by Sarah Rayne
He said, in a rather disinterested voice, that he supposed he could take a swing at the thing. He might be able to leave the office in the hands of his staff for a week or two – although he would have to be in constant touch with them by phone, that would have to be understood at the outset. Legal practices were not things you picked up and put down as the mood took you. There were responsibilities – clients who relied on Edmund.
This foxed them for a moment – aha, they were seeing he was not so easily fooled! – but then they said, how would it be if they found another solicitor to caretake the office until Edmund went back. They could arrange for notes to be made and files to be handed over. Because they were really extremely keen for him to write Crispin’s story for them, they said. Could something not be arranged?
Edmund pretended to think for a moment, and then said he did not see why not. He could give notes on all the current cases – some conveyancing work, and some land acquisitions and rights-of-way. He added grudgingly that he supposed his secretary might come in useful; she knew what was going on, and she knew most of the clients. Very well, since they were so insistent, he would do it. But – mark you – he would expect to be given proper facilities. He supposed this room might do; it was fairly comfortable, and they could presumably put a desk beneath that window for him, could they? Oh, and he was used to good meals, served punctually, he said firmly, because he was not going to be fobbed off with cheap, pre-packaged, pre-cooked rubbish.
‘I’m sure we can work out something that you’ll find agreeable,’ they said.
‘He’ll never be pronounced fit to stand trial,’ said the man whom Edmund had identified as the senior of the two. He regarded DI Jennie Fletcher with his head on one side, as if saying, Well? What do the police think about that?
‘There was always a whiff of real madness about Trixie Smith’s murder,’ said Jennie. ‘What would your initial assessment of Fane’s condition be?’
‘It’s a bit early to start plastering the poor man with labels, but there’s a strong indication of schizophrenia. It was very noticeable that while we talked to him, he kept having to break off the conversation.’
‘To fight with the other persona?’
‘Yes, almost certainly that. He was struggling to keep “Crispin” down. We’re getting him on to writing some of it out – he was keen on that idea, and it’ll help him. It’ll help us to understand him, as well. He’s certainly been through various kinds of hell on his own account.’
‘So,’ said Jennie drily, ‘did his victims. Is he ever likely to be let out?’
‘Oh God, no,’ said the senior psychiatrist at once. ‘He’s in here for life.’
‘There are two spare rooms,’ said Alice, shortly before midnight. ‘My room’s at the front and Michael’s is there as well, and the guest rooms are at the back of the house. I don’t mind who stays the night, or who sleeps where. Michael, you can sort out sheets and so on if anyone wants to stay, I expect.’
‘Of course.’
‘I don’t mind, either, if any of you want to drive back to London,’ said Alice. ‘Or to that place where you were last night—’
‘The White Hart,’ said Michael.
‘Yes.’ She studied them thoughtfully. ‘A remarkable day, wasn’t it? And the first meeting for us all.’
‘But not the last,’ said Lucy, rather tentatively.
‘I do hope not.’ She considered Lucy for a moment, and then said, ‘I was right when I said you were like Conrad. It’s quite uncanny.’
‘I can come again, can’t I? Properly, I mean, when everything’s sorted out. Edmund and everything. There’s so much I want to know,’ said Lucy.
‘I hope you’ll come soon and stay as long as you want,’ said Alice. ‘I want to hear about you, about the family. Tonight it’s all been me, but next time we’ll focus on you.’ She gave them the speculative look again. ‘I’ll say goodnight. I expect you can sort yourselves out regarding sleeping arrangements.’
‘You have to admit,’ said Liam, after she had gone, ‘that when it comes to exit lines, she’s Oscar-level.’ He looked at the others. ‘Well? Life’s full of decisions, isn’t it? Who’s going and who’s staying? And who’s sleeping in whose bed, I wonder? I think,’ said Liam before anyone could respond to this, ‘that as far as I’m concerned, I’d better drive back to Ashwood. I’ve had a couple of drinks, but I don’t think I’m over the limit, and I’ve got an office to deal with in the morning. So anyone heading south is welcome to a lift. But I don’t know who’s got a car here and who hasn’t.’ He looked at Lucy as he said this.
‘My car’s here,’ began Francesca.
‘And mine’s at the White Hart,’ said Lucy. ‘As the crow flies it isn’t so very far, but it would well after one a.m. by the time I got there – always assuming one of you would drive me – and so I think it would be easier for me to go back to London, and get a train back tomorrow to collect it. If I did that, I could drive over here again and see Alice – would that be all right, d’you think?’
‘She’d love it,’ said Michael.
‘She’ll be all right, won’t she?’ said Lucy slightly anxiously. ‘I mean – all this won’t have been too much for her?’
Michael smiled. ‘Meat and drink,’ he said.
‘In that case,’ said Lucy, suddenly finding the prospect of driving home with Liam very attractive, ‘I’ll take up your offer if I can, Liam. It means driving into London, though. Would that be all right?’
‘Perfectly all right. I should tell you I have absolutely no sense of direction, though, and it’s God’s mercy I even got to this house. I’m quite likely to land you on the gypsy road to Romany, or the route to the Elysian Fields. Still, that might be rather fun, you know. How about you, Michael?’
