind of you to say, but it was hardly perfect.’
‘No, it wasn’t, but it was a fantastic start. Now, I suggest we go through the piece together more slowly. There were a few timing issues we need to iron out.’
For the next half an hour, we practised the piece’s three movements one by one. And after I’d packed up my flute and we were walking out of the auditorium together, I realised that I hadn’t thought about Theo once during the past forty-five minutes.
‘Going back into town?’ Willem asked me.
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll organise a taxi then.’
On the way back into central Bergen, I thanked Willem and confirmed that I would play with him on Saturday.
‘Then I’m very happy,’ he answered, staring distractedly out of the window. ‘Bergen really is a special place, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, I feel that too.’
‘One of the reasons I agreed to come and give the lunchtime recitals this week at Troldhaugen is because I’ve been asked to join the Bergen Philharmonic Orchestra as their resident pianist. I wanted to test the waters, as it would mean leaving my sanctuary in Zurich and moving to Bergen more or less full-time. And after what I told you yesterday, you know what a big thing that would be for me.’
‘Did Jack live in Zurich with you?’
‘Yes. Maybe it’s time for a fresh start. And at least Norway is clean,’ he added, his expression serious.
‘It is,’ I chuckled. ‘And the people are very friendly. Although it must be incredibly hard to learn the language.’
‘I’m lucky, I have a very quick ear. Notes and languages and the occasional maths puzzle, that’s my bag. And besides, everyone here speaks English.’
‘Well, I think the orchestra would be very lucky to have you.’
‘Thank you.’ He offered me a rare smile. ‘So,’ he asked as we arrived at the hotel and walked inside, ‘what are you doing tonight?’
‘I haven’t really thought about it.’
‘Join me for dinner?’
He saw my hesitation immediately. ‘Sorry, you’re probably tired. I’ll see you tomorrow at three. Goodbye.’
Willem walked away from me abruptly and left me standing alone, feeling guilty and confused. However, I really didn’t feel too well, which was very unlike me. And as I headed to my room and lay down on my bed, I thought sadly how many things were ‘unlike’ me just now.
35
I’d had to go shopping in Bergen to find something suitably formal and demure for the performance. And as I put on the plain black dress in readiness for the recital, I pushed away memories of donning a similar one for Theo’s funeral. I applied some mascara, feeling the adrenaline starting to pump. So much so that I had to lean over the toilet and gag. Wiping my streaming eyes, I returned to the mirror to repair the mascara damage and add some lipstick. Then I picked up my flute case and coat, before taking the lift down to meet Willem in the lobby of the hotel.
Not only did I feel under the weather physically, but I’d been unsettled about Willem since his dinner invitation. In our practices together since, I’d sensed a certain froideur emanating from him. He had kept the conversation on a purely ‘business’ level, our discussions in the taxi entirely based on the music we had rehearsed.
The lift doors opened, and I saw him waiting for me in reception, looking handsome in his bow tie and immaculate black tuxedo. And I hoped I hadn’t upset him with my refusal. I’d felt faint shades of the awkwardness Theo and I had experienced at the very beginning of our relationship and something told me now that Willem definitely wasn’t gay . . .
‘You look nice, Ally,’ he said as he stood up and came towards me.
‘Thanks, but I don’t feel it.’
‘No woman ever seems to,’ he commented brusquely as we walked out of the hotel to the taxi he’d pre-booked.
Silence reigned in the car, and I was frustrated at the discomfort between us. Willem seemed distant and tense.
On arrival at the Logen Theatre, we walked inside and Willem found the organiser, who was waiting for us in the foyer.
‘Come through, come through,’ she said, leading us into an elegant high-ceilinged hall, the floor laid out with rows of seats and chandeliers illuminating the narrow apron balcony above. The stage was empty except for a grand piano and a music stand for myself, and the spotlights were turning on and off as the lighting engineers made their final checks.
‘I’ll leave you both to have a run-through,’ the woman said. ‘The audience will be allowed in fifteen minutes before the start, so you have thirty minutes to judge the acoustics.’
Willem thanked her then walked up the steps of the stage to the grand piano. He lifted the fallboard and ran his fingers up and down the keys. ‘It’s a Steinway B,’ he said in relief, ‘and the sound is good. So, a quick run-through?’
