‘Wow. Well, if that’s true, I’m sure you’d have sold millions of copies of a book that included such a steamy revelation about one the most famous composers in the world. I don’t understand why you didn’t, Thom.’
‘Ally,’ he said with a frown, ‘surely you can guess why not? Haven’t you put two and two together yet?’
‘Don’t patronise me, Thom,’ I retorted irritably. ‘I’m trying to see the big picture, but give me time. So, these letters confirm that Anna and Grieg were lovers. And I presume you think that it was Grieg who fathered Anna’s baby?’
‘I have to believe there’s a very good chance he did, yes. You remember I told you it was Grieg himself who went to search Jens out in the gutters of Paris? That was in late 1883, when he had been separated from Nina, his wife, for most of the year and was based in Germany. Then in the spring of 1884, just as Jens appears on Anna’s doorstep, Grieg is reunited with Nina in Copenhagen. And Edvard Horst Halvorsen is born in the August.’
‘Edvard Horst Halvorsen, Grieg’s son,’ I murmured, trying to take in the enormity of such a possibility.
‘As you said yourself after you’d read the story, why on earth would Grieg go to Paris and seek Jens out six years after the fact? And why would Anna be prepared to take him back? Unless some kind of deal had been struck between herself and Grieg for the sake of propriety. We have to remember that, at the time, Grieg was one of the most famous men in Europe. Even though it was acceptable for him to be seen escorting talented muses such as Anna about town, he couldn’t have risked anything so grubby as to be outed as the father of an illegitimate child. And don’t forget that Grieg was separated from Nina at the time and there’s documentary evidence from archive programmes that he and Anna travelled through Germany together giving recitals. There may well have been gossip about their relationship, but her husband’s arrival back on the scene would have put paid to any speculation when a baby arrived a few months later. Anna and Jens moved to Bergen within the year and the baby was presented in Norway as theirs.’
‘And Anna would have accepted that was what she must do? Live a lie?’
‘You must remember that Anna was famous at the time as well. Any whisper of scandal around her would have ended her singing career too. She realised Grieg would never divorce Nina. And if nothing else, we both know Anna was a pragmatic and sensible young woman. It’s my bet that they cooked this up between the two of them.’
‘But if you’re right, and Jens came back to find Anna already four or five months pregnant, why did he stay?’
‘Probably because he knew that if he didn’t, he would have died in poverty on the streets of Paris very soon after. And Grieg almost certainly promised to do all he could to help Jens make a name for himself in Norway as a composer. Don’t you see, Ally? It suited them all.’
‘And then within the space of a year, the two couples were living virtually next door to each other right here. Goodness, Thom, do you suppose Nina ever suspected what had happened?’
‘I honestly couldn’t say. There’s no doubt she adored Edvard and he adored her, but being married to such a celebrity came with a price, as I think it always does. Perhaps she was content that her husband had returned to her. And of course, there was Horst. Living so close meant Grieg could have seen his possible son as often as he wanted without giving cause for suspicion. Remember he and Nina had no living children of their own. In one of his many letters written to a composer friend, Grieg says he doted on baby Horst.’
‘So Jens just had to put up with the situation.’
‘Yes. Personally, I think he was well and truly punished for deserting Anna. He lived forever under the musical shadow of Grieg, almost certainly bringing up his illegitimate child as his own.’
‘So why did he write a biography of the two of them, if he and Anna had such a secret to keep?’
‘You probably know that Anna died in the same year as Grieg. This was when Jens’ compositions really began to take off. I should think the book was little more than a bid to cash in on the fame Jens felt he’d never achieved up to that point. It was a bestseller in its day and probably earned him a decent amount of money.’
‘He should have been more careful with his dates,’ I observed.
‘Who was to know, Ally? Unless they went to Leipzig in search of Horst’s original birth certificate like I did.’
‘Yes, over one hundred and twenty years later. Thom, all of this is pure speculation.’
