The Keeper of Secrets (25 page)

Chapter 46

Mayfair, London

Late October 2008

T
he nights had begun to close in more quickly, and a chill wind swirled around the buildings and shook the leaves from the trees. Indoors the heating was going on, fires were lit, and people were starting to think about the long winter ahead. Upstairs, in her bedroom at the Mayfair mansion, Tatiana was brushing her hair and complaining.

“But if he plays well, people will want to hear him. He’s five years younger—”

Sergei smiled at her indulgently. “Not nearly as pretty!”

“No one cares about that. There are so many wonderful violins. Why does he have to play the Guarneri?”

“Because it’s the best, and he deserves to learn how to make beautiful music on her.”

“Why does he ‘deserve’?”

“Because he’s put years of work into building his skill and he’s very good.”

“Is he better than me?”

“Is it a competition?”

“Of course. You might want him to play instead of me.”

He was standing behind her now and stroking her hair. She didn’t want him to but didn’t feel secure enough to ask him to stop. No matter how many talented musicians Rafael had brought to Sergei, he’d never let anyone else play the Guarneri, so what had changed?

“Don’t worry about him, princess. He’s a talented boy and he’ll play her just once in public. To convince him to keep playing, and I think it’s working, from what Raffy says. If he graduates, well, I may lend him one of the others to play and record, but
you
will play her for me forever!”

Tatiana put the hairbrush onto the dressing table and gave a small smile into the mirror, saying nothing and showing nothing in her leonine eyes.

D
ownstairs and toward the front of the house, in the music room, Daniel was having a lesson with Maestro Montenagro. He was playing the allegro from Vivaldi’s Concerto in B Minor and the man paced around him constantly, judging his technique from all sides. Over in one corner David sat on a stool watching. He could see sweat beads gathering on his son’s forehead, and he could imagine how much Daniel’s fingers and arms must be aching with the effort.

David remembered how his father used to sit, silently, and watch his lessons. Had Simon longed to join in, to correct and encourage, all those years ago? Had he, in turn, remembered his own lessons in the glorious music room and the pride of his papa? This simple act of watching a violin lesson connected them back through the generations. David missed playing, and he’d often thought about taking it up again, but Daniel’s talent was so beyond anything he’d ever achieved, he felt intimidated. Over the past few weeks his loyalties had torn him in two; he understood his wife’s motivation, and he felt for Daniel. He knew the toll not playing and constant arguing was taking on the child. And he’d learned more about his father’s war experiences in the past month than during the rest of their relationship. How could his father and uncle tell so much to Rafael—

Suddenly the door swung open, and Tatiana walked in. Without making eye contact, she stalked over to Daniel and pulled the violin and bow out of his hands.

“Attenzione!”
Montenagro leaped forward but not fast enough to stop her. The Russian put the violin to her chin and started to play the same piece. She played with a deft touch—
making a point,
David thought. When she finished, she handed the violin to Montenagro.

“
That
is how she wishes to be played,” she said, turned on her heel, and walked out, slamming the door behind her.

E
xcuse me, Maestro Gomez, I was wondering, could I have your autograph?”

Rafael and Magdalena were sitting at a table in the hotel bar, sipping wine and watching the world coming and going. Groups of people observed him and gossiped among themselves; every so often someone smiled shyly at him, and he returned the smile. Finally a middle-aged blonde got off her bar stool and walked timidly toward them.

She held a paper napkin and a pen in her hand. He reached out for them.

“Certainly.”

“Are you here for a concert?”

“Yes, but it is, unfortunately, a private one. What’s your name?”

“Katherine. I love opera and symphony music. I’ve seen you conduct many times; you’re just amazing to watch.”

He signed the paper with a flourish and handed it back with a smile. His eyes flashed at her and she flushed.

“Thank you very much, and there you are, Katherine.”

“Oh, thank you, sir.”

Reluctantly she moved back to the bar, still watching them. Mags gave a sigh, and he could see the humor, patience, and indulgence in her expression.

“So what is your plan for Saturday night, Maestro Manipulator?”

“Daniel will play and then Simon and Levi will know for sure what it is, that it is theirs. We find them a very good lawyer and, I think, lodge a claim. They have a very strong case. Then the public reaction will help.”

“Won’t that take ages? You’re not going to try and persuade Sergei first?”

“At the moment he has no reason to hide it, but if he thinks that people want to take it away, it’ll go into a vault somewhere and never see the light of day again.”

“Maybe his conscience would prevail . . .” Her voice trailed off thoughtfully. Rafael took a sip of wine.

