Death And The Maiden lp-6

by Frank Tallis

  ‘In the second of the Three Fantasy Pieces I thought the repeated octaves represented a bell, tolling.’

  ‘And they don’t?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then what do they represent?’

  ‘Hammer blows. Brosius had it all planned.’

  58

  It was past midnight when Rheinhardt finished his paperwork. He opened the drawer of his desk and took out a tin of Vanillestern biscuits, baked by his wife. Unfortunately, there were only two left. The tin had been full when he had sat down earlier. Although he could remember consuming biscuits as he wrote his report, he was not conscious of having eaten quite so many. Yet the evidence was irrefutable. He shrugged, and decided that abstinence, at this late stage, would constitute a deplorable act of self-deception. Besides, two more biscuits would not expand his waistline very much further.

  Leaning back in his chair, Rheinhardt rested his feet upon the desk and placed a whole Vanillestern in his mouth. He savoured the appeasing sweetness and the slow release of flavours. His wife had added some unusual essences that blended harmoniously with the traditional recipe and left a pleasing, zesty aftertaste. The second biscuit was even more satisfying. Rheinhardt thought of his wife with affection, gratitude and a modest frisson of desire before closing his tired eyes. Some thirty minutes later he awoke from a disturbed, chaotic dream in which he had been chased around a lake by a gang of gypsy fiddlers.

  Rheinhardt tidied his desk and made a half-hearted attempt at shaking the creases out of his trousers; however, he paid more attention to his moustache, and checked with his fingers to make sure that the points were still upstanding. He left his room and walked down several empty corridors and a staircase. The door that he eventually came to had a sign hanging outside which read ‘Records Office’. Rheinhardt fished a key out of his pocket and entered.

  The light, when it came on, was not very powerful. Its weak illumination revealed a room full of cabinets and a station which was usually occupied by a clerk. The air smelled frowsty and institutional. Rheinhardt went directly to the cabinets in which cases designated as ‘closed’ were stored and began to search through the shelves. It did not take him very long to find Professor Saminsky’s file.

  Sitting at the clerk’s station, Rheinhardt opened the folder and began to examine the contents. There were the photographs of Saminsky’s body and there were his own preliminary reports and case summary. Beneath a wad of official correspondence held together with an elastic band he found the results of Professor Mathias’s first autopsy. The results of the second autopsy had been removed.

  59

  Liebermann walked through the streets of Alsergrund, his hands plunged deep in the pockets of his astrakhan coat. He could feel the gift he had bought Amelia Lydgate, wrapped in crepe paper and tied up with a silver bow. Initially he had considered buying her flowers, but such an offering had seemed too ephemeral. He had then considered buying her a piece of jewellery, but on reflection that hadn’t seemed appropriate either. It wasn’t that she did not like jewellery (she often wore earrings and brooches when they attended concerts together), but rather it was that jewellery did not demonstrate an appreciation of her essential character. She was attracted to meteorites more than to precious stones. He had observed her behaviour in the Natural History Museum. A lump of iron that had travelled between worlds held much more fascination for her than the largest diamond.

  After much deliberation, he had decided to buy her a book, Psychology from an Empirical Standpoint by Brentano, a rather abstruse work of philosophy concerning the discrimination of mental and physical phenomena. Liebermann closed his fingers around the volume’s spine and laughed. To an onlooker, such a gift would seem entirely misjudged: dry, technical and, worst of all, unromantic. But it was a gift that he knew Amelia would like.

  She was such a remarkable woman. So unlike any other woman he had ever encountered. He adored her. Every feature of her person: the line that appeared on her forehead when she was deep in thought, the sound of her voice and the shape of her hands. Just thinking about her made him feel ridiculously happy.

  He crossed the road and passed through a knot of people who had gathered around a pedlar. They were making a lot of noise, haggling over prices. A Ruthenian, wearing a sheepskin jacket and high boots, was standing close by, considering whether or not to investigate.