‘Have a look at these,’ he said, pulling three photographs out of his file. ‘There’s Horst as a young man, and there are his two possible fathers. Now which one do you think he resembles?’
I looked down at them and saw there was little doubt. ‘But Anna was blue-eyed and fair, just as Grieg was. Horst may well have taken his looks from his mother.’
‘True,’ Thom agreed. ‘All this is fuelled by the only tools we have available to us when we’re researching the past: documentary evidence, and a large helping of supposition.’
I’d only been half listening to Thom as it suddenly began to dawn on me what it meant.
‘So if you’re right, then Horst, Felix and you and I . . .’
‘Yes. As I said at the start, Ally, strictly speaking, you may not be a Halvorsen after all.’
‘Seriously, Thom, it’s almost too much to take in. If we wanted to, could we prove it one way or another?’
‘Absolutely. Grieg’s brother, John, had children, and their descendants are living today. We could present the evidence and ask if they’d agree to a DNA test. I’ve thought about contacting them a hundred times, but then I think that, for the uproar it would cause and the possible damage to Grieg’s pristine reputation, what would be the point? This all happened over one hundred and twenty years ago, and personally, I would like to get publicity for my music for the right reasons, not because I’m cashing in on some historical scandal. So I’ve made the decision to let the past rest in the past. Which is why I didn’t put what I’d discovered in the book. You must make your decision too, Ally, and I can’t blame you if you wanted to find out for sure, even if I’d prefer to let it rest.’
‘Goodness, Thom. I’ve spent thirty years very content not to know anything at all about where I came from. So I really think that for now, one new gene pool is enough,’ I said with a smile. ‘What about Felix? You said you haven’t told him?’
‘No, because I couldn’t trust him not to get drunk and start announcing he’s the great-grandson of Grieg, and putting us all in the shit.’
‘I agree. Wow,’ I sighed, ‘what a story.’
‘Yes. And now I’ve got that off my chest, do you fancy a cup of tea?’
When it arrived a few days later, I showed Thom my original birth certificate. I’d written to the hospital and to the local registry of births and deaths in Trondheim, not only because I wanted to see the evidence, but also to discover any details I could about how Pa Salt had found me.
‘See?’ I said. ‘I was originally named “Felicia”, presumably after Felix.’
‘I rather like it. Very pretty and girly,’ Thom teased me.
‘Sorry, but girly is something that I am not. Ally suits me much better,’ I countered.
I showed him another document that had arrived with the certificate, saying I’d been adopted on the third of August 1977. It had an official-looking stamp at the bottom, but no further details.
‘All of the adoption agencies I contacted have written back to me, telling me there were no records in their possession of any official adoption, and that they therefore concluded that it had been undertaken privately. Which means that Pa Salt must have met Martha at some point,’ I mused as I put the most recent letter back into the file.
‘Just a thought, Ally,’ Thom said suddenly, ‘but you’ve told me how Pa Salt adopted the six girls, all named after the Pleiades stars. What if it was him that chose you? What if it was me who was left behind?’
I thought about this and realised Thom h
ad a point. And it immediately lessened the pain. I stood up and went over to him as he sat at the piano and put my arms round his neck, kissing the top of his head. ‘Thank you for that.’
‘That’s okay.’
I looked at the music sitting on the rest, with pencilled notes scrawled across it. ‘What are you doing with that?’
‘Oh, just looking at what the chap David Stewart recommended to tackle the orchestrations of The Hero Concerto has done so far.’
‘And how are they coming along?’
‘From what I’ve just seen, I’m not impressed, to be honest. It’s highly doubtful it’s going to be ready to be premiered at the Grieg Centenary Concert in December. We’re almost at the end of September and the finished music has to be with the printers by the end of next month to give the orchestra time to rehearse with it. Having got the go-ahead from David to include it in the concert programme, I’ll be devastated if it doesn’t make it, but these’ – he shrugged – ‘they just don’t feel right at all. And they’re certainly not up to scratch to show the leader.’
