by JJ Marsh
“All in just a few days,” said Anton. “Where you’re going to be after a month is anybody’s guess. What about you, Rolf? How was your first week? I know to my cost that butting heads with Sebastian Rahn is a punishing experience.”
The afternoon sunshine hit Rolf’s champagne glass and he watched the bubbles rise to the top, as if to accentuate his optimism. “Yes, you got that right. Four days of head-butting was pretty painful. But today we came to an agreement. I will play the way he wants me to play and stop fighting. Anyway, I don’t know if it was that, but we just had the best rehearsal I’ve experienced, and a few of us went for a drink after work to celebrate. So I think it’s been a pretty good week all round!” He raised his glass.
“To us!” Leonor called. “Stand back, Salzburg, we are coming for you!”
Their laughter drowned out the sounds of the White Stripes.
5
The change from spring to summer should have meant fine weather, longer evenings and a sense of relaxation in the outdoors, but May brought three weeks of steady rain and chilly temperatures. Rather than walking the half hour to the Konzerthalle, Rolf started taking the bus two stops along Poststrasse to keep himself and his cello dry.
At work, things improved in increments, but they undeniably improved. He studied and adapted under both Rahn’s and Wilk’s tuition, learning how to operate as a cog in a machine. The orchestra were not his backing band and the more he appreciated their collaboration, the better they performed. He went out for drinks with Trudi, Bertrand and several other members of the string section after two consecutive Friday concerts. The audience’s applause was water to a thirsty man and he enjoyed himself, especially when he was able to speak German rather than English with Trudi. It felt more intimate. Meanwhile, using English on a daily basis grew easier to the point where he did not have to prepare a sentence before speaking. That simple change allowed him to engage with his new colleagues in a more spontaneous and relaxed manner.
At home, Leonor kept her focus on his diet and exercise regime, but found a new fulfilment in teaching her private pupils. They came to the apartment, carrying their instruments up one flight of stairs and spent ninety minutes under the encouraging eye of Frau von Rosenheim.
It was unusual for Rolf to meet one of Leonor’s students, but one girl had forgotten her sheet music after her Friday lesson, so she returned to collect it on Saturday morning. Susana Baia was twelve years old and according to Leonor, a future first violinist. The girl’s father was Chilean, a CFO of a major bank, and her mother an Austrian television presenter, which meant that Susana was bilingual. At first, Rolf noticed nothing more than Leonor and Susana’s easy conversation in Spanish. Once again he envied Leonor her education and the passport it gave her into every stratum of society. Their conversation quietened to a whisper. Leonor gave a gentle laugh and switched to High German.
“Rolf? Susana would like to say hello. She is a great admirer of your work. Can you come in here for a second?”
Rolf put down his phone and came out of the kitchen to see a small dark-haired girl wearing a rucksack and holding a ring-bound score in her hands.
He greeted her with a smile and almost automatically, with a slight bow. “Hello Susana, I’m pleased to meet you. Frau von Rosenheim tells me you have an exceptional talent. Perhaps one day, you’ll allow me to hear you play.”
The girl’s coppery skin flushed red and she gave an embarrassed laugh. “Frau von Rosenheim is too kind. I am an amateur, but I will work hard to get closer to a standard you could bear. I wanted to say thank you for your recording of the Brahms Double Concerto. The cello playing is Starker level. I listen to it every day. It is an honour to meet you.”
Leonor must have given her a CD. After its release to critical acclaim years ago, they had scraped enough money together to fill a case with recordings directly from the plant. They treated it as Rolf’s business card, using every opportunity to hand out signed copies to potential benefactors. Not that it ever led to any direct engagement or payback, and he remembered cursing that damned pile of plastic as a massive waste of money on more than one occasion. Leonor always shook her head, giving him her you-have-no-idea look. When they moved to Salzburg, about a dozen remained. She packed them neatly and ensured they survived the journey undamaged. She even encouraged him to give one to the maestro. “Use them up before CD players become extinct,” she told him with a laugh. Seems she found some takers for the dying format herself. Rolf thanked Susana for the outstanding compliment and with another blush, the girl was gone.
