Read Online Deadly Communion by Frank Tallis - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Frank Tallis
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Detective and Mystery Stories, Police, Police Procedural, Psychoanalysts, Liebermann; Max (Fictitious Character), Rheinhardt; Oskar (Fictitious Character)
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Fräulein Sykora put the coins in her dress pocket and said: ‘I really thought I’d get more than this.’
Rheinhardt scrutinised his guest.
‘How old were you when Herr Kirchmann first offered you somewhere to live?’
Fräulein Sykora frowned.
‘Look, I came here to tell you about Adele and Rainmayr.’
‘If you’ve been living at Kirchmann’s for at least a year you must have been rather young when you moved in.’
‘Not that young.’
‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty.’
Rheinhardt smiled.
‘Well, Fräulein,’ said Rheinhardt, ‘you must be a favourite of the gods of youthfulness. Twenty, indeed. Where do your family live?’
‘I came here to talk about Adele and Rainmayr!’ Pryska Sykora shouted, stamping her foot on the floor. ‘Not about me! But if you’re not interested …’ She got up abruptly and turned to leave.
‘Fräulein Sykora?’
Rheinhardt placed another coin on the desk. Pryska Sykora snatched it up and went to get her coat from the stand. Then she opened the door and barked at Haussmann: ‘Take me down, I’m leaving.’
Haussmann craned his head around the door jamb and sought permission from his superior.
‘Yes,’ said Rheinhardt. ‘The interview is over.’ Then he called out, ‘Good afternoon, Fräulein Sykora. You have been most helpful.’
12
M ISS A MELIA L YDGATE HAD come to recognise that her knowledge of music was deficient. In most cities this would not have mattered; however, in Vienna the inability to engage in intelligent conversation about music was a significant social handicap. She was determined to rectify this deficiency and had asked Liebermann to recommend some concerts. He responded by offering to take her to a piano recital at the Bösendorfer Saal. On going to the venue to buy tickets he discovered a programme that seemed peculiarly apposite, given Amelia’s temperament and nationality. It consisted largely of the English Suites by Johann Sebastian Bach. Liebermann was sure that Bach’s ‘logic’ would appeal to the cerebral Englishwoman and hoped that the nominal reference to her homeland would create an illusion of comforting familiarity (an illusion, because there was nothing particularly English about these suites at all — other than the fact that they were supposed to have been commissioned by an English nobleman).
Liebermann and Amelia Lydgate had already heard the first and second suites, and were now listening to an energetic account of the third in G minor. The prelude and preliminary dances were vigorous and exciting; however, the mood established by the fourth movement — a saraband — was quite different: sad, reflective, and searching. The melody was ornamented and resembled a vocal improvisation over a strummed accompaniment. Occasionally, a chord change wouldaffect Liebermann deeply. It felt like something inside him was being unlocked or undone. Bach — for all his ruthless proficiency — still had the power to move the young doctor. And yet, the music was never mawkish or sentimental. The venerable composer had dispensed with manipulative clichés, replacing them with something far more potent: ravishing ingenuity.
Liebermann stole a quick glance at his companion, curious to see if she had been affected by the music.
Pale skin, russet tresses, and eyes of an indeterminate blue-grey …
Her expression was typically intense and her brow was lined with concentration.
Amelia Lydgate confused him.
There had been moments when he had felt so close to declaring his love for her that he could barely resist the urge. And other times when her intellectualism and cool manner made him grateful that he had never succumbed to such impulses. Their relationship was complicated; Amelia Lydgate had once been Liebermann’s patient and if this sobering consideration wasn’t enough to make him question the propriety of making an amorous overture, he could always reflect on what he had discovered to be the cause of her hysterical
Rheinhardt scrutinised his guest.
‘How old were you when Herr Kirchmann first offered you somewhere to live?’
Fräulein Sykora frowned.
‘Look, I came here to tell you about Adele and Rainmayr.’
‘If you’ve been living at Kirchmann’s for at least a year you must have been rather young when you moved in.’
‘Not that young.’
‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty.’
Rheinhardt smiled.
‘Well, Fräulein,’ said Rheinhardt, ‘you must be a favourite of the gods of youthfulness. Twenty, indeed. Where do your family live?’
‘I came here to talk about Adele and Rainmayr!’ Pryska Sykora shouted, stamping her foot on the floor. ‘Not about me! But if you’re not interested …’ She got up abruptly and turned to leave.
‘Fräulein Sykora?’
Rheinhardt placed another coin on the desk. Pryska Sykora snatched it up and went to get her coat from the stand. Then she opened the door and barked at Haussmann: ‘Take me down, I’m leaving.’
Haussmann craned his head around the door jamb and sought permission from his superior.
‘Yes,’ said Rheinhardt. ‘The interview is over.’ Then he called out, ‘Good afternoon, Fräulein Sykora. You have been most helpful.’
12
M ISS A MELIA L YDGATE HAD come to recognise that her knowledge of music was deficient. In most cities this would not have mattered; however, in Vienna the inability to engage in intelligent conversation about music was a significant social handicap. She was determined to rectify this deficiency and had asked Liebermann to recommend some concerts. He responded by offering to take her to a piano recital at the Bösendorfer Saal. On going to the venue to buy tickets he discovered a programme that seemed peculiarly apposite, given Amelia’s temperament and nationality. It consisted largely of the English Suites by Johann Sebastian Bach. Liebermann was sure that Bach’s ‘logic’ would appeal to the cerebral Englishwoman and hoped that the nominal reference to her homeland would create an illusion of comforting familiarity (an illusion, because there was nothing particularly English about these suites at all — other than the fact that they were supposed to have been commissioned by an English nobleman).
Liebermann and Amelia Lydgate had already heard the first and second suites, and were now listening to an energetic account of the third in G minor. The prelude and preliminary dances were vigorous and exciting; however, the mood established by the fourth movement — a saraband — was quite different: sad, reflective, and searching. The melody was ornamented and resembled a vocal improvisation over a strummed accompaniment. Occasionally, a chord change wouldaffect Liebermann deeply. It felt like something inside him was being unlocked or undone. Bach — for all his ruthless proficiency — still had the power to move the young doctor. And yet, the music was never mawkish or sentimental. The venerable composer had dispensed with manipulative clichés, replacing them with something far more potent: ravishing ingenuity.
Liebermann stole a quick glance at his companion, curious to see if she had been affected by the music.
Pale skin, russet tresses, and eyes of an indeterminate blue-grey …
Her expression was typically intense and her brow was lined with concentration.
Amelia Lydgate confused him.
There had been moments when he had felt so close to declaring his love for her that he could barely resist the urge. And other times when her intellectualism and cool manner made him grateful that he had never succumbed to such impulses. Their relationship was complicated; Amelia Lydgate had once been Liebermann’s patient and if this sobering consideration wasn’t enough to make him question the propriety of making an amorous overture, he could always reflect on what he had discovered to be the cause of her hysterical
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