The Tooth Tattoo (28 page)

While the piece was being played, Diamond’s concentration wasn’t total, or even partial. He’d heard almost as much of this stuff as a man could take in one evening – a man whose musical education hadn’t up to now stretched beyond Freddie Mercury and Montserrat Caballé singing ‘Barcelona’. His attention wandered to the huge painting over the mantelpiece, a particularly gruesome hunting scene. People mostly on horseback were slaughtering wolves and foxes with clubs and spears. Dead and dying animals testified to the success of the day’s sport. A strange backdrop for a musical soirée. How ironic if one of the quartet turned out to be a killer.

All four returned to play the last piece on the programme,
Andante Festivo
, by Sibelius. At this stage of the evening the term ‘strung out’ summed up Diamond’s condition in more senses than one. But the piece was mercifully over in about five minutes. Then to his despair the audience demanded an encore. They wouldn’t stop clapping.

Ivan led the musicians off.

‘Thank God,’ Diamond said to Ingeborg.

She said, ‘Hang about, guv. They’re coming back.’

Diamond’s buttocks flexed. Amazing any life was left in them.

Ivan stepped forward to speak. ‘We would like to offer you a piece neglected by many ensembles: the Sibelius String Quartet in D minor, Opus 56.’

Huge applause.

The buttocks went into spasm. Another entire quartet.

As if he was a mind-reader, Ivan continued, ‘But it’s late and unfortunately we don’t have time for the entire composition, so with apologies to Sibelius we’ll pick it up at the start of the fifth and final movement. Thank you for being such a splendid audience.’

The quartet knew what they were doing. Whatever it was that made the Sibelius a neglected quartet, its climax was a
sure-fire audience-pleaser, the Allegro, dynamic, demanding and impassioned. When the bows were lifted from the instruments a standing ovation followed. Diamond was among the first to rise. He needed no prompting.

‘I’ve become a fan,’ Ingeborg told him. ‘Wasn’t that awesome?’

‘Yes, but don’t overdo the clapping.’

‘Such talent. It’s almost impossible to believe one of them could be …’

‘I can believe it, no problem,’ he said.

‘W
hat’s the matter with you?’ Ivan asked.

‘My hand, you mean?’ Mel said. ‘It’s not serious.’

‘Your whole performance. You were pathetic. Timing, intonation. And don’t blame the new instrument. You were perfectly good in rehearsal.’

The quartet were using the gothic library in the West Wing at Corsham Court as a base. Their manager Douglas had joined them. Tired and drained from the performance, they were supposed to be unwinding before travelling home. This wasn’t unwinding; it was winding up.

Cat came to Mel’s defence as if she was shaping a passage with her cello, a stabilising counterpoint. ‘Ivan, that’s way over the top. He wasn’t that bad. He was a damn sight better than most of the so-called violists we’ve played with, and I never heard you slag one of them off.’

‘Because we know he can do better.’ Ivan turned on Mel again. ‘Are you a drinker? If you are, we have a right to be told.’

With the musicians almost squaring up to each other, Douglas tried his old-school best to calm the situation. ‘Steady on, old man.’

Mel decided the others deserved an explanation. More than anyone, he knew his playing hadn’t been up to standard. ‘Ivan is right. I was rubbish. I had a fall today. Well, to be honest, I was knocked down by a car.’

Douglas said, ‘Stone the crows!’

‘And it wasn’t due to drink, not on my part, anyway.’

‘Where did this happen?’ Cat asked.

‘In the street outside my lodgings. My landlady spotted
this stationary car with someone seated inside staring at the house. He’d been there a long time and she thought we had a stalker. She has a rather attractive daughter. I went over to speak to the guy. When he saw me coming he drove off fast. I don’t think he meant to hit me. He just wanted to be away, but the side of the car brushed against me and sent me flying.’

‘So he
was
a stalker?’ Cat said.

‘He wasn’t staying to talk about it, whoever he was.’

‘That’s how you did your hand?’

‘It was grazed and bled a bit. My arm is the problem. It’s stiff today and I bashed my head on the road as well.’

‘And still turned up tonight and gave a performance?’

Cat said. ‘Played your solo pieces and the duet as well as the Beethoven and the Sibelius? That’s heroic.’ To Ivan, she said, ‘I hope you’re about to apologise for the snide remarks you made.’

‘I do.’

‘In all humility?’ Cat said with a stare worthy of a headmistress.

