Close Harmony

by Justine Elyot

  “Kaspar. Milan Kaspar.”

  “Oh.” She looked up at him, squinting, then she grinned. “Next Big String, right?”

  He nodded graciously.

  “My mum’s a huge fan of yours.”

  “Ah. Thank you.”

  He was popular with the mum market, he knew. Sales of his CD always rocketed around Mother’s Day. Would they still approve of him after this?

  He sat down on a brown armless chair, then remembered the whip marks and stood abruptly again. Looking at the door he wondered if it was too late to change his mind. But the police officer had taken his name now. If she wanted to follow him up, nothing would stop her.

  He imagined himself, a prisoner in the dock, found guilty and taken down to the cells while a pale-faced Lydia wept in the public gallery.

  “You are crazy,” he said to himself severely. “Nobody is going to jail. You will get a caution at worst. Maybe a suspended sentence. Community service. Wearing an orange overall and cleaning junk from a canal bank. What a disgrace.”

  He shivered, not reassured by his own train of thought.

  The sergeant seemed to take a long time finding a colleague to talk to him, and when she returned, with a man in tow, they were immediately interrupted by the loud and self-important arrival of Karl-Heinz and Dafydd.

  “You haven’t arrested him, I hope?” said Karl-Heinz, striding to the desk.

  “Mr Kaspar?” frowned the policeman. “No, not yet.”

  “Good, because the victim here wants to change his statement.”

  The two police officers exchanged eye rolls.

  “The fact is, officers,” said Dafydd anxiously, “I don’t know who hit me. Could have been this man here. Could have been my wife. I can’t be sure.”

  The officer huffed, looking over the previous statements.

  “So you’re saying that this wasn’t a domestic altercation between two people? More like an affray?”

  “I was jealous, see, because I knew my wife had history with this man. It got a bit heated. Didn’t it, Milan?”

  “Yes.” Milan blinked. “It did.”

  “So you’re saying you can’t say who threw the punch, Mr ap Hughes?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying. And there’s no harm done, really, is there? I mean, I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.”

  “Quite.”

  “So can we turn back the clock? Scrub round all those statements and arrests and just let us sort it out between us.”

  “Will that be done in a peaceful and amicable fashion?”

  “Of course,” said Karl-Heinz.

  “I dunno,” said the desk sergeant, once everything had been talked through and signed off and marked ‘no further action’. “Classical musicians, eh? Worse than teenagers.”

  “Must be all that passion,” said her colleague. “Here, did you get that Kaspar’s autograph?”

  The desk sergeant held up a leaflet about motor vehicle security, scribbled across with Milan’s flamboyant signature, and beamed.

  “Mum’s going to be so excited,” she said.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Snow was falling lightly as the coach entered the city of Leipzig.

  Vanessa kept her nose pressed gloomily against the window, avoiding all conversation with Katja by her side. She was only too aware of Ben, sitting four rows behind her across the aisle, his ears plugged and eyes shut.

  He had tried to get close to her a few times—every time they had stopped for a toilet break, in fact—and on the ferry too. But she had kept her knot of friends around her, not wanting any kind of public scene.

  It was cruel and heartbreaking, but she had to concentrate on the positives. Dafydd was gone. Leonard was leading the orchestra in this short tour. Things would settle down, eventually.

  At the front of the coach, Lydia sat with Karl-Heinz, talking non-stop about Milan.

  “D’you think he’ll be all right on his own?” she asked for the dozenth time.

  Karl-Heinz shook his head and smiled distractedly.

  “Lydia…he is a grown-up. He can spend a long weekend by himself now and again.”

  “But the timing’s so bad…just when we were…starting to all get along.”

  She blushed at her euphemism. ‘Getting along’ wasn’t the half of it. They’d been making such good progress along this ménage learning curve, though, and it seemed a pity to stop just when things were going so well.

  “We’ve got all the time in the world, Liebchen. All the time in the world.”

  But there was a twinkle in Karl-Heinz’s eye that she didn’t entirely trust. What did he have planned?

