The Moonlit Garden

by Bomann, Corina

  He spoke excellent German.

  “You can thank the Italian railways for that,” Ellen replied before turning to Lilly. “This is my friend I told you about, Lilly Kaiser. Lilly, this is my friend Enrico.”

  “Pleased to meet you.”

  Enrico replied by kissing her hand—the last thing Lilly would have expected. “The pleasure is all mine. Why didn’t you tell me you have such a pretty friend?”

  “Probably because I haven’t had the chance to talk to you about her.” Ellen winked at Lilly. “But perhaps I should warn her what a ladies’ man you are.”

  “Are you suggesting that I’m lying?”

  “I didn’t mean anything of the sort.”

  Before Lilly had time to think, Enrico laid an arm around her shoulders. “And what do you think? Is a man not entitled to tell a beautiful woman that she’s beautiful?”

  “Um . . . ”

  “Oh, Enrico, you haven’t changed.” Ellen tugged him away. Lilly’s heart was thumping, and she was worried that her cheeks must be as red as tomatoes. Her face flushed as if she were still a teenager!

  “I should have warned you that Enrico is a born charmer,” Ellen said.

  He stood aside and indicated for them to enter the house, giving Lilly a mischievous wink. In contrast to its exterior, the interior of the house was thoroughly modern, dotted with a few pieces of antique furniture that looked as though they had been in place for centuries, adopted by each new owner in succession. She was impressed and disturbed in equal measure by a huge modern painting of a bull that had just run onto the blade of a torero, bright red flecks of blood spattering its stylized form. The picture hung just above the snow-white sofa to which Enrico now led them.

  “Coffee for the ladies?” he asked, hurrying over to the kitchen counter on one side of the huge living room that reminded Lilly of a modern loft apartment.

  “Thank you, that would be lovely,” Ellen said, answering for them both.

  A short time later, Enrico had conjured up three espressos from an ultramodern coffee machine and placed the cups on the small coffee table in front of them.

  “I see you’ve brought the violin with you,” he said, turning to Lilly as he sat down in a nearby leather armchair. “May I take a look at it?”

  There was no refusing the winning smile he gave her, and Lilly handed him the violin case.

  Enrico snapped open the catches and lifted the lid. His eyes widened.

  “This is clearly a Cremonese violin.”

  “An investigation of the varnish indicated that it was made between the middle and the end of the eighteenth century. Turn it over,” Ellen said.

  Enrico did so immediately and gasped as if he’d seen a ghost.

  “The rose violin!” he burst out.

  Ellen gave a deep sigh. “I wonder how it is that everyone in the world seems to know about this violin except me.”

  “How could you not know about it?” Enrico said with mock outrage. “Rose Gallway’s violin.”

  The sound of the name sent sparks through Lilly’s veins.

  “Do you know anything about Rose?” she asked.

  “Not an awful lot, except that she was one of the best violinists of her time. The Italians were crazy about her.” He looked at the violin again, and an affectionate smile crossed his face. “As they were about its second owner.”

  “Helen Carter.”

  Enrico nodded. “Yes, Helen. Helen and Rose. And now you’re its owner, Lilly. Perhaps we can expect similar musical wonders from you?”

  “Oh no!” Lilly raised her hands in denial. “No, no, I don’t play. I was merely given the violin. I don’t have an ounce of musical talent.”

  Enrico’s penetrating gaze was making her feel nervous. She secretly wished that Gabriel had come with them. If he had, she was sure Enrico would not be giving her such bewildering looks.

  “Really? You have such a lovely voice. I get the impression you’d make an excellent singer.”

  “My skills are more with antiques,” Lilly said in an attempt to steer the conversation to familiar territory. “For example, I could tell you the value of that little cupboard over there.”

  “Really?” Enrico gave her a broad smile.

  “Can you tell us about Rose and Helen?” Ellen interjected. Lilly was not sorry in the slightest, as she found Enrico somehow unsettling. “Do you happen to know where our lovely Miss Gallway got to?”

