The large man sat down, shaking his head mournfully. Then a woman at a table near him rose, touching her eyes with a handkerchief.
'Surely there's no doubt about it,' she said. 'He was the greatest dog of his generation. Surely there's no doubt about it.'
A murmur of agreement went around the room. The civic leaders around Brodsky were nodding earnestly, but Brodsky himself still had not looked up.
We waited for the woman to say something more, but although she remained on her feet, she said nothing, merely continuing to sob and dab at her eyes. After a while a man in a velvet dinner jacket beside her rose and gently helped her back into her chair. He himself remained on his feet, however, and glared accusingly around the room. Then he said:
'A statue. A bronze statue. I propose we build a bronze statue to Bruno so that we can remember him for ever. Something big and dignified. Perhaps in Walserstrasse. Mr von Winterstein' - he addressed the severe-faced man - 'let us resolve here, this evening, to build a statue to Bruno!'
Someone called out 'hear, hear' and a clamour of voices rose up expressing approval. Not only the severe-faced man, but all the civic leaders at Brodsky's table looked suddenly confused. Several panicky glances were exchanged before the severe-faced man said without rising:
'Of course, Mr Haller, it's something we would consider very carefully. Along of course with other ideas as to how we might best commemorate…'
'This is going too far,' a man's voice suddenly interrupted from the other end of the room. 'What an absurd idea. A statue for that dog? If that animal deserves a bronze statue, then our tortoise, Petra, she deserves one five times as big. And she met such a cruel end. It's absurd. And that dog attacked Mrs Rahn only earlier this year…'
The rest of this statement was drowned out by uproar all around the room. For a moment everyone seemed to be shouting at once. The man who had spoken, still on his feet, now turned to someone at his own table and began a furious argument. In the growing chaos, I became aware that Hoffman was waving across at me. Or rather, he was describing with his hand an odd circular motion - as though he were wiping an invisible window - and I recalled vaguely that this was some form of signal favoured by him. I rose to my feet and cleared my throat emphatically.
The room almost immediately fell silent and all eyes turned to me. The man who had objected to the statue broke off his argument and hurriedly took his seat. I cleared my throat a second time and was about to embark on my talk when I suddenly became aware that my dressing gown was hanging open, displaying the entire naked front of my body. Thrown into confusion, I hesitated for a second then sat back down again. Almost immediately, a woman stood up across the room and said stridently:
'If a statue isn't practical, then why not name a street after him? We've often changed street names to commemorate the dead. Surely, Mr von Winterstein, this isn't too much to ask. Perhaps Meinhardstrasse. Or even Jahnstrasse.'
A chorus of approval went up for this idea and soon people were calling out all at once the names of other possible streets. The civic leaders were again looking profoundly uncomfortable.
A tall bearded man at a table near mine stood up and said in a booming voice: 'I agree with Mr Hollander. This is going too far. Of course, we all feel sorry for Mr Brodsky. But let's be honest, that dog was a menace, to other dogs and to humans alike. And if Mr Brodsky had thought to comb the creature's fur from time to time, and treat him for the skin infection it obviously had for years…'
The man was engulfed by a storm of angry protests. There were shouts of 'Disgraceful!' and 'Shame!' everywhere, and several people left their tables in order to lecture the offender. Hoffman was again signalling to me, wiping the air furiously, a horrible grin on his face. I could hear the bearded man's voice booming over the mayhem: 'It's true. The creature was a disgusting mess!'
I checked that my gown was fastened tightly and was about to stand up again, when I saw Brodsky suddenly stir and rise to his feet.
The table made a noise as he rose and all heads turned towards him. In an instant, those who had left their seats had returned and silence reigned in the room once more.
For a second I thought Brodsky would crash across the table. But he maintained his balance, surveying the room for a moment. When he spoke his voice had a gentle huskiness about it.
