The Unconsoled (4 page)

"The atrium is just here, sir. Essentially it's a bar, but it's comfortable and you will be served coffee and whatever else you desire. Please, this way.'

We turned off the corridor and went under an arch.

'This annexe,' Hoffman said, leading me in, 'was completed three years ago. We call it the atrium and we're rather proud of it. It was designed for us by Antonio Zanotto.'

We came into a bright spacious hall. Owing to the glass ceiling high above us there was something of the feeling of stepping out into a courtyard. The floor was a vast expanse of white tiles, at the centre of which, dominating everything, was a fountain - a tangle of nymph-like figures in marble gushing water with some force. In fact it struck me the water pressure was quite excessive; one could hardly look across to any part of the atrium without having to peer through the fine mist hovering in the air. Even so, I managed quickly to ascertain that each corner of the atrium had its own bar, with its separate collection of high-stools, easy chairs and tables. Waiters in white uniforms were criss-crossing the floor and there appeared to be a fair number of guests spread about the place - though such was the feeling of space one hardly noticed them.

I could see the manager watching me with a smug expression, waiting for me to express approval of our surroundings. At that moment, however, the need for coffee came over me so strongly that I simply turned away and made for the nearest of the bars.

I had already seated myself on a high-stool, my elbows up on the bar counter, when the manager caught up with me. He snapped his fingers at the barman, who was in any case coming to serve me, saying: 'Mr Ryder would like a pot of coffee.

Kenyan!' Then, turning back to me, he said:
I
would enjoy nothing better just now than to join you, Mr Ryder. Converse in a leisurely way about music and the arts. Unfortunately there are a number of things I must do which I cannot possibly delay further. I wonder, sir, if you'd be so good as to excuse me?'

Although I insisted he had been more than kind, he spent several more minutes taking his leave of me. Then at last he glanced at his watch, let out an exclamation and hurried off.

Left alone, I must quickly have drifted off into my own thoughts, for I did not notice the barman return. He must have done so, however, for I was soon drinking coffee, staring at the mirrored wall behind the bar - in which I could see not only my own reflection but much of the room behind me. After a while, for some reason, I found myself re-playing in my head key moments from a football match I had attended many years earlier - an encounter between Germany and Holland. I adjusted my posture on the high-stool -I could see I was hunching excessively - and tried recalling the names of the players in the Dutch team that year. Rep, Krol, Haan, Neeskens. After several minutes I had succeeded in remembering all but two of the players, but these last two names remained just beyond the rim of my recall. As I tried to remember, the sound of the fountain behind me, which at first I had found quite soothing, began to annoy me. It seemed that if only it would stop, my memory would unlock and I would finally remember the names.

I was still trying to remember when a voice said behind me:

'Excuse me, it's Mr Ryder, isn't it?'

I turned to find a fresh-faced young man in his early twenties. When I greeted him, he came up eagerly to the bar.

'I do hope I'm not intruding,' he said. 'But when I saw you just now I simply had to come over and say how excited I am you're here. You see, I'm a pianist myself. On a strictly amateur basis, I mean. And, well, I've always admired you terribly. When Father finally got word that you were coming, I was so thrilled.'

'Father?'

'I'm so sorry. I'm Stephan Hoffman. The manager's son.'

'Ah yes, I see. How do you do.'

'You wouldn't mind if I sat here for a minute, would you?' The young man climbed up onto the stool next to mine. 'You know, sir, Father's just as thrilled, if not more so. Knowing Father he may not have told you just how
much
he's thrilled. But believe me it means everything to him.'

'Is that so?'

'Yes, really, I'm hardly exaggerating. I remember the period when Father was still waiting for your reply. This peculiar silence would come over him whenever your name was mentioned. And then, when the pressure really built up, he'd start muttering under his breath about it all. "How much longer? How much longer until he replies? He's going to turn us down. I can sense it." I had to really work then, to keep his spirits up. Anyway, sir, you can imagine just what your being here now means to him. He's such a perfectionist! When he organises an event like Thursday night, everything,
everything
, has to be just right. He goes over every detail in his head, over and over. Sometimes it does get a bit much, all this single-mindedness. But then I suppose if he didn't have that side to him, he wouldn't be Father and he wouldn't achieve half of what he does.'