“Fond as I am of him, I think Sergei has no conscience.”

“Raffy, aren’t you concerned for Daniel? It’s a lot of pressure on a young kid, and he’s had quite a break from performing.”

He nodded.

“I know. Carlo says he’s doing very well, though, and he loves to play it. The hard part for him is when he has to give it back. He’s a performer, it’s in his blood. You know, the only thing I worry about is that it means
so
much to him now. He knows his poppa will have a very hard time not reacting when he sees it and I think that possibility, it is frightening for Daniel.”

R
oberto di Longi loved a captive audience. He sat across his display table from two elderly gentlemen who were as crazy about musical instruments as he was. The thought of sharing all the precious masterpieces in his vault gave him an itch of anticipation and vanity. Between them lay a long strip of green baize, and on it sat three violins. He picked one up and handed it gently to Simon.

“This is a Nicolas Lupot, made in Paris in 1798, nice red varnish on a golden-brown ground. Lupot was a very talented maker, and his instruments command a good price on the market today.”

Simon turned the instrument over in his hands and then passed it to Levi without comment. Roberto picked up a second one.

“This is a Giovanni Battista Guadagnini, made in Parma in 1767. Two-piece back and look at the narrow curl of the scroll. I’m going through the authentication process with this little beauty, and it could well be worth at least a hundred thousand pounds. Lovely golden brown tint. He made cellos and double basses as well. Rich sound.”

Simon took it from him. “It’s a beautiful instrument,” he said simply.

“Yes, it is. I often wonder at the artistry of these men. Given when they lived and the limited resources and technology they had, and yet, think of the masterpieces they created. All by trial and error and instinct. If you did it now, with computers and precision cutters and so on, the sound would be no
better
than the sound they created.”

Simon handed the violin to Levi, who’d put the Lupot down on the table.

“And this,” said Roberto proudly as he picked up the third, “is true genius. This is a 1730 Strad.”

He handed it over reverentially. It was a deep red color and had flames in the grain running vertically down the back.

“Antonio Stradivari,” Simon whispered as he took it. “I’ve never seen one, in the flesh.”

Roberto watched him as he did the standard examination, ran his finger over the back, traced the scroll, checked the bridge, and plucked the A string.

“Hello, my beauty,” Simon murmured.

Roberto picked up a bow and handed it over.

“Play something.”

Simon’s eyes opened wide in what looked like astonishment. Roberto couldn’t help the feeling of power his position sometimes gave him; he knew only too well what a thrill this was for the old man. Such experiences built trust, and that would be vital if he ever got to handle a sale for the family.

“Really?”

“Why not? They were made to be played, and you won’t do it any damage; you know what you’re doing.”

Simon hesitated and Roberto wondered what his reluctance was.

“It doesn’t matter how you play; they’re a lot more forgiving than the Guarneri.”

“I know. It’s just I haven’t played since . . . for many years. Since 1945.”

“Then it’s time you did, and a Strad is a very fitting way to warm up for a Guarneri.”

The two men exchanged knowing smiles, and Roberto walked over to the piano to play A above middle C. With his help Simon tuned the four pegs, then tightened the screw on the bow, and played a simple scale. The sound was crisp and clear. He hesitated again, and Roberto and Levi waited patiently. Then suddenly he launched into Vivaldi’s “Winter,” followed by snatches of Mendelssohn, Massenet, Mozart, and Bach. The violin responded to each minute change of tempo and technique as the luscious tone rose and fell away to pianissimo, only to build again. Finally he stopped and handed the violin back to Roberto with a shy smile.

“Thank you, sir.”

There were tears in the Englishman’s eyes.

“I don’t think you have any idea how good you are,” he said gently.

Simon smiled again, and Roberto could see what looked like a flush of embarrassment.

“I was expecting you to say that I should practice hard and then I might become very good, and give me a lump of rosin.”

Roberto couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice.

“Really?”

“Just a wrinkle in time, another life, another world.”

Chapter 47

Mayfair, London

Late October 2008

M
om. Stop fussing.”

Daniel put his hands to his throat and pulled Cindy’s fingers away as they fiddled with his bow tie. She ruffled his hair instead. He licked his palms and patted it down again.

“I’m very proud of you for doing this, for your poppa; you do know that, don’t you?”

He smiled at her.

“And I like it much better when we’re not fighting too. I have to warm up now, and Maestro will be here soon. You go find Dad.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”

“Yes, absolutely, certainly, definitely sure.”

She reached out and touched the violin case on the table and seemed about to say something more, then changed her mind and kissed him on the cheek. He felt a surge of relief.