'Look, what is this?' he said. 'You think that dog was so important to me? He's dead and that's it. I want a woman. It gets lonely sometimes. I want a woman.' He paused and for a while seemed to become lost in his thoughts. Then he said dreamily: 'Our sailors. Our drunken sailors. What would have become of them now? She was young then. Young and so beautiful.' He drifted back into his thoughts, gazing up at the lights suspended from the high ceiling, and for a second time I thought he might crash forward across the table. Hoffman must have feared something similar for he stood up and, placing a gentle hand behind Brodsky's back, whispered something in his ear. Brodsky did not immediately respond. Then he muttered: 'She loved me once. Loved me more than anything. Our drunken sailors. Where are they now?'
Hoffman gave a hearty laugh as though Brodsky had made a witticism. He smiled broadly at the room then whispered again in Brodsky's ear. Brodsky finally seemed to recall where he was and, turning vaguely to the hotel manager, allowed himself to be coaxed back down into his chair.
There followed a silence during which no one stirred. Then the Countess stood up with a vivacious smile.
'Ladies and gentlemen, at this point in the evening, we have a lovely surprise! He arrived only this afternoon, he must be very tired indeed, but he has consented nevertheless to be our surprise guest. Yes, everyone! Mr Ryder is here among us!'
The Countess made a flourishing gesture in my direction as excited exclamations broke out across the room. Before I could do anything, the people at my table had quickly engulfed me and were trying to shake my hand. The next instant I was aware of people all round me, gasping with pleasure, greeting me and holding out their hands. I responded to these advances as courteously as I could, but when I glanced over my shoulder -I had not had a chance to get up off my chair - I could see a crowd gathering at my back with many people pushing and standing on tip-toes. I saw I would have to take control of the situation before it disintegrated into chaos. With so many already on their feet, I decided the best course would be to elevate myself above them on some pedestal. Quickly ensuring my dressing gown was fastened, I clambered up onto my chair.
The clamour ceased instantly, people freezing where they stood to stare up at me. From my new vantage point I saw that over half the guests had left their tables and I decided to begin without delay.
'Collapsing curtain rails! Poisoned rodents! Misprinted score sheets!'
I became aware of a single figure walking towards me through the stationary clusters of people. On arrival, Miss Collins pulled towards her a chair from the neighbouring table, sat down and proceeded to gaze up at me. Something about the way she did so distracted me sufficiently that for a moment I could not think of my next line. Seeing me hesitate, she crossed one leg over the other and said in a concerned voice:
'Mr Ryder, are you feeling unwell?'
'I'm fine, thank you, Miss Collins.'
'I do hope,' she went on, 'you didn't take too much to heart what I said to you earlier. I wanted to come and find you to apologise, but I couldn't see you anywhere. I may have spoken much more abrasively than was called for. I do hope you'll forgive me. It's just that even now, when I come upon someone of your calling, things suddenly come back to me and I find myself adopting that sort of tone.'
'It's quite all right, Miss Collins,' I said quietly, smiling down at her. 'Please don't worry. I wasn't really upset at all. If I walked away rather abruptly, it was just that I thought you might want the opportunity to talk unhindered with Stephan.'
'It's good of you to be so understanding,' Miss Collins said. 'I
am
sorry I got a little angry. But you must believe me, Mr Ryder, it wasn't just anger on my part. I do quite honestly wish to be of some help to you. It would greatly sadden me to see you making the same mistakes over and over. I wanted to say to you, now that we've met, you'd be very welcome to visit me for tea some afternoon. I'd be more than happy to talk over whatever happens to be on your mind. You'd have a sympathetic ear, I can assure you.'
"That's good of you, Miss Collins. I'm sure it's well meant. But if I may say so, it would seem your past experiences have left you less than well-disposed towards, as you yourself put it, those of my calling. I'm not at all sure you would enjoy having me visit you.'
Miss Collins appeared to give this some thought. Then she said: 'I can appreciate your misgivings. But I feel it would be perfectly possible for us to get on in a civil way. If you like it need only be a short visit. If you found you enjoyed it then you could always come back. Perhaps we could even go for a short walk. The Steinberg Garden is very close to my apartment. Mr Ryder, I've had many years to reflect on the past and I really am ready to put it behind me. I would very much like once more to lend a hand to someone such as yourself. Of course, I can't promise I'll have answers to every question. But I'll listen to you with sympathy. And you can be sure, I won't idealise or sentimentalise you in the way a less experienced person might.'