Humility was an alien concept to Ivan, but he mumbled something that wasn’t a denial.

‘Your left hand is the one you use for fingering, isn’t it?’ Douglas said to Mel. ‘I don’t know how you got through the evening.’

‘All those vibratos,’ Cat said, her face creasing in sympathy.

‘The fingers weren’t damaged, I’m glad to say. I’d have let you know if I thought I was going to mess up. More than anything, my state of mind was the problem.’

‘Listen, darling, you weren’t pathetic, as Joe Stalin over there so unkindly put it. I don’t suppose any of the audience noticed.’

Douglas said, ‘I certainly didn’t. And from the reception you were given there’s no doubt Cat is right. Nobody was any the wiser.’

‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ Mel said.

‘Get a grip, people,’ Cat said. ‘This was one evening in front of twenty or thirty rich punters who think the only good note
is a banknote. The bigger picture is that Mel’s playing has raised our game. We’re better now than at any time since we formed. Isn’t that a fact, Anthony?’

The laconic second violin gave a nod.

‘He says bang on, back of the net, hole in one,’ Cat said.

Douglas shifted the focus back to the accident. ‘Didn’t the driver stop?’

Mel shook his head.

‘Hit and run, the bastard,’ Cat said.

‘Did you get a look at him?’ Douglas asked.

‘My landlady did. She said he was in his forties, going grey and quite good looking. Not much of a description, I know, but she’d probably know him if she saw him again.’

‘Did you call the police?’

Mel shook his head. ‘Didn’t get the number. And I don’t think he meant to knock me over.’

‘It was dangerous driving, whatever you may think.’

‘Aside from the fact that the man’s a menace to women,’ Cat said.

‘We can’t be certain he was a stalker,’ Douglas went on. ‘Has it occurred to you, Mel, that this may have nothing to do with your landlady’s daughter – that he was spying on you?’

‘What for?’ Ivan said.

‘It crossed my mind, I have to say,’ Mel said. ‘I’ve been over it a few times. I wondered if he was interested in the Amati, waiting for a chance to break in and steal it.’

Cat was frowning. ‘How would he know about the Amati? You’ve only had it a couple of days.’

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘It’s not as if it was written up in lights. Only a handful of people know and most of them are in this room.’

‘Well, it’s news to me,’ Douglas said. ‘An Amati viola? That’s a rare beast, isn’t it? Where did you get it?’

‘He’s not at liberty to say,’ Cat said. ‘A secret millionaire. They never come my way.’

Ivan was still brooding over the mystery. ‘There’s some other explanation. Must be.’

‘Wait a mo,’ Douglas said, raising a finger. ‘Have any of you thought this may be connected to Harry’s disappearance?’

‘Someone targeting violists?’ Cat said. ‘Come off it, Doug. Lightning doesn’t strike twice.’

‘We never discovered the reason.’

‘That was four years ago in Budapest. It’s history now and we’re in England in case you haven’t noticed. We’ve moved on. Don’t put scary ideas into Mel’s head. The poor lad has suffered enough.’

‘Even so, we must take care of him. How are you getting back to Bath?’

‘Taxis as usual,’ Ivan said.

‘I’ll give Mel a lift in the Aston Martin. I’m still thinking we should report this incident to the police. Did you know they were here tonight? I met two of them before the concert.’

‘A big guy called Diamond?’ Cat said.

‘Yes, and a blonde with a foreign-sounding name.’

‘We knew they were coming,’ Cat said. ‘It’s all about this unfortunate Japanese girl.’

‘The police said something about this,’ Douglas said. ‘There’s so much to catch up on.’

‘She was found dead in the river, murdered apparently. They’re saying she was a fan of ours.’

‘Doesn’t mean you’re responsible.’

Ivan said, ‘A point we all made clear. Once the police get a sniff of something they think is suspicious, watch out. They’re well capable of planting evidence. What’s the term?’

‘Stitching us up?’ Cat said.

‘That might be true in your country,’ Douglas said. ‘I can’t believe the British bobby would stoop to anything so low.’

Ivan rolled his eyes. ‘It’s quite possible that the man who knocked Mel down was a plain clothes policeman keeping him under observation. Maybe we’re all being spied on. There was a suspicious-looking car outside the Tippett Centre yesterday and he drove off fast when we spotted him. Mel saw it, too.’

‘I’m totally confused now,’ Douglas said.

