The Claresby Collection: Twelve Mysteries (14 page)

“You have a daughter,” said Laura, her face beatific.

“She is beautiful,” whispered Rupert with awed sincerity, but for once ignoring the visual evidence in front of his nose – for although his daughter would indeed prove to be a beauty, the newborn face gave no indication of this fact to anyone other than the parents. “What shall we call her: she doesn’t look like a Humphrey now I come to meet her face to face.”

“She certainly isn’t a Humphrey,” acknowledged Laura. “I do have two names in mind, but only if you agree.”

“Tell me?” said Rupert, stretching out a large index finger to cautiously touch the soft skin of his infant.

“I thought Florence Eleanor,” said Laura.

“Florence Eleanor,” repeated Rupert, perfectly aware of why these two names were uppermost in his wife’s mind. “Yes, they are pretty names, and both in your family: perhaps a way to quieten our ghost too. Yes, I think the name is very nice: Florence Eleanor Latimer. Do you like the name, little one?”

But Florence Eleanor Latimer was sleeping peacefully and did not heed her father.

Death of a Clarinettist

“Ah, they are starting with the William Tell Overture,” commented Laura approvingly as she flicked through the programme for the concert at the New Millennium Hall in Maidstone that she and Rupert were on their way to attend. “Then Dvorak – oh, and a little sample of Kirsten Norman before the interval. She’s playing Debussy’s Petite Piéce for clarinet and piano; then the Weber to begin the second half. It should be a good concert – if you don’t doze off like you did in the Mozart last time!”

“I wonder if the chap in the aviator hat will be there?” mused Rupert, his benign but ugly face a mask of concentration as he manoeuvred the Range Rover through the busy evening traffic.

“He’s always there,” replied Laura. “I’m pretty sure that he lives in the underground car park; it is one of the cleanest I know – probably because the NMH is so new.”

“I’m mildly surprised that they let him in,” said Rupert.

“Presumably he pays like everyone else; and even if he doesn’t, you can tell that he enjoys the music – he taps his toes and waves his arms about.”

“Last time he almost elbowed the lady next to him on the nose,” smiled Rupert reminiscently. He and Laura were regulars at the New Millennium Hall and recognised and looked out for the other regulars, including the vagrant with the aviator hat which he wore indoors and out whatever the weather.

“We’ll try and meet Suzy behind the scenes during the interval and then have supper with her and Kirsten after the concert.” Laura closed the programme and pushed it into her handbag.

“Are the two of them – um...an item?” asked Rupert, carefully.

Laura cocked her head on one side thoughtfully, so that her auburn hair fell across one shoulder. “Hard to say: Kirsten is a bit of a diva and Suzy is always in attendance. As far as I remember, Kirsten had a boyfriend a few years back, but found that the relationship was too intense and got in the way of her music just as she was becoming really successful. So he had to go and Suzy took over as chief companion and general factotum.”

“They came to our wedding as a couple, as far as I recall.”

“I suppose so. Of course I asked Suzy as my cousin, and I think the invitation said something about including a partner. That was the first time I met Kirsten Norman, although I had a couple of her recordings and had heard her playing on the radio.”

“I’ve never been a big fan of the clarinet,” commented Rupert. “In any case, I prefer a symphony.”

“Well, you are getting the New World – even you can’t sleep though that. Anyway, I think you will like the Carl Maria Von Weber, even if it is a showcase for Kirsten’s clarinet playing.”

Rupert swung the big car around and down into the underground car park of the New Millennium Hall, stopping at the barrier to take a ticket. Ten minutes later and the two of them were on their way up to the beautifully designed Art Nouveau bar and a glass of champagne apiece. As they sat exchanging the odd comment, they saw the vagrant whom they had spoken about make his way in and deposit a wheeled shopping basket – no doubt containing his worldly goods – in a discreet corner. The uniformed men who stood at the doors checking tickets and directing people aright, far from looking at the scruffy man with his bulging coat and hat pulled over his ears disapprovingly, seemed to smile in his direction indulgently. Laura watched him as he walked past her, fumbling in his pockets for goodness-knows-what. Beneath the hat was a face that showed small, unusually dark intelligent eyes and a pleasant mouth. Despite the ravages of outside living it was quite a young face; probably that of a man in his twenties – albeit one who had suffered in ways she could not imagine. He seemed to find what he was searching for and glanced distractedly about him without actually focusing on anything and moved onwards. Laura’s attention was withdrawn from him as Rupert nudged her gently in the ribs.