  Liebermann turned off the main road into a quieter side street. He had been reluctant to admit it to himself, but his joy was definitely laced with feelings of nervousness. Two weeks had passed since they had attended the performance of Cosi fan Tutte at the opera house; two weeks, during which they had maintained a tender correspondence. Until only a few days earlier it had been impossible to arrange another rendezvous because of their respective commitments and their newfound intimacy had presented Liebermann with a fresh logistical problem. Where should they meet? A cafe was too public, a private dining room too louche, and it still felt improper for Liebermann to invite Amelia to his apartment. The obvious solution was for them to meet, as they had always done, in Amelia’s rooms. For as long as Liebermann had been visiting Amelia, Frau Rubenstein’s presence downstairs had provided a comforting illusion of propriety, performing, as she did, the functions of a discreet duenna. Now that Frau Rubenstein was abroad, visiting relatives in Berlin, even this disposal had become more complicated.

  The situation had been resolved when Amelia issued an invitation for Liebermann to visit her at home, that evening, making no mention of Frau Rubenstein’s absence. Her note had provided him with a welcome exemption from responsibility.

  As Liebermann drew closer to his destination, he found himself thinking of Klimt’s Beethoven Frieze. He had gone to see this extraordinary wall painting the previous year (with Clara — then his fiancee — and Hannah, his younger sister). Among the many complex allegories and symbols, the artist had painted a kissing couple. They were both naked and locked in a passionate embrace. This image, which Liebermann’s mind reproduced with eidetic clarity, revived a host of tactile memories: the softness of Amelia’s lips, the curve of her hip and the narrowness of her waist. He yearned to kiss her again.

  When Liebermann arrived outside Frau Rubenstein’s house, he stopped to compose himself. Eagerness had accelerated his step, and he was now a little out of breath. The door looked strangely different, all the details in high relief, as though illuminated by brilliant sunlight.

  Liebermann knocked and waited.

  Her face, when it appeared, was smiling. She ushered him into the hallway and they stood for a moment, staring awkwardly at each other. Amelia was wearing her reform dress. It hung loosely around her slender body like a kaftan, falling from her shoulders to the floor. The red of the fabric was patterned with circles of gold that glittered when she moved. She had unpinned her hair, creating a cascade of complementary russet and copper waves.

  Liebermann extended his hand. She took it — and he pulled her gently towards him. As she moved closer, her head tilted backwards to receive his kiss.

  In the Beethoven Frieze the surrendering female figure is barely visible behind the muscular solidity of her paramour. Only her arms appear around his neck, but the rest of her body is economically suggested by a pale, featureless border. The couple are situated in an arch of blazing light, behind which stand ranks of serene yet alluring angels. Around the host, the flowers in the gardens of paradise are blooming …

  Once again, this remembered image flared up in Liebermann’s mind, and it was as though he and Amelia had been magically transported into Klimt’s rapturous vision. They had unwittingly assumed the positions of the man and woman and were no longer individuals but universal principles, male and female, as fundamental as night and day, destined, inescapably, to come together. Amelia’s frame felt fragile beneath the soft fabric, and Liebermann’s arms, as they closed around her, promised strength and protection. He was acutely aware that she was not wearing a corset. There was no artificial barrier between them, no whal
ebone cage imprisoning her flesh. The sense of her nakedness intensified his desire and his hands swept down her back, mapping each exquisite curve, conveying every minute discovery through thrilled nerves to his excited brain.

  When they finally drew apart they were both stunned by the ease with which they had resumed their intimacy. It was as though the intervening two weeks had been a momentary interruption of a single continuous kiss. Liebermann realised, with some embarrassment, that they had still not spoken to each other.

  ‘I’ve got you a present,’ he said, producing the crepe paper parcel.

  Amelia took it, smiled, and replied, ‘Thank you. I’ll open it upstairs. Would you like some tea?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  Their exchange sounded peculiarly stilted in the wake of what had just transpired. On their way up to Amelia’s rooms, Liebermann was confident that very little of the evening would be spent discussing the strengths and weaknesses of Brentano’s system of philosophy. And he was right.