‘I wish I could do something to help,’ I said. Then a thought jumped into my mind, although I wasn’t sure whether I should voice it.
‘What it is?’ Thom asked. I was learning it was impossible to keep anything private from my newfound twin.
‘If I tell you, promise me that you won’t dismiss it out of hand?’
‘Okay, I won’t. So go on.’
‘Felix – I mean, our father – could do it. He is Pip’s son after all. I’m sure he’d have a feel for his own father’s music.’
‘What?! Ally, are you completely insane? I know you’re trying to have us all play happy families, but really this is a step too far. Felix is a drunkard and a waster, who’s never seen anything through in his life. I’d hardly give our grandfather’s precious concerto to him to destroy. Or even worse, get halfway through and give up. If we have any chance of premiering this at the concert, that is definitely not the route to take.’
‘You do know that Felix still plays for hours every day? Just for his own amusement? And you yourself have told me endlessly that he was a genius, composing and orchestrating his own work as a teenager,’ I persisted.
‘Enough, Ally. The subject is closed.’
‘Okay.’ I shrugged as I walked from the room. I felt frustrated and upset. It was the first disagreement Thom and I had had so far.
Later that afternoon, Thom left the house for an orchestra call. I knew that he kept Pip Halvorsen’s original sheet music in the bureau in the sitting room. Completely unsure if I was doing the right thing or not, I unlocked the bureau and extracted the pile of paper. Then I put it into a carrier bag, picked up the keys to the car I’d recently rented, and left the house.
‘What do you think, Felix?’
I’d explained the story behind The Hero Concerto and how we were desperate to get it orchestrated. I’d just listened to him play the concerto from beginning to end. And even though he’d not set eyes on it before, he’d performed it without a single mistake. And with a technical proficiency and a flair that marked out a seriously gifted pianist.
‘I think it’s wonderful, really. My God, my old dad was talented.’
Felix was visibly moved and instinctively, I went to him and squeezed his shoulder. ‘Yes, he was, wasn’t he?’
‘Tragedy that I can’t remember him at all. I was little more than a baby when he died, you see.’
‘I know. And it was a tragedy that this piece never got its premiere. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if it did?’
‘Yes, yes, with the right orchestrations . . . for example, here in the first four bars, an oboe, joined by a viola there’ – he pointed to the score – ‘but with the tympani coming in almost immediately as a surprise, like this.’ He illustrated the beat with two pencils. ‘That’ll shock those who think they’re listening to another Grieg pastiche.’ He grinned mischievously and I saw the light in his eyes as he reached for some blank sheet music and filled it in with the arrangement he’d just described. ‘Tell Thom that would be a master stroke. And then,’ Felix said as he started to play again, ‘the violins arrive, still accompanied by the tympani to give that undercurrent of danger.’
Again he quickly filled in some bars on the sheet music. Then he stopped suddenly and looked up at me. ‘Sorry, I’m getting carried away. Thanks for showing this to me, though.’
‘Felix, how long do you think it would take you to fully orchestrate this?’
‘Two months, perhaps? Maybe it is because my father wrote it originally, but I can already hear exactly how it should be.’
‘How about three weeks?’
He stared at me, rolled his eyes and chuckled. ‘I assume you’re joking?’
‘No, I’m not. I’ll have to get a photocopy of the piano music done for you, but if you could orchestrate this and present it to Thom as brilliantly as you’ve just done for me, I doubt he or the leader of the Bergen Philharmonic Orchestra would be able to say no.’
Felix sat in silence for a while as he thought about it. ‘So, you’re challenging me? Is this to prove to Thom that I can do it?’
‘Apart from the fact that this is currently on the programme for the Grieg Centenary Concert in December, yes. Because from what I’ve just heard, you’re utterly brilliant. And if you don’t mind me saying so, the time limit will mean you absolutely have to focus.’
‘That was a mixed bag of compliments and insults, young lady,’ Felix snorted. ‘I’ll choose to take the compliments, because of course, you’re right. I’m far better working to a deadline and there’s been a distinct lack of them around here in the past few years.’