'Indeed. He seems an admirable person.'

'Actually, Mr Ryder,' the young man said, 'I did have something I wanted to ask you. It's a request really. If it's impossible, then please just say so. I won't take it amiss.'

Stephan Hoffman paused as though to gather up his courage. I drank a little more coffee and gazed at the reflection of the two of us sitting side by side.

'Well, this is also to do with Thursday night,' he went on. 'You see, Father's asked me to play the piano at the event. I've practised and I'm ready and it's not that I'm worried about it or anything…' As he said this, just for a second his assured manner faltered and I caught a glimpse of an anxious adolescent. But almost immediately he had recovered with a nonchalant shrug. 'It's just that with Thursday night being so important, I don't want to let him down. To come to the point, I was just wondering if you would have a few minutes to spare to listen to me run through my piece. I've decided to play Jean-Louis La Roche's
Dahlia
. I'm just an amateur and you'd have to be very tolerant. But I thought I could just run through it and you could give me a few tips about how I might polish things up.'

I thought about this for a moment. 'So,' I said after a while, 'you're set to perform on Thursday night.'

'Of course, it's a very small contribution to the evening alongside, well' - he gave a laugh - 'the other things taking place. All the same I want my bit to be as good as possible.'

'Yes, I can quite understand. Well, I'd be pleased to do what I can for you.'

The young man's face lit up. 'Mr Ryder, I'm speechless! It's the very thing I need…'

'But there is a problem. As you can guess, my time here is very restricted. I'll have to find a moment when I have a few minutes free.'

'Of course. Whenever it's convenient for you, Mr Ryder. My goodness, I'm so flattered. To be frank, I thought you'd turn me down flat.'

A bleeper began to sound somewhere within the young man's clothing. Stephan started, then reached inside his jacket.

'Awfully sorry,' he said, 'but that's the urgent one. I should have been somewhere else long ago. But when I saw you sitting here, Mr Ryder, I couldn't resist coming over. I hope we can continue this discussion very shortly. But for now, please excuse me.'

He got down off the stool, but then for a second seemed tempted to start another exchange. Then the bleeper went off again and he hurried away with an embarrassed smile.

I turned back to my reflection behind the bar counter and began to sip my coffee again. I could not, however, re-capture the mood of relaxed contemplation I had been enjoying before the young man's arrival. Instead, I found myself troubled once more by a sense that much was expected of me here, and yet that things were at present on a far from satisfactory footing. In fact, there seemed nothing for it but to seek out Miss Stratmann and clear up certain points once and for all. I resolved to go and find her as soon as I came to the end of my current cup of coffee. There was no reason for this to be an awkward encounter, and it would be simple enough to explain what had happened at our last meeting. 'Miss Stratmann,' I might say, 'I was very tired earlier and so when you asked about my schedule I misunderstood you. I thought you were asking me if I would have time to look at it straight away if you were to produce a copy then and there.' Or else I could go on the offensive, even adopting a tone of reproach. 'Miss Stratmann, I have to say I'm a little concerned and, yes, somewhat disappointed. Given the level of responsibility you and your fellow citizens seem content to place on my shoulders, I think I have a right to expect a certain standard of administrative back-up.'

I heard a movement near me and looking up saw that Gustav, the elderly porter, was standing by my stool. As I turned towards him, he smiled and said:

'Hello, sir. I just happened to see you here. I do hope you're enjoying your stay.'

'Oh, I am indeed. Though unfortunately I haven't yet had the opportunity to visit the Old Town as you recommended.'

"That's a pity, sir. Because that really is a very nice part of our city and it's so near. And the weather just now, I'd say it's ideal. A slight chill in the air, but sunny. Just warm enough still to sit outside, though I dare say you'll have to wear a jacket or a light coat. It's the best sort of day to see the Old Town.'

'You know,' I said, 'a little fresh air may be just what I need.'