  * * * *

  Having dumped their bags in their respective rooms, the players congregated in the hotel lobby, forming into groups and cliques in which to go out and explore the city before tomorrow’s day of exhaustive rehearsal followed by the concert.

  Vanessa, appearing to actually run away from Ben, grasped hold of Lydia’s hand.

  “Come to the Thomaskirche with me?” she pleaded. “You know, where Bach was cantor. You’ll want to see it, won’t you?”

  “Oh—well, I’d love to but…” She saw Ben cutting his way through the swarm of people and leaned closer, speaking in a lower voice. “He’s desperate to talk to you. Shouldn’t you hear him out?”

  “What, an apology and a ‘no hard feelings’? I’m not ready to move on, Lydia. I’d rather save myself the pain just now.”

  “So you’d take him back?”

  “Like a bloody shot.”

  “Then talk to him.”

  “I’m scared to—oh.”

  Ben stood behind Vanessa’s shoulder now and he laid a hand on her upper arm.

  “Ness,” he said urgently. “At last I’ve made it within three feet of you. Say no if you want but would you come to the Christmas market with me? A bit of a chat over some Glühwein? Please?”

  “Oh, well, I would but I’ve promised to go to the Thomaskirche with Lydia…”

  “It’s fine,” said Lydia, but Vanessa spoke loudly over her.

  Karl-Heinz called for Lydia over the heads of the crowd.

  “Oh—excuse me,” she said, trotting over.

  Vanessa, left alone for a moment with Ben, felt like doubling over and crouching on the floor, away from the possibility of too much being said.

  “You could meet up with her later,” said Ben hopefully. “Or—I’d like to see the Thomaskirche. And the other one. And the place, you know, that underground bar in Faust. Just thought you might like the market first. Oh, and there’s the Gewandhaus, but we’ll be there tomorrow, of course, so perhaps just the churches.”

  Oh God, his nervous patter was making her want to fling her arms around him and hold his head against her shoulder. Danger was in the air.

  Lydia relieved her, but not for long.

  “Sorry, Ness, Karl-Heinz wants to take me somewhere, but he won’t say where. It’s all a bit cloak-and-dagger, but apparently we have to go now or we’re going to miss something vital. Can we do the churches another time?”

  “Oh…”

  “Bye!”

  Lydia was gone.

  “So, er, the market?”

  Vanessa turned to Ben. She tried her hardest to replace his anxious, beloved face with the one she’d seen that night, the one that had lost faith in her and believed she could cheat on him. But she couldn’t do it.

  “Oh, go on, then. But you’re buying the Glühwein.”

  “I think I owe you that much.”

  The city streets were lined with stalls, lit up with strings of coloured fairy lights now that dusk had fallen in earnest. Some sold wooden toys, some sold huge looped sausages, some sold sweet spicy Lebkuchen or traditional German crafts. The bitterness of the cold was taken off by the lit braziers all around on which delicious snacks were cooked.

  “It’s pretty but it’s freezing,” said Vanessa with a shivery laugh as Ben handed her the paper cup of warm mulled wine. “To think that Lon
don was mild and sunny when we left yesterday.”

  “Well, this is Central Europe. Fierce winters, scorching summers. But it all looks gorgeous.” He paused and Vanessa felt a flutter in her stomach. “Like you,” he said.

  “Fierce? Scorching?” She sipped at her drink, challenging him with her eyes.

  “Well, yes. All of the above. Listen ―”

  “Ben. I don’t want to be friends.”

  He looked down into the spicy red depths of the liquid for a silent moment. “I can understand…I was a fool, rushing off like that instead of stopping to talk to you…but it was… I was… I felt like I was being torn in two and I…”

  “It’s okay. I understand.”

  “The moment I stopped to think about it,” he said, finding his voice, and a passionate one at that, “I knew I was wrong. I knew I shouldn’t have believed it, even for the split second I did. Ness, I was barely through the door before I realised what I’d done. I almost came back, but he was there and then the police showed up and…”

  “It was a mess, Ben. My mess. Not yours.”