The weather changed for the better towards the end of the month and Rolf, along with several other musicians, started spending their lunch breaks outside. On the mezzanine level of the Konzerthalle, a large terrace open to the public had a section screened off for staff use. Rolf was eating sandwiches with Trudi and Jun one Wednesday when the maestro appeared at their table.
“Ms Schneider, Ms Takei, Mr Jaro, don’t let me interrupt you. I simply wanted to extend an invitation on behalf of our sponsors. We have a garden party each month over the summer to which we invite new members of the orchestra. This Friday will be the first such event, and as you are not scheduled to play that night we would be honoured if you would join us. Partners are most welcome.”
“That would be lovely!” Trudi said. “Thank you, Maestro.”
“Yes, please. I would be happy to join you,” added Jun.
Rolf hesitated, reluctant to agree on a social engagement without asking Leonor, but decided it was a great opportunity for her to meet some new people. “That’s very kind of you. My partner and I would be delighted to attend, thank you for the invitation.”
“Good. The event will be held at Hotel Adler and begins at seven o’clock. The dress code is smart casual and finger food will be provided. Now, I leave you to enjoy your lunch. See you later.”
The moment he had gone, Jun and Trudi burst into excited chatter, mainly about what they were going to wear. Rolf wasn’t concerned about his wardrobe. He was far more concerned about something else.
As it turned out he needn’t have worried. Leonor was delighted by the idea and couldn’t wait to meet some of Salzburg’s luminaries. She spent several evenings researching the sponsors on the Internet, learning significant nuggets of information she could use in small talk and grilling Anton on what she might expect. Her excitement was tangible. This was her milieu. High society. She knew how to network like a pro.
When she came into the living room on the day of the garden party, Rolf was speechless for a second. She wore one of her designer gowns and two items of the jewellery she had not been forced to sell. He was awestruck at the glamorous vision she presented. Then he instantly ruined the moment.
“You look incredible!” She did. The skin was glowing and her eyes shining, while the jewels complemented the colour of her dress so well it seemed like she had been airbrushed. “But isn’t it a bit …”
Her smile faded and her eyes narrowed. “A bit what?”
“Well, you know far more about these things than I do, but the dress code was smart casual. You do look lovely, don’t get me wrong, it’s just that we look a bit unbalanced. You look like you’re all dressed up for a night at the opera and I’m not even wearing a tie.”
She was across the room in a second, grasping his jaw in her right hand. Her nails dug into his flesh and she forced his eyes to meet hers. “In that case, maybe you’d better put one on.”
The flash of temper vanished as fast as it had appeared. She let him go and opened her clutch bag, retrieved her lipstick and stood in front of the mirror over the fireplace making minor adjustments to her make-up.
Rolf returned to the bedroom to find an appropriate tie. When he emerged, she was all smiles and offered him her arm as they walked downstairs to the waiting taxi. She chatted brightly about the evening ahead and engaged the taxi driver in conversation about the weekend’s weather. The moment they entered the hotel gardens, Rolf could see his instin
cts had been right. Few people wore suits, although several sported blazers over casual trousers. Hardly any women were wearing long dresses and none in deep blue satin. Most were dressed in summery fabrics, checked or printed patterns like cherries and flowers. A few, Trudi was one of them, wore tailored shorts with a white shirt. He was the only person wearing a tie.
Jun and Trudi broke off whatever conversations they were having and came immediately over the lawns to greet Rolf. He introduced them to Leonor and they both complimented her dress. She accepted the comments gracefully and admired Jun’s broderie anglaise shift. Things became more awkward on the approach to the terrace as Leonor’s heels kept sinking into the lawn. She stumbled several times and leaned upon Rolf’s arm, her left hand holding her dress away from the grass. Her jaw tightened until a tall suave-looking man crossed the terrace in their direction.