'I really would recommend it, sir. It would be such a shame if it came to your leaving our town without having enjoyed even a brief walk around the Old Town.'

'You know, I think I'll do just that. I'll go off right now.'

'If you find time to sit down at the Hungarian Café in the Old Square, I feel certain you wouldn't regret it. I would suggest you order a pot of coffee and a piece of the apple strudel. Incidentally, sir, I did just wonder…' The porter paused a moment. Then he went on: 'I did wonder if I might ask a small favour of you. I wouldn't normally ask favours of guests, but in your case, I feel we've got to know one another pretty well.'

'I'd be pleased to do something for you if it were at all possible,' I said.

For a moment, the porter remained standing there silently.

'It's just a small thing,' he said eventually. 'You see, I know just now my daughter will be at the Hungarian Café. She'll have little Boris with her. She's a very pleasant young woman, sir, I'm sure you'd feel very sympathetic towards her. Most people do. She's not what you'd call beautiful, but she has an attractive sort of appearance. She's a very good-natured person at heart. But I suppose she's always had this small weakness about her. Perhaps it was the way she was brought up, who can say? But it's always been there. That's to say, she has this tendency to let things overwhelm her sometimes, even when they're well within her capacity to sort. Some little problem will come up, and instead of taking the few simple measures required, she just broods on it. That way, as you know, sir, small problems grow into larger ones. Before long, things look very deep to her and she gets herself into a mood of despair. It's all so unnecessary. I don't know what exactly is troubling her now, but I'm sure it's not anything so insurmountable. I've seen it so often before. But now, you see, Boris has started to notice. In fact, sir, if Sophie doesn't get a grip on things soon, I'm afraid the boy will become seriously worried. And he's such a delight at the moment. So full of openness and trust. I know it's impossible for him to go through the whole of his life like that, perhaps it's not even desirable. But still, at his age just now, I think he should have just a few more years of believing the world to be a place of sunshine and laughter.' He fell silent again and for a few moments seemed deep in thought. Then looking up he went on: 'If only Sophie could see clearly what was happening, I know she'd get a grip on things. She is at heart very conscientious, very keen to do the best for the people she most cares about. But the thing about Sophie, well, once she gets into this state, she does need a little help to recover her sense of perspective. A good talk, that's really all she needs. Just someone to sit down with her for a few minutes and make her look at things clearly. Help establish what the real problems are, which measures she should take to overcome them. That's all she needs, sir, a good talk, something to give her back her perspective. She'll do the rest herself. She can be very sensible when she means to be. Which brings me to my point, sir. If you happen to be going to the Old Town just now, I wondered if you wouldn't mind having a little word with Sophie. Of course, I realise this might be something of an inconvenience to you, but since you're going that way anyway, I thought I'd ask you. You wouldn't have to talk to her for long. Just a short talk, just to find out what's troubling her and to give her back a sense of proportion.'

The porter stopped and looked at me appealingly. After a moment, I said with a sigh:

'I'd like to be of some help, I really would. But listening to what you say, it seems to me quite likely that Sophie's worries, whatever they are, may well relate to family issues. And as you know, such problems tend to be very deeply enmeshed. An outsider such as myself may after some frank discussion get to the bottom of one thing, only to find it connected to another problem. And so on and so on. Frankly, in my opinion, to talk through the whole tangled net of family issues, I would have thought you were yourself best suited to do that. As Sophie's father and the boy's grandfather, after all, you'd have a natural authority I simply lack.'

The porter seemed immediately to feel the burden of these words and I almost regretted having spoken them. Clearly I had hit upon a sensitive point. He turned away slightly and for several moments gazed emptily across the atrium in the direction of the fountain. Finally he said:

'I appreciate what you're telling me, sir. By rights, yes, I should be the one to talk to her, I can see that. Well, let me be honest -I don't quite know how to put this - but let me be quite honest with you. The truth of the matter is, Sophie and I haven't spoken to each other for many years. Not really since she was a child. So you can appreciate, it's somewhat difficult for me to accomplish what's required.'