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying. It is my mess. I want it to be. If that’s what you want.” She tried not to meet his side-of-the-eye glance, knowing it would pierce her heart.

  “It was too much to ask of you. Too much baggage for young shoulders like yours.”

  “Shut up! If you’d let me shoulder some of it, instead of trying to cope alone… Ness, I just wanted to be there for you, and you didn’t let me. I’m not some stupid kid who runs away at the first sign of grown-up responsibility, and if that’s what you really think of me, then ―”

  “It’s not. It’s not what I think of you,” insisted Vanessa. “I’m sorry. I should have been honest with you from the start. But what we had—it was so lovely, a little oasis of loveliness after a desert of shittiness in my relationships… I was terrified of spoiling it.”

  “I didn’t mean to shout at you. Don’t cry.”

  “It’s just…you were there with your free and easy spirit and none of these awful shadows in your past, and there I was, with twenty-plus years of abusive or unavailable men in my backstory… It wasn’t that I thought it would scare you off. Well, maybe it was, a bit. But I just wanted to keep everything perfect, the way it was. Fucking Dafydd. The fucker. He’s still fucking me up even now.”

  She put down her paper cup, powerless to resist the sanctuary offered by Ben’s arms.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “You deserve better.”

  “Don’t be stupid, Ness. There’s nothing better, not for me. And as for Dafydd, fuck him. He’s gone. He’s out of the picture. If you let him ruin the rest of your life, I’ll find him and kill him, I promise.”

  She blinked back the tears, staring up at him. He’d sounded as if he’d meant that.

  “Perhaps I’m too old for second chances,” she whispered.

  “What? You could live another sixty years. You’ll be too old for second chances some time after you get your telegram from the Queen. Or King, I suppose it’d be. Or perhaps another Queen. Oh, who knows? The point is, you’re not too old for anything. I might be a thoughtless young whippersnapper who knows nothing about life but I know that much.”

  “I’m too old for a Young Person’s Railcard.” She managed a watery smile.

  “Well, so am I, for that matter. Who needs one, anyway? We get luxury bus travel to all the cities of Europe.”

  “I do love you.”

  He squeezed her tight. “I know. I know you do. And I never stopped loving you. That night… God, I thought I’d never breathe again. Mind you, it was worse for you. At least I didn’t get arrested.”

  “Another lovely addition to my CV. Evil husband, check. Mad rebound affairs, check. Night in the police cells, check, check, check.”

  “Brilliant, confident, sexy woman. You tick all those boxes too.”

  “Not feeling it much at the moment.” She laughed, a little shiver going through it.

  “You’ve had a knock. It’ll come back. Think of that woman I saw, that woman I was immediately obsessed with, playing her drums like a boss on the day of my audition. You’re still her. She’s still you.”

  She stood in Ben’s arms, embracing him, wet snow streaking their hair and cheeks. Who would be first to break the moment of hope?

  “She didn’t know what was coming,” said Vanessa quietly.

  “But she knows what’s still here. What will always be here, if she wants it to be.”

  “Ben, do you really think…?”

  He pressed his knuckles against her jawbone, tilting her head upwards. Their lips, when they met, were freezing and numb, but the warm breath behind soon gave them life and tingle.

  “Tell you what,” he whispered, breaking apart. His hair was plastered down now by the wet snowflakes. “I could murder a beer. Shall we go to that underground place before we turn blue?”

  “That’s my romantic boy,” said Vanessa with a broad grin. “Yes, a beer would hit the spot now. Not sure I’m that keen on Glühwein.”

  * * * *

  In Auerbach’s, with its dark wood panelling and exquisitely painted ceiling depicting scenes from Faust and loud clamour of German conversation, they found a quiet-ish corner and sat, thighs touching, with their tankards of foaming ale.

  “Would you consider selling your soul to the devil?” asked Ben, looking at one panel of the frescoes that surrounded them.