‘I’d better stay put,’ said Michael. ‘My room’s always more or less ready.’ In a voice that was just slightly too casual, ‘Francesca? Had you better drive back as well, or can you take one of the spare rooms?’
‘Well, if you’re sure I won’t be in the way if I stay—’
‘You won’t be in the way,’ said Michael.
‘I think,’ said Lucy, peering through the rain-drenched darkness as they sped through the night, ‘that we should get off this stretch of motorway in about another mile.’
‘What an efficient lady you are. Will we look for the sign yet?’
‘It should be coming up any minute. It’ll siphon us off to the left,’ said Lucy.
‘Siphoning’s the right word in this weather, isn’t it? It’s taking all my concentration to keep—’
‘On the straight and narrow?’ demanded Lucy caustically.
‘Well, I always had trouble with the straight and narrow, and I’d certainly never find it in this downpour. Wait though, is that our turning up ahead?’
‘I think so.’ Lucy wiped some of the condensation from the windscreen. ‘Yes, it is. I thought we’d probably find our way in the end.’
‘O Faith that meets ten thousand cheats, yet drops no jot of faith—’
‘Do you really not know the way?’
‘I do not. Do you?’ He took his eyes from the road for a moment to direct a very straight look at her. ‘For all I know,’ said Liam, ‘this could be the road to Mandalay or the pathway to the stars, or even the Golden Road to Samarkand.’
‘If you keep straight on from here,’ said Lucy prosaically, ‘you’ll be bound to pick up the M25 eventually.’
‘Oh God, that we should end by living in a world where all roads lead to the M25.’
‘It’s probably better tarmacked than the Golden Road to Samarkand, though.’
‘Then we’ll make a start there,’ said Liam, and took his hand from the steering-wheel to briefly enclose hers. ‘You never know, Lucy, we might find the Golden Road just when we’d decided it didn’t exist.’
Michael had led the way to a large bedroom at the back of the house. There was a deep wide bed, and he fetched clean sheets from the airing cu
pboard.
‘And there’s a spare toothbrush and sponge in the bathroom,’ he said. ‘I expect Alice will probably lend you pyjamas or something if you want.’
The thought of sleeping in pyjamas belonging to the infamous Lucretia von Wolff was very nearly irresistible, but Fran said that actually she had brought toothbrush and night things with her, following Michael’s original suggestion that they might stay overnight at the White Hart.
‘Oh yes, I’d forgotten that. It feels like a hundred years ago now. Would you like a last drink? Or a cup of tea or anything?’
Fran considered, and then said, ‘A cup of tea would be nice. Shall I help you make it? Your hand—’
‘No, I can manage,’ he said, and vanished.
I suppose, thought Fran, it’s up to me to give him a signal. Or is it? Oh bother, I’m completely out of practice with this kind of thing. Do I want to give a signal? Oh, don’t be stupid, of course I do! She padded into the adjoining bathroom, undressed and washed, brushed her teeth, wrapped herself in a towelling robe that hung on the door and scooted back to the bedroom.
When Michael came back with the tea, the curtains were drawn, and Fran had switched on a small bedside lamp, so that the room was bathed in a soft glow.
His eyes took in the scene at once, and he put the tea down and came over to the bed. ‘Nice lighting,’ he said with that glint of humour that was becoming familiar. ‘Shall I stay while you drink your tea? I’ve brought a cup for myself, but I can take it to my own room.’
‘Well, you could stay,’ said Fran carefully. ‘Although I’m wondering if I actually want a cup of tea after all.’
‘Oh good,’ he said, pulling her into his arms.
FINALE
‘Vienna gets jam-packed on New Year’s Eve,’ said Michael, meeting Lucy and Francesca with Liam at Vienna’s airport. ‘Mostly for the Opera House, of course. It’s all terribly traditional – the Radetzsky March, and so on – but I like traditions. And there’s always a terrific atmosphere.’
‘It’s got a terrific atmosphere now,’ said Francesca, looking out of the windows. ‘I’ve never been to Vienna before.’
‘People say that the pavements thrum with music,’ said Michael. ‘And that you can feel it.’
‘Can you?’
‘No idea. That’s the Opera House across there.’
Lucy, who was sitting in the back of the car with Liam, said, ‘Alice danced there with Conrad, didn’t she? It was one of the things she said kept her going while she was a prisoner. That she would one day dance with him again, to his own music.’
‘We are going to make a terrific entrance tomorrow night,’ said Alice, later that afternoon.
‘The baroness’s return,’ Lucy could not help saying.
‘Exactly. Like those films where the villain disappears in the final frame in a burning building or over the Reichenbach Falls, but vows to return.’
‘You’re not a villain,’ said Francesca, smiling.
‘No, but I’m returning from the dead.’
