The Novel in the Viola

by Natasha Solomons

  Mr Rivers frowned, worry lines appearing on his forehead.

  ‘The attack in Paris? I hope Herr von Rath survives. I fear it will be bad for the Jews if he does not.’

  He gestured to me and I followed him down the stairs and into the library. Automatically, I went to the windows and opened the curtains, so that the early morning light trickled into the room. Mr Rivers sat at the desk and fiddled with the dials on his wireless. Static crackled as the instrument warmed. I felt a swirl of nausea and a pain thrum in my temples. I recited their names as a prayer: Annaandpapannaandpapannaandpapapapapa. Then the voice of the newsreader over the airwaves: ‘The King opened Parliament yesterday. A grand ceremony . . .’

  We listened to the news in silence for a few minutes. The attack in the German embassy in Paris was not mentioned. As the shipping forecast began, Mr Rivers switched off the wireless.

  ‘Well, it would appear the BBC does not share my anxiety. Perhaps they are right and all will be well. You will let me know as soon as you hear from your parents?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  He settled in his chair behind the desk and studied me without speaking. I was not sure if I should leave. Mr Rivers was always kind to me, but I never forgot that he was my employer. He possessed a cool reserve that demanded respect from even the fickle Diana and Juno. I always felt he was at a distance, as though he existed behind a pane of glass. He never slouched or spilt his whisky or made mess of any kind. His desk was meticulously ordered, envelopes stacked according to size and letters were responded to by return. He lacked Kit’s ease and warmth, and rarely spoke to me unless it was a polite request for some refreshment. I sometimes wondered that he was Kit’s father. I supposed Kit must have taken after his mother. I never knew what Mr Rivers was thinking. Sometimes I caught him watching me, though usually he looked away so quickly that I was not sure if I had imagined it. Mr Rivers gestured to the row of Julian’s books on the shelf behind him.

  ‘Is your father writing something new?’

  ‘Yes, sir. But he won’t find a publisher in Austria. His books are banned now.’

  He watched me, not blinking. I wondered what he would think, if he knew that Julian’s latest novel was hidden upstairs. For a moment, I was almost tempted to tell him. No. The novel was mine and I would not share its existence with anyone. The secret belonged to me and to Julian. It struck me that I had never seen Mr Rivers unshaven before. A shadow of black stubble grazed his chin and lip. I swallowed and licked dry lips – there was something I had always been curious about.

  ‘Do you speak German, sir?’

  ‘Yes. Though I speak her very poor. I am much the best at reading her.’

  Despite the nauseous feeling in my gut, I smiled and clapped my hands. I felt a rush of happiness at hearing my mother tongue, even when slightly garbled.

  ‘Sir, you speak wonderful German. You must tell me if you wish to practise. I would be so happy to help you. Really, I would. You can tell me which of Papa’s books you like the best. The Minotaur’s Hat has always been my favourite.’

  ‘Slow down!’ he said, laughing. ‘I can’t understand when you speak so fast.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I should very much enjoy some German conversation lessons. Perhaps after all this party chaos has dissipated?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And I shouldn’t have worried you. I am sure all will be well. If I hear anything more, I will tell you right away.’

  After leaving the library, instead of lighting the fire for Diana, as I ought to have done, I ran up the stairs to my little attic. I fumbled through my drawers and pulled out Anna’s pearls. I don’t know why, but I wanted to wear them that day. I fastened them under my blouse, tugging the collar up so that they were hidden. I hastened to the guest room, and slipped inside to discover Diana already awake.

  ‘You’re late. I’m cold. I need tea right away.’

  ‘Yes, your ladyship.’

  I stood up and started to hurry away to fetch the tea tray but Diana called me back.

  ‘Light the fire first. I can’t believe this place doesn’t have proper radiators.’

  It was true; the house only had central heating in the downstairs reception rooms. None of the bedrooms had radiators. Kit explained that his father had been forced to sell one of the good paintings to pay for the ground floor heating to be installed. Mr Rivers decided that instead of selling the Turner seascape, family and guests alike could manage with old-fashioned fires. Except for the servants. We had neither radiators nor fires and suffered with chilblains from late October. It seemed very odd to me that a man who owned such a large and magnificent house as Tyneford could not afford to heat it properly. Kit informed me that the profit on the estate was marginal and when faced with a choice of having staff or heating, his father always chose staff. He was a gentleman of the old school and believed it his responsibility to employ as many people from the village as possible. The two men rarely spoke and appeared to take little pleasure in one another’s company, but when Kit discussed his father, his voice resonated with pride.