  “That’s what they always say about Milan, isn’t it?” said Vanessa. “Which he loves, of course, because it puts him in direct lineage from Paganini.”

  “He does have that vibe about him, doesn’t he?” Ben made a rueful grimace and sipped from his tankard. “Good stuff,” he commented, raising an eyebrow.

  “Lydia has my permission to tell me to fuck off if I ever attempt to lecture her again on her love life. Especially now it all seems to be working out for her.”

  “It can work out for you too. Let’s lay our cards on the table. Not real cards. I don’t have any of them.”

  “Oh God,” said Vanessa nervously.

  “The night Dafydd turned up and it all kicked off, I asked you to marry me. My reasons for doing that were because I loved you and because I thought there couldn’t be anything better than spending the rest of my life with you. When Dafydd sent that stupid text photo and, and all that, it was like falling off a cliff. I mean, for a moment, the ground fell completely away from under me. Everything I’d hoped for and dreamed of…but I shouldn’t have thought like that. I should have kept my head and stayed calm and then I’d have realised that it must have been some kind of game he was playing. I knew it within a few minutes of storming out, and I thought about storming back, but the police…anyway, you know all that.”

  “You had a shock. Anyone would have reacted the same.”

  “I’m not sure. I feel terrible about it. I should never have doubted you.”

  Vanessa put her hand over his. He didn’t pull away.

  “Anyway,” he continued, “I felt so guilty and so unworthy of you that I sort of slunk off into my cave for a while. I knew you’d need a bit of time for the Dafydd stuff to get sorted out. I knew you had Lydia and Karl-Heinz and Milan with you, helping you through it. I rang a couple of times, to apologise, but you had your phone turned off.”

  “I was scared Dafydd might try to get in touch.”

  “Of course. I thought it was that. And then you took that time off from rehearsals, so I didn’t see you when I thought I would.”

  “Thanks for picking up the slack for me. Sorry to leave you in the lurch.”

  “Jesus, that was the last thing I was bothered about, Ness. I’d have played seven people’s parts if it meant you’d come back feeling better.”

  She smiled at the mental image this evoked and squeezed his hand.

  “You’re…” She couldn’t think of words big enough to express it.

  “The love of your life?” he suggested hopefully.


  “Yes. That’s it. That’s what you are.”

  “So, if I were to get down on one knee…?”

  “Don’t talk about it, Dummkopf! Do it!”

  Vanessa was aware of many a curious eye straying away from its focus on companions or the contents of its tankard when the lanky young man stood straight, pushing back his chair, then felt inside his many layers of coats and jackets for something.

  “Right,” he said. “I haven’t lost it. Good.”

  Then he dropped to his knees, and the loud echoes of discussion dropped several levels along with him, something close to hush descending in the time it took for Ben to start speaking.

  “Vanessa Robertson,” he said, the sudden quiet making him speak out as clearly as he could rather than mumble. He wasn’t shy, and Vanessa loved that about him. “Oh dear, I feel I should say this in German now, or at least provide subtitles.”

  There was some low laughter and a few red faces looked delicately away.

  “Meine Damen und Herren,” he announced, to louder laughter, then he turned back to Vanessa. “No. This is for your ears only. Vanessa, I’ve been a dick and I’ve let you down but I love you and I want to be with you, always. Will you marry me?”

  A few shouts of “Ja!” competed with others of “Nein!” as Vanessa tried to shut out everything but her and Ben, together, here, from her mind.

  “I could kill you sometimes,” she said. “Yes. Yes, of course. Of course I will.”

  A loud cheer erupted from wall to wall and even the characters on the ceiling appeared to beam with approval.

  Ben took the ring from the box and slipped it on Vanessa’s finger then the pair of them stood together and embraced then kissed, all accompanied by delighted applause.

  When they broke apart, a waiter stood at Vanessa’s shoulder with a tray bearing a champagne bottle and two glasses.

  “If Madame would wish,” he said formally, and she laughed and gave him her profuse thanks.

  People were standing on tables singing drinking songs by the time Vanessa had poured the first glass.