  60

  Rheinhardt craned his head around the bedroom door. Else was sitting at her dressing table, brushing her hair. Each downward movement of her arm was accompanied by a crackle of static electricity. She sensed him there, watching, and turned.

  ‘I’ve got to go back to Schottenring,’ said Rheinhardt.

  ‘But it’s eleven o’clock.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘I didn’t hear the telephone.’

  ‘Nobody called, my dear.’ Else threw him a quizzical look. ‘I neglected to prepare a document for the commissioner. It completely slipped my mind. I’d better go.’

  ‘Can’t it wait until morning?’

  ‘Sadly not.’

  Else shook her head: ‘How could you forget such a thing?’

  ‘Senility,’ said Rheinhardt. He was about to leave, but his wife’s disappointment made him linger. Crossing the floor and approaching her from behind, he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Their gazes met in the mirror.

  ‘What time do you think you’ll be back?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Before two, I expect.’ Else’s lips contracted. Rheinhardt responded with an affectionate squeeze. ‘I want you to know something.’ He smiled and kissed the crown of her head. ‘I love you. I know you’ve probably suspected that for some time now, but all the same …’

  He watched Else’s eyes narrow in the glass.

  ‘Is something the matter?’ she asked.

  Rheinhardt sighed. ‘It comes to something, my dear, when a man can’t tell his wife that he loves her without causing consternation!’

  She was not to be fobbed off so easily.

  ‘Oskar?’

  He kissed her again and stroked her face.

  ‘Sweet dreams.’ He released her from his grip and strode to the door where he allowed himself one last backwards look. The image of Else, sitting at her dressing table, produced a swell of emotion that almost cracked his voice, ‘Sweet dreams,’ he repeated, and set off down the hallway. He did not dare to look in on Mitzi and Therese. He knew that their angelic slumbering faces would present him with too great a challenge, and that his fragile resolve would falter.

  Rheinhardt put on his coat, stepped out of his apartment, hurried down the stairs and let himself out onto the streets of Josefstadt.

  It was a clear, bright evening. A cloudless sky glittered with stars and a gibbous moon floated high above the rooftops. Rheinhardt breathed in the chill air and looked up and down the empty road. He could not see the man who had been following him but he knew that he was hiding somewhere in the vicinity. It was a mystery how policemen acquired this sixth sense; however, its existence was indisputable. The stranger had been following Rheinhardt for almost a week, a situation that ordinarily would not have caused Rheinhardt excessive anxiety. But an auxiliary intuition had been persistently warning him to exercise caution, and at the back of his mind Orsola Salak’s prophesy refused to be dismissed.

  Rheinhardt set off, weaving through cobbled streets until he found himself near the old theatre. He turned into Piaristenstrasse and glanced up at the baroque complexities of the Maria Treu Kirche. Its two spires thrust upwards with impressive vigour. Between them was a gable on which winged figures perched and gesticulated with a commensurate surplus of energy. The exuberance of the architecture contrasted starkly with Rheinhardt’s sober mood. He began to walk faster.

  When Rheinhardt neared his destination he thanked God for a piece of good luck. A carriage came rattling down the narrow passageway, making enough noise to cover the sound of his footsteps. He came out on a road that terminated in a high wall to the left. It was only possible to go one way. Rheinhardt walked a few metres along the pavement and then slid between two bearded caryatids which stood on either side of a deep porch. Positioning himself behind one of the stone giants, he held his breath and waited. The brisk tread of the stranger could be heard over the fading rattle of the carriage, becoming louder as he turned the sharp corner. It was obvious that the man had been following Rheinhardt very closely — a professional, without doubt.

  As soon as the stranger stepped into view Rheinhardt leaped forward and hooked his elbow round the man’s neck. He pulled the man backwards into the porch and held him fast. As his prisoner struggled, Rheinhardt felt something heavy collide with his hip.

  ‘Keep still and I’ll let you breathe.’ The man didn’t stop moving so Rheinhardt applied more pressure. ‘Keep still, I say.’