  I put a match to the fire, blowing gently on the tiny flame, and in a minute there was a roaring blaze. I added coal and pine logs, and warmth spread into the room like reaching fingers. I stood up with a smile, taking satisfaction in my new skill. Before this year I had never lit a fire before, but now I reckoned I was as good as Hildegard.

  ‘He can’t help it,’ said Diana.

  She sat propped up on embroidered cushions, her tight blonde curls a halo around her head. In the morning light, her eyes appeared violet.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ I said.

  ‘You’ve cast some spell over Kit. You Jewesses. You’re nothing special to look at. But men can’t resist.’

  I knew I oughtn’t to, but I laughed out loud.

  ‘Don’t you dare laugh at me! Don’t you dare.’

  I attempted to swallow my laughter, tickled at the notion of myself as some species of exotic temptress. I supposed that with all the running up and down stairs I had lost a little of the baby-fat around my middle. I pictured myself as a turbaned seductress in an oriental fantasy and giggled. Diana picked up a cushion and hurled it at me. It struck me on the cheek and flopped onto the rug. I scooped it up, fluffed it and placed it on the armchair by the window.

  ‘I’ll fetch your tea, miss.’

  ‘You were part of the smart set in Vienna?’ said Diana, smoothing her silk nightgown.

  I hesitated. Even in Vienna, my family was bourgeois, part of the new class of Jewish artists and liberals, but however assimilated we remained separate, like cream on milk. Anna was feted at the Opera Ball because all Viennese society wanted to hear her sing, but the Landau family name did not procure us a box, or the best table at Café Splendide. Diana did not need to know this.

  ‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘Part of the smart set.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Diana, her voice soft and sad. ‘Because I thought Viennese women were the height of fashion. And everybody knows that a lady doesn’t wear pearls until after six o’clock.’

  She burrowed into her pillows, a satisfied smile playing on her pink lips. Irritation prickling down my spine, I disappeared to fetch her breakfast tray.

  The ladies and gentlemen had been invited to a shoot over at the nearby Lulcombe estate in order to give the servants time to prepare for the evening’s festivities. For us, the day passed in a whirl of frantic activity. It was regimented by Mr Wrexham’s staff plan, a document of military precision. The butler himself supervised the polishing of the silver; I cleaned the knives again and again, while Henry rubbed salt dishes, peppershakers, candlesticks and placeholders to a gleam. Mrs Ellsworth held the keys to the linen closet and watched closely as May and I carried the starched tablecloths to the dining room, and spread out specially hemmed cloths along the side table in the billiard room, which was to be set up as a bar. Lanterns were strung up across the terrace, and white roses sent from Harrods filled every r
oom. Art and Burt laid out lines of candles across the lawns, ready to be lit at dusk. A pair of girls from the village assisted Mrs Ellsworth and the kitchen boy, and even Poppy appeared before lunch to help with the baking of game pies. In a corner of the heaving kitchen, she skinned pheasants, diced venison and wood pigeon, and hacked up chunks of honeyed ham. A tin bath was carried into Mr Wrexham’s room, and packed with ice, then bottles of champagne. With great difficulty, three extra maids and another footman had been hired for the evening, borrowed from neighbouring estates, and the servants’ corridor hummed with voices and scurrying feet, like a hive of honeybees. The larder brimmed with iced cakes: lemon sponges, chocolate truffle, cherry and oozing mandarin. Syllabubs rested beside trifles, while trays of poached salmon decorated with paper-thin slices of cucumber sat on low boxes. Cold chicken and exotic peach and cumin chutneys lined the pantry. I scurried to and fro with messages and cutlery and trays of water glasses; rolls of napkins and lists of guests; paper place cards from Liberty of London; sugar cubes and crushed sea salt; cocktail shakers, ice buckets, sprigs of mint and bottles of whisky, rum, gin and kirsch; painted fruit plates and porcelain coffee cups.

