I looked again over to where Boris was sitting. He seemed still to be completely absorbed in his manual.
'Look,' I said, 'I'm still not at all sure what you're talking about. Perhaps you're just referring to the fact that Boris and I, we've been adjusting our behaviour towards one another a little. But surely that's only appropriate given the circumstances. If I've been a little distant towards him recently, it's simply because I don't want to mislead him about the true nature of our life together now. We have to all be more cautious. After what's happened, who knows what the future holds for the three of us? Boris has to learn to become more resilient, more independent. I'm sure in his own way, he understands this as much as I do.'
Sophie looked away and for a moment seemed to be thinking something over. I was about to attract the desk clerk's attention again when she said suddenly:
'Please. Come over now. Say something to him.'
'Come over? Well, the problem is, I've a matter of some urgency to attend to and just as soon as Hoffman turns up…'
'Please, just a few words. It would make such a difference to him. Please.'
She was looking at me intently. When I gave a shrug, she turned and began to lead the way across the lobby.
Boris glanced up briefly as we approached, then stared down at his book again with a serious expression. I had assumed Sophie was going to say something, but to my annoyance, she simply gave me a meaningful look then walked on past Boris's sofa towards a magazine rack next to the windows. I thus found myself standing alone next to Boris while the little boy went on with his reading. Eventually I pulled up an armchair and sat down opposite him.
Boris continued to read, showing no sign of having noticed my presence. Then, without looking up, he muttered to himself:
'This book's great. It shows you everything.'
I was wondering how to respond, but then caught sight of Sophie, her back to us, pretending to examine a magazine she had just taken off the rack. I suddenly felt a wave of anger and bitterly regretted having followed her across the lobby. She had, I realised, managed to manoeuvre things so that, whatever I now said to Boris, she could count it a triumph and a vindication. I cast another look at her back, the slight stoop she was affecting around the shoulders to suggest her fascination with the magazine, and felt steadily more angry.
Boris turned over a page and continued to read. After a while he muttered once more without looking up: 'Tiling the bathroom. I'll be able to do it easily now.'
There was a selection of newspapers on a coffee table nearby and I saw no reason why I too should not be reading. I picked a paper and held it open before me. A few moments passed in silence. Then, as I was glancing over an article about the German car industry, I heard Boris say suddenly:
'Sorry.'
He had uttered the word in a somewhat aggressive manner and at first I wondered if Sophie had managed to prod him or give him a signal while I had been reading. But when I stole a glance towards Sophie, her back was still turned and she appeared not to have moved at all. Then Boris said:
'I'm sorry I was selfish. I won't be any more. I won't talk about Number Nine ever again. I'm much too old for that now. It'll be easy with this book. It's great. I'll be able to do everything soon. I'm going to do the bathroom again. I didn't realise before. But it shows you in here, it shows you everything. I won't talk about Number Nine ever again.'
It was as though he were uttering lines he had memorised and rehearsed. None the less, there was something emotional in his voice and I felt a strong urge to reach out and comfort him. But then I saw Sophie's shoulders rise and fall, and remembered my annoyance at her. I could see, moreover, that in the long run none of our interests would be served if I allowed Sophie to manipulate matters in the manner she was now attempting.
I closed the newspaper and rose to my feet, glancing behind me to see if Hoffman was anywhere to be seen. As I did so, Boris spoke again, a panic now evident in his voice.
'I promise. I promise I'll learn to do everything. It'll be easy now.'
His voice wobbled a little, but when I looked at him again, his eyes were still fixed firmly on his page. His face, I noticed, looked strangely flushed. I then caught a movement across the lobby and saw Hoffman waving to me from beside the reception desk.
'I have to go now,' I called to Sophie. 'I've got something very important. I'll see you both another time.'
Boris turned over a page, but did not look up.
'Very soon,' I said to Sophie, who had now turned. 'We'll talk more very soon. But I have to go now.'
Hoffman had made his way into the centre of the lobby and was waiting for me with an anxious demeanour.
'I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr Ryder,' he said. 'I should have anticipated you'd turn up well before time for a meeting such as this. I've just this moment come from the boardroom, and I can tell you, sir, these people, these ordinary ladies and gentlemen, they're so extremely grateful, so grateful you've agreed to meet with them in person. That you, Mr Ryder, appreciate the importance of hearing from their own lips what they've been through.'
I looked at him sternly. 'Mr Hoffman, there appears to be a misunderstanding. I require at this point in time two hours in which to practise. Two hours of complete privacy. I must ask you to clear the drawing room as quickly as possible.'
'Ah yes, the drawing room.' Then he gave a laugh. 'I'm sorry, Mr Ryder, I don't quite understand. As you know, the committee of the Citizens' Mutual Support Group is at this very moment waiting up in the boardroom…'
'Mr Hoffman, you don't seem to appreciate the urgency of the situation. Owing to one unforeseen event after another, I haven't had a chance to touch a piano now for many days. I must insist I be allowed access to one as quickly as possible.'