  Although his captive had a slim physique, he was remarkably strong and limber. Rheinhardt felt his hold loosening and to his horror the man slipped down and out from beneath his armlock. A moment later, Rheinhardt was deflecting punches that came at him with great force and speed. He wasn’t fast enough to maintain an adequate guard and he got caught on the chin. Another punch drove into his stomach, winding him badly. With bovine determination Rheinhardt snapped his head forward again and butted his assailant in the face, before pushing him with considerable force against one of the caryatids. The man’s hat fell off and rolled across the pavement and into the gutter. Rheinhardt grabbed the man’s lapels but, once again, he could not keep hold of him. The villain escaped, stumbling out of the porch before righting himself and turning to confront Rheinhardt. It was a hard face — expressionless — sharp features, cropped hair, and cold reptilian eyes. The man thrust his hand into his coat pocket and his expression flickered with doubt and uncertainty.

  ‘I believe you are looking for this,’ said Rheinhardt, producing the man’s gun. He pointed it directly at the man’s heart. They were both breathing heavily. Somewhere, out on the streets, some people were carousing. A woman was laughing as two men sang Trinke, Liebchen, trinke schnell from Die Fledermaus. ‘Tell your master that the case is closed. His secret is safe with me. I am fully aware that it is no longer in my interests to continue the investigation.’ The man’s eyes darted from the gun barrel to Rheinhardt’s eyes and back again. ‘Do you understand?’

  The man nodded and edged backwards to the kerb where he bent his knees and scooped up his hat. After replacing it on his head, he showed Rheinhardt that his hands were empty, turned on his heels, and walked off into the night. Rheinhardt leaned back against the building and massaged his jaw. It hurt a great deal, but there was no blood. Suddenly he was overcome by a profound tiredness. He felt drained of energy and would have liked nothing more than to just lie down on the ground and rest. Rheinhardt peered into the darkness. The man really had gone.

  ‘Dear God,’ Rheinhardt sighed. ‘I’m getting too old for this.’

  The voices of the carousers could still be heard, but they were already fading.

  61

  The Emperor and the lord marshal were seated at the conference-room table. A sudden draught made the candles flicker, and the unsteady light created a general illusion of movement. The bust of Field Marshal Radetzky seemed to leap forward. Franz-Josef was unnerved by the phenomenon. He frowned, drew on his cigar, and fell into a state o
f meditative contemplation.

  They had been discussing the mayor — a subject which reliably lowered the emperor’s spirits. Franz-Josef’s humiliation at the 1896 Corpus Christi procession still haunted him: the crowd, applauding Lueger and slighting their Habsburg sovereign.

  Emperor of Austria, Apostolic King of Hungary, King of Jerusalem, King of Bohemia …

  Franz-Josef tacitly enumerated his many titles, until he came to Grand Voyvoce of Serbia. He felt an acid burn in his chest and the pain made him grip the arm of his chair. Gradually the discomfort subsided and he continued smoking.

  Corpus Christi.

  This year’s procession was even worse.

  Back in May he had been fulfilling his obligation to God and the people, walking beside the Cardinal Archbishop, when Count Goluchowski had appeared at his side. It was immediately obvious that the man was distressed. ‘Grave news from Serbia, Your Majesty — a group of rebel officers have brutally murderered King Alexander andthe Queen.’ Franz-Josef had straightened his back and asked, ‘Is there anything we can do?’ He had hoped that Goluchowski would answer in the affirmative, that he would disclose a clever response strategy. Instead, the minister had adopted a regretful expression and replied, weakly, ‘Nothing, Your Majesty.’ Even though the sun was shining and Franz-Josef had — up until that point — felt hot in his uniform, a chill seemed to settle around his shoulders. Where would it all end? He had thanked the minister and continued walking.

  The emperor exhaled and stared in an unfocused way through the dissipating cigar smoke.

  ‘One must suppose that, once again, the mayor will be re-elected.’

  ‘Sadly, Your Majesty, that is the outcome we must anticipate.’ The lord marshal made an apologetic gesture.

  ‘I take it that the delicate matter you have previously referred to has now been resolved?’