  Unable to concentrate, I dropped a tray of butter dishes on the kitchen floor, just after May had stamped them with the family crest, and was sent in disgrace to empty the compost. Even at the back of the house, the gardens were immaculate. White ribbons had been tied around the box trees and I glimpsed the stable boys sluicing down the yard, where space had been cleared for thirty cars. Art’s room was filled with bales of straw and jugs of beer and sandwiches, so that the chauffeurs could wait in comfort. I wanted Mr Rivers to return, so that I could find out whether there was any more news, but they were not expected back until it was time for the ladies to dress for the party. There was nothing I could do, but fetch and carry and clean and wait and worry.

  The servants’ dinner was held early at four o’clock, and for the first time during my residence at Tyneford we filled the benches in the dining hall, squeezing in together elbow-to-elbow, as we spooned our soup and gobbled our bread and cheese. Excitement buzzed amongst us like electricity, and we listened to Mr Wrexham with something akin to pride.

  ‘I know you are all very tired. You’ve been working hard for many weeks. Tonight is the culmination of all that effort. Tonight is the coming of age of Mr Christopher Rivers, heir to Tyneford. Let us ensure that all the ladies and gentlemen who attend the evening’s celebrations speak in glowing terms of Tyneford service. Let us be a credit to Tyneford and the Rivers family.’

  There were cheers as the assembled servants toasted Kit. Mr Rivers had given permission for a bottle of champagne to be opened, and we each had a drop in our glass, which we savoured like ambrosia. Even Henry and May smiled at me – tonight at least, I could be one of them. As I hurried upstairs to change into a clean uniform and a specially ordered lace cap and apron, I found myself tingling with anticipation, greater than anything I had experienced in Vienna when attending parties as a guest. The door to my attic room was ajar and I shut it firmly, wanting a moment’s quiet. I re-tied the pearls around my neck and thought of Anna. Was she safe? Did she think of me?

  Dusk darkened into night and there was a rumble of tyres on the driveway. Diana and Juno would be clamouring for me in a moment. I couldn’t fathom how two grown women could be so helpless. They needed their clothes spread out on their beds, packets of soap unwrapped, towels warmed and scented. I hastened downstairs to the blue room and started to draw the curtains. I paused and opened the casement, peeping out across the house and gardens; lights blazed in every window, and on the lawns Art stooped to light the candles inside the storm lanterns, so that small flames flickered in the gloom. The night air was cool against my skin, and the wind sang in the larch leaves.

  ‘Is my bath drawn?’ said Diana, barging into the room and discarding her gloves on the floor.

  Sighing, I drew the curtains and slammed the window shut.

  ‘I’ll run it now, miss.’

  I slipped into the small tiled bathroom and turned on the taps. The water thundered against the sides like a screeching train in a tunnel, and I poured in handfuls of rose-scented bath salts which filled the closet with sweet smelling steam. I was exhausted, my limbs ached and my temples throbbed, and I wanted nothing more than to slip into the scalding water myself.

  ‘I need unbuttoning,’ called Juno.

  I hurried back into the room and unfastened the bone buttons on the back of her riding cape. It was a ridiculous garment, and I could imagine few things less suitable for actual riding. Not that there was any danger of that with Juno. I couldn’t recall her venturing outside unless it was to climb into a motorcar.

  ‘Did you have a pleasant day, Lady Juno?’

  ‘Don’t talk to me,’ said Juno.

  ‘I should like a lemon cordial,’ said Diana, who had at least undressed herself and now lounged in the chair beside the window flicking through a copy of Vogue.

  Resisting the urge to say a bad word, I ran down to the kitchen to fetch a glass. I knew from experience that there was no point returning without ice, and so sought a cube from the bucket in the larder. It was all melted into slush, and so I was forced to take a piece from the champagne cooler in Mr Wrexham’s room. It was a full five minutes later when I scrambled back up the stairs to the blue room. The sound of rushing water greeted me and, shoving the glass of stupid lemon cordial at Diana, I ran into the bathroom. Water poured from the tub and onto the floor. Wading through the puddles in my shoes, I turned off the tap. Furious, I stalked into the bedroom to face Diana and Juno. They sprawled in their silk chemises on the twin beds, discussing the drawings of this season’s Dior dresses.

  ‘Could you not have turned off the tap?’ I said, almost shouting.

  Diana turned to me with cold eyes. ‘I could if I were a maid.’

  ‘I was downstairs fetching you a drink.’

