Scott Mariani - The Mozart Conspiracy

‘Why was he so interested in the house?’

‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘He kept talking about his research.’

‘He didn’t say more?’

‘If he did, Fred never told me.’

‘Never mind,’ Ben said. ‘Go on.’

‘When Oliver called up late that night, he made Fred a weird offer. He said he could get him a private box for two at his sister’s performance of Macbeth at the Vienna State Opera. The last box, the last tickets. Worth a fortune. But there was a condition.’

Ben got it. ‘If Fred agreed to change places with him? Oliver wanted to get in there as the pianist for the night?’

She nodded.

‘And Fred agreed to the deal?’

‘He didn’t really want to give up the date, and the whole idea seemed nuts. But Oliver was totally serious, and the opera tickets were too tempting. Oliver said he’d let him have the gig fee, too. Fred knew Oliver was a good player, that he’d do a good job and wouldn’t spoil his reputation. So he went for it.’

‘And Oliver gave the recital?’

‘You tell me,’ she said. ‘According to the papers, he was somewhere else. Didn’t they say he was at a party and got drunk with some woman, then drowned in a lake?’

‘So the night of the recital was the night Oliver and Fred both died,’ Ben said.

Christa let out a long sigh. ‘Yes, it was.’

‘Where was the recital?’

‘I don’t know where the house is,’ she said. ‘Just that it’s not that far from Vienna. It’s some seriously expensive, fancy place. A real palace. An aristocrat owns it. Old Viennese money, going back centuries.’

‘Do you know who the aristocrat is?’

She nodded. ‘Von Adler. He’s the Count von Adler.’

Slovenia

The same day

Clara carefully wrote down the right answer to question ten and folded the exercise jotter inside her maths textbook. Mother Hildegard didn’t have a calculator, but that didn’t matter. Clara’s arithmetic was pretty good.

The child left the schoolbook lying on the desk, slipped down from the hard chair and went off to potter about the nun’s office, looking for something else to do. She looked along the bookshelves at the rows of leather spines. Most of Mother Hildegard’s books were religious and Clara wasn’t too tempted by them. There were a couple of tatty old jigsaw puzzles in the cupboard but Clara had already done them both. Puzzles were for kids, and Clara didn’t think of herself that way. The Pope’s left eye was missing, anyway.

She looked out of the window for a while, watching the mountains in the distance. It was lovely here, and it was a nice holiday, although she couldn’t understand why her daddy couldn’t be with her more of the time. The nuns were kind to her and Leigh was a lot of fun too. But she missed her friends, her school, and most of all she missed her sitter Helga. Helga was like a big sister to her. She wondered whether Daddy would ever marry her, and they could have a real family again.

On the Mother Superior’s desk was an old phone, the only phone in the convent. It was like no other phone she’d ever seen, and it fascinated her. It was heavy and black, with a funny-shaped receiver that sat sideways on top and was connected to the heavy part by a braided cord. But the strangest thing about it was the round dial in the middle, with little holes in it. She knew from watching old movies with her daddy that you were meant to put your finger in the holes and turn the dial. Her fingers went in the holes easily. She wondered whether her daddy’s big stubby fingers would fit.

It was weird to imagine that people used to use this kind of thing all the time. She amused herself dialling 1-2-3-4-5 and watching the dial whirr back a little further each time until it reached the stop.

Then she had a thought. She suddenly wanted to talk to Helga, to tell her about her new friend Leigh, the famous singer who was on CDs and television. She looked around. She could hear singing coming from the chapel. Just a little call, nobody would mind.

She picked up the heavy receiver, remembered the code for Austria and dialled the number. Her face lit up at the sound of her friend’s voice. ‘Helga, it’s me,’ she said.

Leigh sipped a coffee and watched the crackling fire. It was so quiet here. Ben had been gone less than eighteen hours. They’d hardly spoken when he left, and the memory kept playing back in her head. There was a lot she wanted to say to him. She knew she was lying to herself when she tried to tell herself she didn’t still love him. Over the last few days she’d begun to wonder whether she’d ever really stopped. But she’d been selfish with him, and that was the biggest regret she had. She’d initiated the kiss, and then she’d pushed him away. It wasn’t fair to play with his emotions.

She heard the cottage door open, and Clara appeared in the doorway. ‘Hi, can I come in?’ She came and sat on a chair, kicking her feet.

‘What have you been doing today, Clara?’

‘Oh, stuff. Mother Hildegard gave me some maths to do.’ Clara decided not to mention her fifteen-minute call to Helga. ‘Then I helped Sister Agnes feed the piglets and collect the eggs. I want one.’

‘You want an egg?’

‘No, a piglet. But I don’t think piglets are allowed in Vienna.’

‘They don’t stay so small and cute for long, you know. You’d soon have a great big smelly pig living in your house.’

Clara grinned. ‘I already have one,’ she said. ‘My daddy.’

‘That’s a terrible thing to say, Clara.’ But Leigh couldn’t help but laugh.

‘Leigh?’

‘Hmm?’

‘Can I have a look at your gold locket?’

‘Yes, of course you can.’ Leigh reached behind her neck and undid the slim chain. The shiny oyster-shaped locket dangled from her fingers as she handed it to the child.

‘It’s beautiful.’ Clara turned it over in her hand, admiring the delicate engraving of Leigh’s initials. She found a little catch on the side and pressed it, and the halves of the oyster sprang open with a click. Set into the two halves, facing each other, were tiny miniature photographic portraits of three people. ‘Who are they?’ she asked.

Leigh leaned across and pointed. ‘These two people here together on this side are my parents,’ she said.

‘Your mummy’s pretty,’ Clara said. She studied the other picture. ‘The man on the other side looks like you.’

She nodded. ‘My brother, Oliver.’

‘Where do they live?’

‘In heaven,’ Leigh replied, after a pause.

Clara understood. ‘All of them?’

‘Yes, all of them. I’m the last one left of the whole family.’

‘My mummy’s up in heaven too. Do you think maybe she knows your brother and your mummy and daddy?’

Leigh smiled sadly at a child’s notion of death. ‘I’m sure they probably do all know each other very well.’

‘What do you think people do in heaven?’

‘They play, and have fun, I suppose.’

‘That’s not so bad. I like playing.’

‘You want to play now?’

Clara nodded enthusiastically. ‘Let’s go out and play the find game Ben taught me and Max.’

Leigh was glad of the excuse to quit moping and get out of the cottage. She slipped on a pair of boots and a quilted jacket, and they walked out into the snow. The sky was the clearest blue, and the sun was sparkling off the mountains. They walked through the farmyard, towards the main convent buildings. Max loved the snow and was cavorting about in it, sending up a fine spray. From the little stone chapel Leigh could hear the nuns doing their choir practice. She knew the piece they were singing, one of Palestrina’s choral chants.