“What a beautiful dress! You light up the entire party, like a sparkling jewel. Allow me to introduce myself. Max Hofmeister, senior member of the orchestral board. You must be Rudolf Jaro, our new cellist – but the name of your elegant partner is a mystery.”
Leonor swung into action, her smile gracious and her salutation to the point. The minute Hofmeister heard her surname, his eyes widened.
“You’re Marinka’s daughter? I should have known. Only a von Rosenheim can steal the show like that. Come, let me get you a drink. I want to know all about you, both of you.” His gaze took in Rolf’s clothes, a sharp once-over hidden behind a vulpine grin.
The maestro came across to say hello and welcome Leonor. She was charming and respectful about his work which elicited one of his faint smiles. He thanked her and asked permission to borrow Rolf as he wanted to introduce him to some people. A look passed between Wilk and Hofmeister, which seemed almost competitive, but it was so fleeting that Rolf might have imagined it. Trudi and Jun saw his hesitation and assured him they would stay to keep Leonor company. Not that she needed it with Hofmeister fawning over her. There was nothing Rolf could do but follow the maestro.
It seemed only half an hour since he had arrived at Hotel Adler, but he had already taken in at least a dozen new names, smiled, chatted and made small talk in three languages. At one point, he was accepting praise for his cello recording from an elderly lady in a wheelchair when he saw Leonor striding across the terrace and into the hotel itself. He could tell, even out of the corner of his eye, she was in a foul temper. It took several minutes to extricate himself from the effusive dowager and another to thank the maestro for these important connections. He knew and appreciated the fact the maestro was trying to open doors for him. Had he been at the party alone, he would have had more energy to work the room.
Trudi and Jun were in conversation with two different groups of people, so Rolf decided to pursue Leonor himself. She was nowhere to be found in the bar, the restaurant or even in the foyer. He asked the receptionist where the nearest ladies’ toilets might be and she indicated an alcove behind the lift. He sat on a large sofa and waited for her to emerge, still holding a champagne flute a waiter had pressed on him. It was empty, but he had no recollection of drinking its contents. Nerves, of course, meeting all of those high-society, wealthy sponsors of the Salzburg City Orchestra. If they had been a faceless audience, he would breeze through it all, but people and languages and small talk were out of his comfort zone. Hofmeister, the one who knew Leonor’s mother, had been watching him from the minute they arrived. It made Rolf self-conscious, particularly as the man made no attempt to hide his interest.
This was a strange role reversal. In Bratislava, he had been the outsider, awkward and uncomfortable, trying to fit into a world where he did not belong. Leonor looked after him mostly, but often wafted off to embrace an old friend, make an introduction, flirt with a prince, a count or a newspaper magnate. His eyes glazed over and he saw a familiar visage in his mind’s eye. Duc de Sylvain with his handsome forehead and thick black hair, his over-familiar hands touching Leonor’s bare shoulder, stroking a finger along her face or wrapping an arm around her waist. Rolf could only remember hating one man more. On one memorable occasion, he’d promoted de Sylvain to first place in his top ten of most detested human beings on the planet. He’d been coming out of the bathroom and the Duke stood back, allowing him to pass.
With teeth clenched, Rolf managed to twist out a smile. “Merci, monsieur.”
“Monsieur le Duc, s’il te plaît, Toy Boy.”
“Sorry?”
“I said, my title is Monsieur le Duc, s’il te plaît. Bye bye.”
He passed by Rolf and closed the bathroom door. The moment had gone. If Rolf were to challenge him or even throw a punch, it had to be done at the point of insult. After the event was too late. He’d gone in search of Leonor and stuck by her side like a limpet for the rest of the night.
She had protected him then. He should do the same for her now.
After half an hour, she still hadn’t emerged from the bathroom and he was missing the party. It was poor manners on his part and he really should get back to his hosts. He approached the reception desk to ask the woman if she would mind checking the ladies’ bathroom to see if there was a woman in a navy-blue satin dress inside.
The woman blinked at him. “Navy-blue satin? With blonde hair in a chignon? She asked me to call her a taxi about forty minutes ago. I’m sorry, sir.”