  ‘Yes. Thank you. You remembered the ice.’

  There was no point in arguing further. I cleared up the mess as best I could, and then called that the bath was ready.

  ‘Jolly good. And my dress is hanging in the wardrobe, if you could be so kind as to lay it out on the bed. I believe it might need another press,’ said Diana, flicking the page in her magazine.

  I went to the wardrobe and unbolted the door. Before me lay a row of skirts, blouses, high-heeled shoes, and dresses in green, rose and cream silks.

  ‘The emerald is mine,’ called Juno.

  I picked it out and hung it on the back of the door, examining the chiffon for creases.

  ‘I shall wear the pink,’ said Diana.

  I pulled out a dress in pale pink water silk and lifted it up to the light. My heart began to hammer and rage swelled inside me.

  ‘This is mine.’ I held the dress close to me. ‘You can’t wear it.’

  ‘Can’t I?’ She spoke very quietly. ‘You’ll tell Wrexham that it’s yours?’

  I knew Mr Wrexham would not care whether the dress was mine or not. It was all about their comfort. I was a maid and this was a minor humiliation.

  ‘You could always run to Kit,’ she whispered.

  I stared at her. So this was about Kit. From downstairs, I heard the tinkle of breaking glass. I closed my eyes and thought of Anna. I felt as if I were walking on quicksand, the ground beneath my feet sank and sucked. I was so tired.

  Dropping the dress to the floor, I left the room.

  I checked my cap in the hall mirror and descended the grand staircase. The panelled reception hall was empty, the servants not yet in position. Everything was ready: tables laid, glasses prepared, drinks pleasantly chilled. I could hear clattering and muffled cries emanating from the service corridor and decided to stay well away. The door to the library was ajar, and I pushed it open. Mr Rivers sat beside his desk, toying with a brandy glass. Kit lounged by the window, for once not smoking. Neither man smiled.

  ‘Many happy returns. Mr . . . Kit . . . sir,’ I mumb
led. I never was sure how to address him in his father’s presence.

  ‘Thank you, Elise,’ he said, his face grim.

  Mr Rivers poured a glass of brandy and slid it across the desk towards me.

  ‘Herr von Rath is dead. He died several hours ago and there are reports of a pogrom in Germany.’

  Feeling dizzy I snatched the glass, taking a glug of brandy. My throat burnt. ‘And Austria?’

  ‘All across the Reich,’ said Kit.

  ‘There are reports of arrests. Smashing of Jewish property. Synagogues burning,’ said Mr Rivers, pouring me another drink.

  ‘Elise, I’m so sorry,’ said Kit, crossing the room and taking my hand.

  Conscious of Mr Rivers’ eyes upon us, I withdrew my fingers from his grasp. I drained the brandy and blinked.

  ‘Is there anything else, sir?’ I said, turning to his father.

  Mr Rivers shook his head, his face full of sadness.

  ‘No, Elise. You may go.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  I bobbed my head and slipped out of the library.

  The guests appeared in twos and threes, drifting into the billiard room for an exotic cocktail shaken by Henry or Art, who stood fidgeting in his special occasion suit. Ladies in feather boas sipped champagne in the drawing room, or lingered to gossip on the stairs and in the great hall. Waiters in white tie and tails scurried to and fro, refreshing drinks and carrying canapés on silver trays. A small band of musicians tuned up in the library, and breathy notes from a flute mingled with the chatter and laughter. The two glasses of brandy had been a mistake. I felt hot and my black wool dress clung beneath my arms. I wanted to unfasten a button, but knew I could not risk Mr Wrexham glimpsing the hidden pearls. Maids did not wear jewellery even after six o’clock. Juno giggled with Poppy, clearly oblivious to the fact that my friend was merely middle class and had grown up in a bungalow. I saw Kit talking to Diana, smiling at something she’d said. The flush in her cheeks perfectly matched the soft tones of Anna’s dress. It was larger on her than it had been on me, and she’d tied a rope of crystal beads around the waist so that it clung to her figure. She looked much more beautiful in it than I ever had and, at that moment, I hated her. I wanted to be wearing the dress. I wanted to feel it wrapped around me, still smelling faintly of Anna’s perfume. There had not been time to clean it after the last night in Vienna, and I imagined it to hold the scents of that party, a lifetime ago.