  “Well, no one knows for certain . . . ” Enrico spread his hands, a little at a loss. “There were rumors that she had perhaps come to Italy, but so far no one has been able to prove it.”

  “What do people in Italy know about her?”

  “That she was a child prodigy who grew into a beautiful young woman who caused a huge stir in the concert halls here.” Enrico smiled enigmatically before looking down at his watch. “I have an idea. Why don’t we visit the violin museum? They have a few old newspapers there, too. Perhaps they’ll let us take a look even though it’s the weekend.”

  “Do you think there may be some information about Rose there?” Lilly asked, feeling a glow of anticipation light up her face.

  “They may keep a few clippings. There were detailed concert reviews in some of the gazettes—with fierce criticism of some unfortunate artists. We’ll have to burrow through some huge stacks of paper.”

  “I doubt that will be necessary,” Lilly said quickly, taking the CD she had brought with her from her bag. “I have a copy of a recording that was made of Rose here in Cremona.”

  “On June 12, 1895,” Enrico said as he read the label on the disk. “That’s brilliant! Where did you get this recording?”

  “From the Faraday School of Music. They’re researching the life of Rose Gallway there.”

  “You must play it for me tonight, but for now we’d better get going.”

  “Good idea.” Ellen gestured toward the hallway in which they had deposited their bags. “First I think we should make a detour to the hotel and leave our bags.”

  “Hotel?” retorted Enrico. “Out of the question! You’re staying with me!”

  “But we—”

  “Don’t try telling me you don’t want to cause me any trouble.” He waved an arm expansively. “Just look at this palazzo, how huge and empty it is. Do you think I’m going to pass up an opportunity to surround myself with real people instead of ghosts?”

  Lilly looked at Ellen, who seemed undecided.

  “What do you think?” Ellen asked finally.

  “Yes, what do you think, Lilly?” Enrico insisted with an engaging smile. “Are you really going to leave me here alone with all these ghosts?”

  “Is this place really haunted?” she replied with a laugh.

  “And some! If you stay, I’ll give you a personal introduction. So?”

  Lilly couldn’t help returning his smile, but for some reason she would have preferred that he leave them in peace. Did she have a guilty conscience over Gabriel? Strangely, it was not Peter who sprang to mind at that moment.

  “OK, since you’re not going to leave us alone until we accept—yes, we’ll stay,” Ellen said before Lilly could reply. “Just let me call the hotel and let them know about the rooms, and then we can be on our way.”

  “There’s no need for you to use your cell phone; use mine in my study. It won’t cost as much.”

  “Yes, Daddy,” Ellen joked. She obviously knew where Enrico’s study was, since she vanished into the hallway and headed straight up the stairs.

  “How old is your palazzo?” Lilly gazed around the room, which, despite its modern interior, still had the air of a museum.

  “Oh, I think it dates back around four hundred years. Isn’t it magnificent?” Enrico said enthusiastically, with a theatrical gesture.

  “It is indeed.”

  “So you’re interested in old structures like these?”

  “Yes, very. It goes with my profession. I couldn’t begin to say how much the building’s worth, but some of the piec
es you have here would bring in a real fortune.”

  Enrico smiled broadly. “It’s a good thing I don’t give a damn about money.”

  At that moment Ellen drifted in.

  “I have to warn you—I wouldn’t let yourself be seen near the Visconti Hotel if I were you. I blamed you personally for the fact we’ve had to cancel the rooms.”

  “You didn’t,” Enrico said self-confidently. “Well, even if you did, the people at the Visconti won’t hold it against me. I have friends there.” He winked. “Come on, let’s go.”

  The violin museum was in the Palazzo Comunale, a two-story thirteenth-century building with massive arches and high windows on the edge of the Piazza del Comune. Directly opposite was the cathedral and the adjacent Torrazzo, the famous tower with a view over the whole city.

  The square looked magical in the afternoon light. Lilly could vividly imagine how it must have looked in medieval times, the faithful streaming into the church, or standing outside the city hall talking to friends or business partners.