He thanked her and returned outside, searching for Trudi or Jun. Maybe they could explain her sudden disappearance. He was striding across the lawn when Hofmeister stepped into his path.
“Mr Jaro! I’ve been looking for you. Come with me, there’s someone I want you to meet. Your glass is empty! Waiter, over here.” He pressed a hand to Rolf’s upper arm and guided him towards a group of people near the bar. “Wilk’s been keeping you to himself and starving the rest of us of your company. Now it’s my turn. Waiter!”
An hour and a half later, Rolf was lightheaded from the amount of champagne he had consumed on an empty stomach. While Hofmeister was engaged in a discussion with the wheelchair-bound woman, Rolf decided it would be prudent for him to take his leave. He made a circuit of the garden expressing his thanks and saying his farewells until he encountered Trudi talking to a young couple in matching outfits, whose names he really should remember.
“You’re leaving so soon?” said the man. “The party is just getting started.”
Trudi jumped in before he could reply. “As the maestro said in his speech, it’s been an exhausting week for the orchestra. Rolf, would you mind if I shared your taxi? I’m going in roughly the same direction.” She turned to the couple. “Thank you so much. I really enjoyed talking to you. I hope we meet again.” She bowed and Rolf copied her.
They made their way towards the lobby and found several taxis queuing outside. They clambered into the rear of the first in line and Trudi’s head fell back against the upholstery.
“Oh, thank God you rescued me. Those two were unbearably dull. I was about to feign a fainting fit simply to get away from them. Perfect timing on your part. Hey, what’s with your girlfriend?”
A twinge of anxiety twisted in Rolf’s gut. “How do you mean?”
“I mean, what bug bit her arse? We were just talking about how much less snobbish it is here in comparison to Vienna and she excused herself as if we’d insulted her family. She made a beeline for the sponsors.”
“Ah, I see. Her mother used to be on the board of two Viennese music festivals.” He mimicked Trudi’s body language, allowing his head to drop backwards against the seat, his gaze tilted at the roof. “Forget it, you weren’t to know. I hope we don’t have to do that sort of social thing too often. It’s damned hard work.”
“Tell me about it. And I’m speaking in my mother tongue. Jun had enough after the first hour and made her excuses. Mind, she’s been to more than her fair share. Most of these events are usually optional unless you get a direct invitation. The board considers it very bad form to refuse. They think we belong to them, like we’re their performing
pets. Which we are, I suppose. We all have to pay our dues, because if not ...”
“If not what?”
Trudi sat up. “But who’s going to turn down champagne and posh food? I’m willing to tolerate a few stuffed shirts for a free dinner. Are you going straight home or do you fancy a night cap?”
Rolf wanted to say yes, but he couldn’t work out whether she was flirting or just being friendly. He couldn’t risk it. “I better check how Leonor is feeling, so maybe another time.”
Trudi rolled her head to look at him. “She’s very ... dignified. How did you two meet?”
“Long story, but she saved my life. Where do you live? The next street is mine but I’m happy to drop you off first.”
“No need for that. You go check on your girlfriend and I’ll take the cab the rest of the way.” She dismissed his offer of cash. “Your turn next time. See you tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow night? Oh, the Concerto, of course. See you there.”
When Rolf closed the door and waved off the taxi, he looked up at the first floor and their apartment. Everything was in darkness, even though it was only ten o’clock. He opened the front door and heard voices coming from the garden. He crept through the hallway and stuck his head out the garden door. There in the pergola, illuminated by tea lights, sat Leonor and Anton, listening to music and laughing together. He was surprised to hear Daft Punk blaring out of the speaker, as anything beyond a couple of acoustic instruments playing at ‘natural volume’ was usually deemed excessive by Leonor.
They didn’t see him walk across the lawn, so he got close enough to overhear their conversation before they noticed his presence.
“… And the funniest thing is, they think nobody knows. It’s screamingly obvious in the way she looks at him. She’s been with the orchestra over two years, so how come she gets invited to the newcomers’ garden party?”