‘So am I,’ Mel said. ‘Some of these theories must be wrong.
A sex pest, an instrument thief, a kidnapper of violists and a police spy? Let’s try and keep a grip on reality.’

Douglas turned to Mel and smiled. ‘Well said. This seems as good a moment as any to announce some good news.’

‘We could certainly use some,’ Cat said. ‘What is it?’

He rubbed his hands. ‘News travels fast these days, as we all know. There’s a real buzz among concert managers around the world that the Staccati have re-formed. The enquiries are coming in thick and fast and I’m now in a position to offer you a five-week South American tour as soon as you’ve completed your stint here in Bath. You’ll be going to some wonderful places – Rio de Janeiro, São Paulo, Montevideo, Buenos Aires, Santiago, Lima and Bogotá. Some of these cities have facilities you wouldn’t believe, amazing concert halls that will sell out within hours. Five star hotels all the way.’

‘And fees?’ Ivan said.

‘The best I’ve ever negotiated for you. South Americans adore their music and they’re passionate about the chance of hearing you. I know it’s a lot of travelling, but, believe me, you get well rewarded.’

‘I’m tempted,’ Cat said. ‘As you know, I prefer longer stays, but this will be new territory, new shopping opportunities.’

‘And a new market for your backlist,’ Douglas added. ‘A huge boost to your CD and video sales. Already several of them are talking about press calls and TV appearances.’

‘What do you say, boys? Are we up for it?’ Cat said.

After the build-up, the decision was low-key, a matter of looks, shrugs and nods, but no one disagreed.

‘Super,’ Douglas said. ‘I’ll confirm it all when I get back to London tomorrow.’ At a stroke he’d removed all the negative feelings after the concert. ‘And on that high note, I recommend a well-earned sleep. I’ll bring the car round to the front entrance. I can find room for one more.’

It was agreed Ivan would travel with Douglas and Mel, leaving Cat to share a taxi with Anthony.

Mel and Ivan walked together to the main entrance, an opportunity for Mel to raise a point that had caused him
some concern. ‘I didn’t say anything back there because everyone seemed to be getting paranoid, but there’s something I should tell you about the car you and I saw out at the Tippett Centre.’

‘What’s that?’ Ivan’s tone was as friendly as a January night in Riga.

‘I’m almost certain it followed my taxi home. It was the same car that knocked me down.’

‘Unlikely,’ he said. ‘Talk about paranoid. You’re sounding paranoid yourself.’

‘You saw it. What make do you think it was?’

‘A Megane.’

‘That’s the car that hit me.’

Ivan was silent a moment. Then he said, ‘They’re a common make. They’re everywhere.’

‘I’m telling you this because it seemed to me at the time you were visibly shaken just by the sight of that car. You went silent. You scarcely said a word all the way back to Bath.’

‘I was tired from the rehearsal.’

Mel said no more. In this sour mood, Ivan was giving nothing away.

Shortly after midnight he let himself into the house. In darkness he removed his shoes and left them by the door. Clutching the Amati to his chest he crept up the stairs fearing each creak of the boards might waken the household. The last thing he wanted was a late night meeting with Mrs. Carlyle in her night-clothes. On tiptoe he moved along the landing to his room and let himself in, closing the door with stealth. He didn’t risk turning on the light. In this small house the click of a switch was audible everywhere.

He slid the Amati safely under the bed next to his other viola. Then he stripped to his Calvin Kleins, leaving the clothes heaped on the floor. No bathroom visit tonight. He’d give his teeth an extra go in the morning.

Relieved to have made it and more than ready for sleep, he eased himself under the quilt, turned on his side and found
he wasn’t alone. His chest was in contact with a warm, bare back. His pelvic area had come to rest against the divide of a chunky pair of buttocks, also bare.

She made a not unwelcoming murmuring sound. She was nine-tenths out to the world.

For the next few seconds Mel stayed still and silent, considering his options. From the shape and smell of her, this was unmistakably Tippi. She’d sneaked into his bed naked and ready for his return. Warmed by the quilt, she’d fallen asleep. Normally he’d not think twice what to do next. Tonight he had a sore left arm and his head was aching. He’d psyched himself up for the concert and now fatigue had caught up with him.

The bed was pleasantly warm. Would it be any use easing back from her and hoping she would drift off again?

He made the attempt.

Without success.

‘Mel?’

He tried breathing evenly.

She turned right over and reached unerringly for his Calvin Kleins. ‘You’re late, but not too late.’