  The museum itself was typically Baroque, with its gray-and-white marble, chandeliers, and cream-colored Empire chairs. Lilly and Ellen walked past the exhibits, gazing in amazement, while Enrico tried to get them access to the documents he had promised. They tried to catch a few snippets of what he was saying to the museum attendant. Although neither of them spoke Italian, they gathered that the man from the museum was far from enthusiastic. Eventually and reluctantly he decided to grant them access to the archive. The conversation eventually came to an end, and Enrico returned.

  “We’re in luck,” he declared. “They’ll let us look through a few newspapers, but we have to hurry, since they’re not open for much longer.”

  Enrico led them to the museum attendant and introduced them before they left the exhibition hall and entered the archive, where not only collections were stored but also files and thick leather folders holding newspapers and magazines. A copier hummed softly in the corner.

  “I’ve asked to see the newspapers for the week around June 12, 1895, first,” Enrico said, indicating the two thick leather volumes on the table and switching on the reading lamp. “It’s possible that the event was announced in advance. It must have been important because a recording was made, which was rare in those days.”

  As Lilly opened the first tome, she saw a slightly yellowed title page crowded with pictures. She was interested to note that the majority were drawings, not photos. But she had no more idea of the headlines than Ellen did.

  “I think we’ll have to hand the search over to you,” she said to Enrico. “This is all Greek to us.”

  “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”

  Enrico leafed rapidly through the large-format pages, finally stopping at a certain place.

  “There’s something here,” he announced, turning the binder around. “Look at this picture.”

  Lilly’s gaze fell on a rather awkward-looking girl who must have been fourteen or fifteen. She was holding her violin in her hand, turned so that the rose on the back was visible. Later, in the conservatory, Rose had stood in the same pose, although by then she had blossomed into a pretty young woman.

  At the young Rose’s side stood an older woman in a severe black dress. Her slightly graying hair was crimped at the temples in accordance with the fashion of the times. A metal-mounted onyx brooch could be seen at the collar of her dress. The elderly woman, who Lilly assumed must be Mrs. Faraday, had one hand on Rose’s shoulder, and the other clutched a small notebook. While Rose looked friendly and somewhat unsure of herself, Mrs. Faraday’s face radiated a coldness that commanded respect from Lilly more than a hundred years after the picture had been taken.

  “According to the text, it seems that all the local dignitaries wanted to be seen at the concert. I’m sure some of them would have been more interested in the recording than the performance, but an appearance by Rose Gallway must have been very important even then.”

  Without her knowing why, the picture worked a remarkable magic on Lilly, as if she were being given the opportunity to see Rose through a window. Had she suffered under her strict teacher? Or did Mrs. Faraday look fiercer than she actually was? Had she filled her notebook with all of Rose’s mistakes? Or did it have a particular purpose?

  “Could I please have a copy of this?” she asked, finding it hard to tear her eyes away.

  “I should think so. I’ll translate the text of the article for you so that it will give you more to go on.”

  “Do you have time for that?”

  “Of course,” Enrico replied, the insolent smile flaring up on his face again. “If not for you, for whom?”

  They looked through the papers for a while longer, and Enrico found some more useful material. There was another photo, this time of the concert, and a drawing of the performance on another page. This one showed Rose concentrating hard on the movement of her bow, looking lost to the world around her.

  “The reviews were all excellent. It seems they were enchanted by the shy child prodigy,” Enrico said. “But I’m afraid we’re not going to find much insight into her later life here.”

  “Is it known whether Rose played in Italy again?”

  “It’s possible. I’m no expert on Rose Gallway, but there must be more to discover. I can’t say how long it will take. You’ve only got tomorrow, so I think you should ring whoever it is you know at the Faraday School of Music and get his advice so I can help you better.”

  A smile sprang to Lilly’s face, and she noticed Ellen was also smiling.

  “I’ll do that,” she promised.

  “You can also use my landline to keep your cell phone charges down.”