“Mr and Mrs Posh look nervous tonight.” He indicated a well dressed couple at one of the glass tables, champagne glasses poised in front of them. Both were sitting bolt upright, staring straight ahead and only occasionally lifting their glasses to their lips as they sat in silence. This was another regular couple, named by Rupert for their expensive grooming and aloof bearing.

“They do look more than usually uptight,” agreed Laura. “I wonder if they will sit in their usual places in the front row with us.” She looked beyond the couple and suddenly exclaimed. “Oh, look! There are Suzy and Kirsten.” She rose a little in her seat and waved at them. Suzy, a short plain girl with a snub nose and neat figure waved back and the two women made their way over. Kirsten, appropriately to the fact that she was performing a solo that night, was dressed in an emerald green satin evening dress with chiffon overlay. She wasn’t exactly beautiful, but had a rather exotic look with slanted eyes, high cheek bones and a well sculpted mouth. Perhaps the reason she missed beauty was that her expression was rather tight and hard. She smiled, however, in a friendly way, and her face was momentarily softened.

“Suzy told me you were coming to see my performance tonight, so I thought we’d come out and look for you. I’m going to sign some of my CDs after the concert, but I’ve got a few moments now.” The young musician cast her eyes around, quite aware of the stir that her presence was causing. For a moment she seemed to pause, looking at Mr and Mrs Posh; but they had just got up and turned to walk away.

“I thought...” she began; but then shook her head. “I’m sorry – I thought I recognised someone, but probably they have just been at one of my concerts before. Where will you two be sitting tonight?”

“Oh, right up at the front of the stalls,” said Laura. “We have favourite seats here: being our local concert hall we have been regulars ever since it was built. There are quite a lot of people in the Kent area who make use of this fabulous hall – we are really rather lucky. I think the acoustics are meant to be the best of any concert hall in the country.”

“I’ve not played here before,” admitted Kirsten. “I’m quite excited – or is that nervous! That’s why I came out here. Sometimes sitting in the dressing room before hand is the worst time.”

“You must be used to the pressure by now,” ventured Rupert. “Or is it one of those things you never get used to, however long you have been performing solos?”

Kirsten wrinkled her nose thoughtfully. “It becomes a familiar sense of anticipation, but I’ve never lost my pre-concert anxiety. I always feel nervous right up to the point when I start playing – and then I just forget everything and am lost in the music: that is why I love it so much. It’s the most important thing in my life.”

For some reason there was a silence after this final remark. It wasn’t that Kirsten said it with particular emphasis; it was simply a statement of fact.

“Well,” said Laura, smiling at her cousin. “We can meet up afterwards for supper, if that is all right?”

“Oh, I thought you were coming to my dressing room in the interval?” intervened Kirsten. “Then you can tell me if you enjoy the Debussy.”

“I’m sure you’ll be wonderful,” Rupert smiled at her. Suzy moved off with a little wave at her cousin and Laura and her husband resumed their drinks.

“Like her?” asked Laura, bluntly.

“No opinion either way,” replied Rupert.

“Something about her...” mused Laura. “She was friendly enough, but somehow one senses an intensity.”

“I imagine that a degree of obsession is a prerequisite in a musician of her calibre,” said Rupert.

“But obsession doesn’t come in degrees; it is by its nature all-consuming.”

“As long as it results in music inspiring enough to keep me awake, I’m happy,” said Rupert. “Champagne always makes me drowsy.”

Settled in her front row seat, the stage rising in front of her, Laura took a look around. Mr and Mrs Posh were in their usual place to the left of Rupert and the vagrant was two removed from Laura on the right. The lights went up and a muttering of applause broke out as members of the orchestra made their way onto the stage. Once the orchestra was settled, the conductor came out to more prolonged clapping and soon there was an anticipatory silence before the melancholy opening strains of the music commenced. The audience lapped up the enthralling subtlety of the music and its stirring climax. More applause broke like a wave as the piece finished. The audience settled and then sat back to enjoy the Dvorak. The man in the aviator hat had his eyes closed, but the smart couple were staring ahead as if transfixed. Applause again, and then the audience rustled with excitement as they waited for Kirsten Norman to come on stage. A sweep of green satin and rapturous applause. Just the piano and clarinet sounded, weaving around each other in the lyrical piece. Rupert’s concentration was broken by Mr and Mrs Posh getting up and leaving just as the first note of the clarinet sounded, and by the time he was back with it, the music was over.