‘Can you?’ said Lucy. ‘I mean – you’ve spent the last fifty-odd years keeping all those secrets—’
‘Oh, no one will know who I am,’ said Alice at once. ‘But they will all think I am a person of immense importance, and they will perhaps speculate a little and I shall enjoy that. Now, show me what you’ll both be wearing tomorrow—Oh yes, that’s absolutely lovely, Lucy dear. I’m glad you go for those bronze shades – they’re exactly right with your hair. Silk? Yes, and it’s a good silk, isn’t it? Francesca, let me see—No, hold it to the light – that’s beautiful, my dear, really beautiful. Green’s one of your best colours, I think. Show me the back…Yes,’ said the lady who had been dressed by Schiaparelli and Lanvin and had worn jewellery from Cartier with careless indifference, ‘yes, you will both look tremendous tomorrow night and I shall be very proud to be seen with you. I wonder – would either of you be offended if I made you a small gift? Lucy, there is a gold necklace – very plain, very modern – but I think it would go with that neckline. And some jade earrings that I think are just the colour of Francesca’s gown…Please do accept them. It would give me a lot of pleasure.’
‘And what about you?’ said Lucy. ‘What will you be wearing?’
The mischievous smile showed. ‘My dears,’ said Lucretia von Wolff, ‘I shall be more formal than you can possibly imagine, and I shall make the finest entrance of my life.’
The ballroom was crowded when they finally reached it. Alice walked slowly but unhurriedly, as if she might be saying, I will take my time about this. There is a great deal to absorb, and I am going to enjoy all of it.
She was wearing black, as befitted an elderly lady, but it was black silk, heavy and expensive-looking, and around her shoulders was draped a black stole, with the most exquisite silver bead embroidery Lucy had ever seen. Her hair was immaculately arranged, and she wore what looked like a rope of black pearls.
‘Probably priceless,’ murmured Michael to Francesca. ‘If we aren’t mugged and robbed before midnight it’ll be a miracle.’
‘She looks extraordinary,’ said Francesca. ‘Like something from an Edwardian painting. Arrogant and elegant. And there’s such a – a romance about her and about tonight.’
Chandeliers sparkled and coruscated from the ceiling, illuminating the glittering scene and the shifting throng of people, all of whom had flocked here to observe the tradition of New Year’s Eve in Vienna. Champagne stood ready in ice-buckets, and hothouse flowers were banked against the orchestra’s platform, the heady scents mingling with the perfumes of the women.
There was a stir of curiosity as they walked forward – they don’t know who she is, thought Lucy; not really. But they know she’s somebody. And she’s loving that. I’m loving it for her, as well.
There were seats and a table on one of the balconies, with champagne and glasses set out for them. ‘Excellent,’ said Alice composedly. ‘I can look down at the dancers. You’re all going to dance, aren’t you?’
‘Of course.’
But it was not until shortly before midnight, with more champagne opened, that the conductor tapped his stand and looked across to their table. Lucy thought Michael nodded, and the orchestra slid smoothly into a piece of music that made her skin prickle and her senses race. Before anyone could say anything, Michael leaned forward and took Alice’s hand.
‘Do you mind?’ he said. ‘They truly don’t know who you are – I contacted the conductor last week while they were rehearsing, and asked if it could be played as a tribute to a lady who would be here tonight, and who had known the composer.’
‘Deborah’s Song,’ said Alice, and her dark eyes were shining with something that might have been tears, but that might have been intense happiness. ‘Oh, my dear boy—’ She sat up a little straighter. ‘We’ll have no embarrassing sentimentality, but Lucy, it would give me immense pleasure to see you and Michael dancing to this.’
Michael stood up, and held out his hand to Lucy. ‘For Lucretia and Conrad,’ he said.
‘For Lucretia and Conrad.’
The music wound its lovely way onwards, conjuring up the ghosts, summoning the shades of the man who had written it all those years ago, and of the scandalous baroness.
It had not quite reached the final bars when Liam said very quietly, ‘Francesca.’
Francesca had been enjoying the music, and she had been enjoying watching Michael and Lucy dancing. She turned to Liam, and then her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Liam – oh no. She – she’s gone, hasn’t she?’
‘Yes,’ he said, very gently. ‘But she died in a glittering ballroom, listening to an orchestra playing the music written by the love of her life, with a glass of champagne within reach of her hand. I can’t think of a better way for her to die.’
‘Michael will be devastated.’
‘I know. So will Lucy.’
Francesca looked at the still figure in the chair again. ‘She’s smiling, isn’t she?’
&nb
sp; ‘Yes.’ Liam hesitated, and then said, ‘Look down there. I don’t know if you see it, and maybe it’s just the champagne I’ve had, but—’
‘It isn’t the champagne,’ said Fran after a moment. ‘I do see it.’
Michael and Lucy were still dancing – the floor was crowded, but it was easy to pick them out. As they moved, there was a moment when it seemed to Francesca that two other figures moved with them – like the overlaying of a transparent photograph, or like the superimposing of an old, old film – so that it was no longer Michael and Lucy, but two other figures from a long-ago night.
Lucretia von Wolff and Conrad Kline, together again, dancing beneath the glittering chandeliers of a Viennese ballroom…
Fran looked back at Alice who had been watching the dancers and sipping champagne, and who had died quietly and happily, one hand turned palm upwards, as if eagerly reaching out to clasp the hand of someone who had been waiting for her…