'I'll think carefully about your invitation, Miss Collins,' I said to her. 'But I can't help thinking you've mistaken me for someone I clearly am not. I say this because the world seems full of people claiming to be geniuses of one sort or another, who are in fact remarkable only for a colossal inability to organise their lives. But for some reason there's always a queue of people like yourself, Miss Collins - very well-meaning people - eager to rush to the rescue of these types. Perhaps I flatter myself, but I can tell you, I am not one of their number. In fact, I can say with confidence that at this point in time, I'm not in any need of rescuing.'
Miss Collins had been shaking her head for some time. Now she said: 'Mr Ryder, it really would be a great sadness to me if you were to continue making your mistakes over and over. And to think that all the time, I was here, simply watching you and doing nothing. I really do think I might be of some help to you in your present plight. Of course, when I was with Leo' - she waved a hand vaguely towards Brodsky - 'I was too young, I didn't know nearly enough, I couldn't really see it, what was going on. But now I've had many years to think about everything. And when I heard you were coming to our town, I told myself it really was time I learnt to contain the bitterness. I've grown old, but I'm far from done yet. There are certain things in life I've come to understand well, very well, and it's not too late, I should try and put it to some use. It's in this spirit I'm inviting you to visit me, Mr Ryder. I apologise again for being a little short with you earlier when we met. It won't happen again, I promise. Please, do say you'll come.'
As she was speaking, the image of her drawing room - the low cosy light, the worn velvet drapes, the crumbling furniture - had drifted before me, and for a brief moment the thought of reclining on one of her couches, far from the pressures of life, seemed peculiarly enticing. I took a deep breath and sighed.
'I'll bear your kind invitation in mind, Miss Collins,' I said. 'But for now, I'll have to go to bed and get some rest. You must appreciate, I've been travelling for months, and since arriving here I've hardly had a moment's pause. I'm extremely tired.'
As I said this, all my tiredness came back to me. The skin under my eyes felt itchy and I rubbed my face with the palm of my hand. I was still rubbing at my face when I felt a touch on my elbow and a voice said gently:
'I'll walk back with you, Mr Ryder.'
Stephan was reaching up to help me off the chair. I leaned a hand on his shoulder and climbed down.
'I'm very tired now too,' Stephan said. 'I'll walk back with you.'
'Walk back?'
'Yes, I'm going to sleep in one of the rooms tonight. I often do that if I'm on duty early in the morning.'
For a moment his words continued to puzzle me. Then, as I looked past the clusters of standing and seated dinner guests, past the waiters and the tables, to where the vast room disappeared into darkness, it suddenly dawned on me that we were in the atrium of the hotel. I had not recognised it because earlier in the day I had entered it - and had viewed it - from the opposite end. Somewhere in the darkness on the far side would be the bar where I had drunk my coffee and planned the day ahead.
I had no chance to dwell on this realisation, however, for Stephan was leading me away with surprising insistence.
'Let's be getting back, Mr Ryder. Besides, there's something I wanted to speak to you about.'
'Good night, Mr Ryder,' Miss Collins called as we strode past.
I glanced back to wish her good night, and would have done so in a less cursory manner had Stephan not continued to lead me away. Indeed, as we made our way across the floor, I could hear people wishing me good night on all sides, and although I smiled and waved as best I could, I was conscious I was not making as gracious an exit as I might. But Stephan was clearly preoccupied and, even while I was still returning good nights over my shoulder, he tugged at my arm and said:
'Mr Ryder, I've been thinking. Perhaps I'm just getting above myself now, but I really think I ought to try the Kazan. I've remembered your advice earlier, just to stick to what I've prepared. But really, I've been thinking and I feel I might be able to conquer
Glass Passions
. It's within my capabilities now, I really believe that. The real problem is time. But if I really go at it, really work at it, at night and everything, I think I might be able to do it.'
We had entered the darkened section of the atrium. Stephan's heels echoed in the emptiness, the flip-flopping of my slippers marking a counterpoint. I could make out in the gloom, somewhere to our right, the pale marble of the large fountain, now silent and still.