“That was hardly worth bothering with,” commented Rupert as the audience rose en masse and made for the exits and a drink in the interval.

“Just a warm up for Kirsten, I suppose,” said Laura. “We had better find our way around backstage.”

Suzy was waiting for her cousin. Kirsten had returned, flush faced, and deposited her clarinet before rushing off to have a quick word with the conductor. Just after she left, a man’s head popped around the door.

“Can I bring you two ladies some coffee?”

“Oh, yes please,” replied Suzy.

“Milk? Sugar?”

“Black no sugar for me. Milk no sugar for Kirsten – thank you.” The man disappeared and Suzy went out to see if she could spot Laura and Rupert and show them which room they were in. Eventually she found them and led them in.

“Did you enjoy the first half? I didn’t make it out there; I was sorting out things in here.”

“Oh yes: Kirsten was wonderful – brief, but wonderful!” commented Laura.

Rupert, as was his custom, was walking around examining everything he saw with interest.

“Kirsten has a spare dress?” he commented, noticing a rose coloured confection on a hanger.

“Oh, yes. We are prepared for all eventualities.”

Rupert was now studying something that looked like a laptop case. “Is this hers? – K.C.N.” he read the initials aloud.

“Yes: the C is for Cleo. She should be back any moment.” There was a gentle knock at the door and Suzy opened it. “Oh, here is our coffee.”

Rupert glanced up and briefly caught sight of a familiar face – that of Mr Posh – handing two cups to Suzy. The door closed.

“Does she have a spare clarinet?” Rupert asked, putting the initialled bag down.

“Yes,” Suzy put Kirsten’s coffee on the side and took a sip of her own. “That is the bag for the one she is using. In fact our spare is still in the boot of the car. Do you two want a drink? – I should have had some wine in here.”

“Don’t worry,” said Laura. “We just wanted to see backstage. I have some water in my bag. You have your coffee whilst Rupert turns the place upside down. It’s his way, you know: incurably nosy!”

Suzy laughed and drank some more of her coffee.

“What is this?” asked Rupert, holding up a little plastic case.

“That’s to put the reed in from the mouthpiece of the clarinet. Kirsten won’t leave it in the instrument as it needs to dry flat. You just slide the reed in under a ligature. When she puts it into the clarinet before the performance she has to wet it in her mouth – it won’t play if it is dry.”

“Interesting,” mused Rupert.

Suzy watched him tolerantly as she finished her coffee. “I’m not a musician myself, but I find the whole musical world fascinating. I met Kirsten when she was studying at the Royal Academy of Music and got to know a lot of the other musicians she knew there. Now, of course, I see a lot of the orchestra backstage.”

Rupert was glancing around, “Where is her clarinet? I won’t touch, but I’d like to look.”

Suzy looked around too. “That’s odd,” she said. “I thought Kirsten put it down in here. Why would she take it with her?” She started to look around the room lifting magazines and other objects, slightly flustered. Rupert, meanwhile, was looking at the cup of coffee that had been left for Kirsten with more interest than it seemed to warrant.

“Does Kirsten take sugar in her coffee?” he asked.

“What? No.” Suzy’s reply was rather abrupt.

“Curious,” commented Rupert, who had lifted the cup and was sniffing it cautiously. “There’s quite a bit of sugar spilled in the saucer.”

“Well I told the man no sugar. I do hope Kirsten has her clarinet...but I’m sure she left it here.”

Just then Kirsten swept in and Suzy looked up flushed faced.

“Do you have your clarinet?” asked Suzy swiftly.

“No. I left it in here.” Kirsten’s smile faded.

“Well it’s not here now,” said Suzy.

The two women continued to look around in something of a panic. As they did so, Rupert quietly beckoned his wife over. “Take a sniff of this,” he indicated the coffee. Laura sniffed. “Can you smell anything?”