‘So you’ll have a go?’
‘If I take this on, I’ll do much better than just having a go, I can assure you. I’ll start tonight.’
‘Well, I’m afraid I’ll have to take the original piano music with me. I don’t want Thom to find out what we’re doing.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about that, it’s in my head already.’ Felix gathered the music together, collated it into a neat pile and handed it to me. ‘Drop me off a copy tomorrow, but from then on, I don’t want to have you constantly turning up here checking up on me while I’m working. So, I’ll see you three weeks from today.’
‘But—’
‘No buts,’ Felix said as he followed me to the door.
‘Okay, I’ll drop the music off tomorrow. Bye, Felix.’
‘And Ally?’
‘Yes?’
‘Thanks for giving me the chance.’
45
During the following three weeks, I did a lot of pacing around the house. I knew that to orchestrate a symphony well would normally take months of arduous work. But even if Felix managed to complete the first five minutes, I hoped it would be enough to convince Thom of what I’d heard myself. If he’d done nothing, then nothing was lost and Thom would never know.
Everyone deserves a second chance, I thought to myself as I heard the front door open and Thom arrive home from playing the opera Carmen with the orchestra. The concert season had begun and as he collapsed onto the sofa, grey with fatigue, I handed him a chilled beer from the fridge.
‘Thanks, Ally. I could get used to this,’ he said as he opened the beer. ‘And as a matter of fact, I’ve been thinking about things over the past few days.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘Have you decided yet where you’re going to have Thumbelina?’
This was a pet name for the baby, which had originated from Thom asking me what size he or she currently was, and me – with my brand-new pregnancy book as a guide – using my thumb to describe it.
‘No, I haven’t.’
‘Well, how about staying here at Froskehuset with me? You keep saying how you’re itching to refurbish it, and I certainly don’t have time to do it. Given that nesting instinct thing you read about in the pregnancy book the other day, how about channelling it practically and setting to work? In return for bed and board, whi
ch is mounting up given the current size of your dual appetites,’ he teased me. ‘And, of course, official ownership of half of it?’
‘Thom, really, this is yours! I’d never dream of taking half of it from you.’
‘Well, how about if you invested some cash, if you have any, in updating this place? I’d call it a fair swap. See? I’m not being quite as generous as you thought.’
‘I could certainly ask Georg Hoffman, Pa’s lawyer. I’m sure he’d see it as a good investment. It’s not going to take much cash to update this, although I was thinking that awful eyesore of a stove needs to be ripped out and replaced with a modern fire, and maybe some underfloor heating for the rest of the house. Oh, and then the boiler needs replacing and all the bathrooms re-plumbing, because I’m fed up of having a dribble of warm water when I take a shower, and—’
‘There we go,’ Thom chuckled. ‘I’d reckon on at least one million kroner to do the job properly. The house is worth about four million, so I’d be paying you a little extra as my interior designer. We’d have to agree that if one of us needed to sell it in the future, then the other one would have the right to buy their share, but Ally, I think it’s important that you feel you and the baby have a home of your own.’
‘I’ve done all right without one up to now.’
‘You’ve never had a child up to now. And as one who grew up in a home that my mother constantly reminded me wasn’t ours, I’d like my niece or nephew not to have that worry. Perhaps I could offer my services as a father figure and mentor until another one arrives on the scene. Which I’m sure he will one day,’ he added.
‘But Thom, if I stayed here . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘I’d have to learn Norwegian! And it’s impossible.’
‘Well, you and the baby can learn together,’ he said with a smile.
‘But what happens when one, or both of us, do find someone else?’
‘As I said, we can sell it, or buy the other one’s share. Besides, don’t forget it does have four bedrooms. And as I refuse to allow you to be with a man I don’t approve of, there’s no reason why we couldn’t live in a commune here together. Anyway, personally I don’t think we should worry too much about what might happen. Isn’t that one of your own favourite lines?’
The Storm Sister Page 52