  “Isn’t that a bit much to offer?” Lilly said, feeling a little uneasy. She got the sense that Enrico’s favors would cost her something in return.

  His hand cut through the air and waved away her concerns. “Nonsense. We’re on the trail of a mystery woman—I’m not going to worry about a euro or two!”

  Before she could say any more, the attendant appeared and reminded them that the museum was about to close. Enrico persuaded the archivist, who was about to go home, to agree that they could return the next day, even though it would be Sunday, to look through some more newspapers.

  Outside the Palazzo Comunale they were met by a deafening peal of bells, which caused the pigeons that had settled on the square to flutter up in fright.

  Once the racket stopped, Enrico said, “How about I invite you to dinner? We could continue our tales about Rose and Helen.”

  Neither Lilly nor Ellen had anything against the idea.

  After a lovely dinner in Enrico’s favorite trattoria and an evening stroll through the old town, Lilly was feeling pleasantly tired. Since Enrico’s palazzo had several guest bedrooms, she had her own room, complete with a seventeenth-century wardrobe, a richly carved cassone, and a four-poster bed with heavy silk drapes that radiated a subtle scent of lavender. Lilly wondered who might have slept in that bed in earlier times.

  Before settling down beneath the heavy covers, she went over to the window again to enjoy the lovely view of the old town, now lit by streetlamps. She sat down in the broad recess and watched the few passersby who were still out at that time of night. She thought of Peter—he would have liked it here.

  But his image in her mind was soon displaced by the face of Gabriel Thornton. Oh my God, Lilly thought, I’d almost forgotten him! She looked at the clock by the bed. Would Gabriel still be up at half past ten? Would it be better to leave the call until the next day?

  After deliberating briefly, she reached for her cell phone before remembering that Enrico had offered the use of his landline. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to accept the offer—did she want to sit downstairs in the living room talking to Gabriel? She decided against it. Although they were very unlikely to talk about anything personal, she didn’t want to be overheard. She took a deep breath and dialed Gabriel’s number. There was a crackling on the line, and then he
answered.

  “Thornton.”

  “Gabriel . . . I . . . I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  “Lilly!”

  Did he sound horrified? Lilly turned hot and then cold. Perhaps she should have waited until the morning.

  “I know it’s late,” she began. “I . . . I could call back tomorrow.”

  “No, tell me what’s up now—you’ve got me on the line, after all. Has something happened?”

  He sounded worried, which made Lilly feel even worse.

  “No, everything’s fine. It’s just that . . . we’ve found some pictures of Rose. In a newspaper. One shows her and Mrs. Faraday—at least I assume it’s her.”

  “That’s wonderful! When was the picture taken?”

  Her brief remark had clearly been enough to kindle his enthusiasm.

  “On the day the recording was made.”

  “Brilliant! As far as I know, I don’t have that one in my files. Some documents were destroyed in the war. That’s an excellent find.”

  “Really?” Lilly’s heart was pounding. Why? She had only told him that she had found the photo.

  “A really excellent find. Could you bring me a copy, please?”

  “I will. Signor di Trevi is going to translate the text for us.”

  “Di Trevi?”

  “Ellen’s acquaintance. We’re staying in his palazzo, and he managed to persuade the people at the museum to let us go back tomorrow and look at some more newspapers. There were a few reviews of the concert, and we might discover more about Rose.”

  Lilly had to stop herself. You can’t keep on chattering away, or he’ll think you’ve had a caffeine overdose.

  “That all sounds amazing!” Gabriel replied. “But I get a feeling that’s not the only reason you’re calling me.”

  “No, I . . . ” Lilly hesitated as it dawned on her how he might have meant it. She forced herself to stay calm. “I wanted to ask you if Rose may have given any other concerts in Italy, and if so, when. That would make it easier for us to find the newspapers in which they were reported. They’re bound in pretty thick volumes, and it could take weeks . . . ” Lilly paused when she got the feeling Gabriel was smiling into the phone.