“Good luck, precious boy.”

O
utside people were streaming up the steps and through the open doors to Sergei’s London mansion, laughing and chatting happily as they came. His team of uniformed butlers stood in a row in the vast reception hall to receive their coats and gloves. Slowly they moved through the double doorway and into the music room. Five hundred chairs were set out in rows at one end of the long room, facing the platform where the orchestra would sit. At the other end the guests circulated, drank champagne cocktails, and nibbled on miniature hamburgers, hot dogs and bagels, beluga caviar, and Neufchâtel cheese savories. Sergei was in full concert mode, kissing women on each cheek, shaking hands, accepting congratulations, and repeating the story of his amazing “find,” who was the youngest competitor ever to win the Samuel J. Hillier.

Simon and Levi, both in brand-new suits, stood with Ruth, David, and Cindy and watched the huge Russian work the crowd. Cindy kept brushing her black taffeta skirt nervously with one hand.

“I should be with him,” she repeated, in David’s direction. He shook his head firmly.

“He’s better off with the maes—”

She started toward the door. “Nonsense, no one knows his routines like I do. I should—”

David grasped her wrist in his hand and looked into her eyes.

“Cindy, listen to me. He doesn’t
want
either of us there right now. The maestro will know what to say, and do, and Rafael promised to keep an eye on him. He’ll be just fine.”

“Sometimes family makes you more nervous.” Simon smiled at her. “David’s right; he has a performer’s temperament, and he will be fine.”

R
afael stood outside the closed door and listened to the violin and piano together. It was an amazingly sweet sound, and it filled him with pride in his achievement. He couldn’t escape the fact that this boy was here, tonight, doing this huge and emotional thing, in front of all these people, because he, Rafael, had made it happen. For better or for worse, this was all his doing and he’d live with the consequences. The music stopped and he knocked on the door. There was a pause, and then he heard Montenagro’s voice.

“Yes?”

He opened the door and went in. Montenagro rose from the piano.

“Nearly finished?” Rafael asked.

“
Sì.
He’s yours and he’s ready.”

Montenagro shook Daniel’s hand as he walked past him.

“Enjoy yourself, young man. That is very important. Let her sing to you and she will sing to everyone else,
sì
?”

“Yes. Thank you, sir.”

Montenagro looked Rafael in the eye and nodded. They both knew that to say more would only increase Daniel’s nerves.

“We will talk later,
sì
?” he said and then he left.

Rafael turned his attention to Daniel.

“Put her down and come sit with me,” he said as he concertinaed his long body onto the sofa in the corner. Daniel did as he asked. The boy’s face was pallid, and his eyes were full of apprehension.

“How do you feel?” Rafael asked.

“Okay, I guess.”

“Remember that conversation we had, back in the hall, at D.C.?”

“About me giving up?”

“And about sports. Baseball and football . . . soccer.”

Daniel nodded.

“I want to tell you a trick, Dan. When you’re out there tonight, imagine that you’re, you know, walking out onto Wrigley Field. And the violin, she is whichever you want, the ball or the bat. You take your stance and the crowd falls silent.”

He could see Daniel was fascinated.

“So when you start to play, it is like you wind up, yes? All your energy and concentration, it is focused on what you do, and then you score. It is a home run. Or it is a strike, the perfect pitch. As you play tonight it will be the best game of baseball ever. The crowd will cheer and you’ll be the hero.”

Daniel laughed. “Do you do that?”

“Oh my God, yes! I start to conduct and I am on the right wing for Real Madrid, Champion’s League final. I run and I run and the ball, she is at my feet, and I beat defender after defender until at last I curl her into the back of the net. Over the goalkeeper’s desperate leap.”

They were both laughing.

“But you don’t tell anyone, okay? It is our secret, that we play sport while we make music, okay?”

“Okay, no matter how much they torture me, I’ll never tell.”

“Good boy.”

The laughter subsided.

“Dan, there was something else I wanted to say. You know, you are doing a good thing tonight, for your family. Whatever happens, and I don’t think anything will, apart from lots of cheering, don’t be frightened. You know the violin, she means a great deal to your poppa and he will have a hard time seeing her again, and seeing you play her, but sometimes emotion like that is a good thing. It can be, for us, a healthy thing. You are not hurting him, you are helping him, yes?”

Daniel nodded.

“I know. Dad talked to me about that. He explained what a really hard time Poppa had in the war.”

“Yes, he did, and he is a very brave man. You know, you should be very proud of him. He is extremely proud of you, and so am I.” He pulled himself to his feet and held out his large hand. “And now it is time for us to go play some sports.”