I took my flute out of its case and noticed that my fingers were trembling as I put it together. We played through the sonata, then I went to find the lavatory while Willem practised his solo pieces. I dry-retched yet again and as I washed my face with cold water, I mocked my ghostly reflection. I was supposedly the woman who could stomach the roughest conditions at sea without the slightest upset. And now here, on dry land, playing the flute in front of an audience for twelve minutes, I felt like a seasick novice during my first storm.
When I arrived back in the wings, I peered through the flats and saw the audience filing in. I stole a glance at Willem, who seemed to be performing some kind of ritual a few feet away from me, which involved a lot of muttering, pacing and finger exercises, and I left him be. Unfortunately, ‘Sonata for Flute and Piano’ was the penultimate piece of the recital, which meant I’d have to sit out of sight backstage, waiting and worrying.
‘Are you okay?’ Willem whispered as we heard the compere introduce him and read out the most impressive parts of his CV.
‘I’m fine, thank you,’ I said as a burst of applause rippled through the audience.
‘I want to formally apologise for my presumptuous dinner invitation the other night. It was completely inappropriate, given the circumstances. I know where you are emotionally and from now on, I’ll respect that. I hope we can be friends.’
With that, Willem walked out onto the stage and took a bow, before sitting down at the piano. He began with Chopin’s fast and technically complicated Étude No. 5 in G-flat Major.
As I listened to Willem play, I pondered the endlessly intricate dance that went on between men and women. And as the final notes of the piece filled the hall, I acknowledged that part of me felt oddly deflated by Willem hoping we could be friends. Not to mention the guilt that sat at the back of my mind whenever I thought of what Theo would have made of my confusion over my attraction for Willem . . .
After what felt like a lifetime as I paced up and down the small space in the wings, I finally heard Willem introducing me and I took my cue to join him on the stage. I gave him a wide smile as a ‘thank you’ for his kindness and encouragement in the past few days. Then I put my flute to my lips, indicated I was ready and we began to play.
After Willem had played his final piece of the evening, I joined him back onstage and it felt very odd to be taking a bow with him. The organisers even presented me with a small posy of flowers to thank me.
‘Well done, Ally, that was good. Very, very good in fact,’ Willem congratulated me as we walked offstage together.
‘I agree entirely.’
I turned at the familiar voice and saw Erling, the curator of the Grieg Museum, standing in the wings, flanke
d by two other men.
‘Hello,’ I greeted him with a smile. ‘And thank you.’
‘Ally, this is Thom Halvorsen, Jens Halvorsen’s great-great-grandson and biographer. Not to mention virtuoso violinist and assistant conductor of the Bergen Philharmonic Orchestra. And may I also present David Stewart, the leader of the orchestra.’
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ally,’ said Thom, as David Stewart turned to Willem. ‘Erling tells me you’re doing some research on my great-great-grandparents?’
I looked up at Thom and thought I recognised him, but couldn’t immediately place where from. He had the familiar colouring of the Norwegians: reddish hair, a scattering of freckles across his nose and a pair of big blue eyes.
‘I am, yes.’
‘Then I’d be happy to help in any way I can. Although please forgive me if I don’t make much sense tonight. I’ve just flown in from New York. Erling picked me up from the airport and drove me straight here to listen to Willem play.’
‘Jet lag’s a killer,’ we both managed to say at the same time, then, after a pause, offered each other an embarrassed grin.
‘It is,’ I added as David Stewart turned to us.
‘Unfortunately, I’ve got to rush off now,’ he said, ‘so I’ll say goodbye. Thom, call me if it’s good news.’ He gestured his farewells and left.
‘As you may know, Ally, we’re trying to persuade Willem to join the philharmonic orchestra here. Any thoughts so far, Willem?’
‘Yes, and some questions too, Thom.’
‘Then I suggest we go across the road for a quick bite to eat and a drink. Will you two join us?’ Thom asked Erling and me.
‘If you have things to talk about with Willem, we wouldn’t want to disturb you.’ Erling spoke for both of us.
The Storm Sister Page 40
