Free Mortal Mischief by Frank Tallis Page A

family.
'Oskar? It's your wedding anniversary soon – isn't it?'
'Yes,' said Rheinhardt. 'Next month.'
'The nineteenth?'
'That's right.'
'Have you bought Else a present yet?''
'I've been having clandestine meetings with Maria, her dressmaker.'
'Ah,' said Liebermann, letting his hands fall on an ominous-sounding chord at the lower end of the keyboard.
'It's a complicated business, dressmaking,' said Rheinhardt. 'More complicated than you'd imagine.'
'I dare say that's true.'
'Maria has been recommending all sorts – you know, materials, patterns . . . said that she could imitate a design she saw in Bertha Fürst's boutique – the fashionable one on Stumpergasse . . . Hope I've done the right thing.'
'Oh, I'm sure you have. What colour did you choose?'
Liebermann began playing a chromatic scale, in thirds, but stopped when he realised that his friend hadn't answered. Raising his head, he saw that Rheinhardt appeared a little uncomfortable. His immaculately groomed moustache was shifting from side to side as his expression changed to reflect increasing degrees of mental exertion.
'What is it, Oskar?' asked Liebermann.
'You know,' replied Rheinhardt. 'I'm not sure what we decided on in the end. There was so much talk – and so many colours. Was it a shade of green? You know, I can't remember.'
Liebermann shrugged.
'Don't try so hard – it'll come to mind soon enough.'
Seeing that his friend had taken little heed of his advice, Liebermann tapped the tower of song books by the music stand and asked: 'Well, what shall we finish with?'
'Nothing else in here . . .' Rheinhardt put the volume he was holding down. 'How about some Schubert?'
'Excellent.'
'Das Wandern ?'
Liebermann ran a finger down the scores' spines and pulled Die Schöne Müllerin from the pile. He opened the volume at the first page and, when Rheinhardt was ready, launched into the repetitive figure of the accompaniment. The Bösendorfer was sounding particularly full-bodied, and Liebermann pounded the keys with relish.
Unexpectedly, Rheinhardt held up his hand.
'No, Max.'
Liebermann stopped playing and looked inquisitively at his friend.
'I was wondering,' continued Rheinhardt. 'Could we try it a little slower?'
'Of course.'
Liebermann began again, this time, playing the accompaniment to suggest a gentle amble rather than a brisk march. After a few bars, Rheinhardt opened his mouth and filled the room with his sweet, lyrical baritone.
'Das Wandern ist des Müllers Lust, Das Wandern! '
The walking song – evoking a rural idyll of open roads, babbling brooks, and mill wheels turning.
' Das Wandern! Das Wandern!'
Rheinhardt lingered on every word, savouring the shape of each phrase, and Liebermann responded, labouring the accompaniment. The musical effect suggested effort. A tired walker, sapped of strength, struggling towards his destination. The performance was strangely elegiac. After the last bar, both men were silent, lulled into states of meditative reflection.
'Enchanting,' said Liebermann. 'Not the standard interpretation, of course, but enchanting nevertheless.'
He closed the music book.
'Ah,' said Rheinhardt, as though he had been suddenly startled.
'What?'
'The colour of Else's dress. It was blue! A blue evening dress.'
'There you are,' said Liebermann. 'I told you it would come.'
Liebermann placed Die Schöne Müllerin on top of the book pile, folded the music stand and closed the piano lid. He couldn't resist stroking the shiny surface of the instrument as he stood up.
The music room was large and decorated in a modern style. The chairs were matt black and upholstered with a fabric of Spartan design – red lines on a buff background. The rug, too, had little detail – nothing more than a border of small blue and red squares. Rheinhardt did not share his friend's modern taste. In fact, it mystified him. Rheinhardt felt much more comfortable when Liebermann opened the double doors, revealing the panelled smoking room beyond: leather armchairs, a roaring