'Ah yes, Mr Ryder. Of course, that's perfectly understandable. I'll do everything I can to be of assistance. But as far as the drawing room is concerned, it would not be at all practical at this moment. You see, it's so full of guests…'
'You appear quite ready to clear it for Mr Brodsky.'
'Ah, yes, quite right. Well, sir, if you were absolutely insistent you wanted the piano in the drawing room above all other pianos in the hotel, then certainly, yes, I would gladly comply. I would go in there now, personally, and request that all the guests leave, never mind if they are in the middle of taking coffee or whatever. Yes, I would do that ultimately. But perhaps before I resort to such extreme measures, you'd be so good as to consider certain other options. You see, sir, it is by no means the case that the piano in the drawing room is the best in the hotel. In fact some of the bass notes are distinctly dubious.'
'Mr Hoffman, if it isn't to be the drawing room, then by all means, please, tell me what else you have available. I have no peculiar attachment to the drawing room itself. What I need is simply a good piano and privacy.'
'The practice room. That would serve your needs much better.'
'Very well, then. The practice room it is.'
'Excellent.'
He began to lead me away. Then after just a few steps he stopped again and leaned forward confidentially.
'I take it then, Mr Ryder, you'll be requiring the practice room immediately you come out of the meeting?'
'Mr Hoffman, I don't wish to have to stress to you yet again the urgency of the present situation…'
'Ah yes, yes, Mr Ryder. Of course, of course. I very much understand. So… you're requiring to practise
before
the meeting. Yes, yes, I understand perfectly. That will be no problem, these people will be more than happy to wait a little. Well, no matter, this way please.'
We left the lobby via a door I had not noticed before situated to the left of the elevator, and we were soon walking along what was clearly a service corridor. The walls were undecorated and the fluorescent tubes overhead lent everything a hard, stark aspect. We passed a series of large sliding doors from behind which came various kitchen noises. One door was open and I glimpsed a harshly lit room with metal canisters piled in columns on a wooden bench.
'We're having to do much of the catering for tonight here on hotel premises,' said Hoffman. "The concert hall, as you can imagine, has very limited kitchen facilities.'
The corridor turned a corner and we passed what I supposed were the laundry rooms. At one point we passed a set of doors from behind which came the sound of two women screaming at each other with alarming venom. Hoffman, however, seemed to register nothing and walked on in silence. Then I heard him mutter:
'No, no, these citizens. They'll be grateful regardless. A little delay, they won't mind at all.'
He eventually stopped in front of an unmarked door. I expected him to hold it open for me, but instead he averted his eyes from it and turned his whole body away.
'In there, Mr Ryder,' he mumbled and made a quick furtive gesture over his shoulder.
'Thank you, Mr Hoffman.' I pushed open the door.
Hoffman continued to stand rigidly on his spot, his gaze still averted. 'I shall wait here for you,' he muttered.
'No need to do that, Mr Hoffman. I'll be able to find my way back out.'
'I shall be here, sir. Don't you worry.'
I could not be bothered to argue and hurried on through the doorway.
I entered a long narrow room with a grey stone floor. The walls were covered to the ceiling with white tiles. I had the impression there was a row of sinks to my left, but I was by this point so anxious to get to the piano I paid little attention to such details. My gaze, in any case, had been immediately drawn to the wooden cubicles on my right. There were three of these, painted an unpleasant frog-green colour, standing side by side. The doors to the two outer cubicles were closed, but the central cubicle -which looked to have slightly broader dimensions - had its door ajar and I could see inside it a piano, the lid left open to display the keys. Without further ado I attempted to make my way inside, only to find this a frustratingly difficult task. The door -which swung inwards into the cubicle - was prevented from opening fully by the piano itself, and in order to get inside and close the door again I was obliged to squeeze myself tightly into a corner and to tug the edge of the door slowly past my chest. Eventually I succeeded in closing and locking the door, then managed - again with some difficulty in the cramped conditions - to pull the stool out from under the piano. Once I had seated myself, however, I felt reasonably comfortable, and when I ran my fingers up and down the keys I discovered that for all its discoloured notes and scratched outer body, the piano possessed a mellow sensitive tone and had been perfectly tuned. The acoustics within the cubicle, moreover, were not nearly as claustrophobic as one might have supposed.
A great sense of relief swept over me at this discovery and I suddenly realised how tense I had been over the past hour. I took several slow deep breaths and set about preparing myself for this most important of practice sessions. It was then I remembered I had still not resolved the question of which piece to perform this evening. My mother, I knew, would find particularly moving the central movement of Yamanaka's
Globestructures: Option II
. But my father would certainly prefer Mullery's Asbestos
and Fibre
. In fact it was even possible he would not approve much of the Yamanaka. I sat gazing at the keys for a few more moments before deciding firmly in favour of the Mullery.
The decision made me feel all the better and I was just preparing to embark on those explosive opening chords when I felt something hard tap against the back of my shoulder. Turning, I saw with dismay that the door of the cubicle had somehow come unlocked and was hanging open.
I clambered to a standing position and pushed the door closed. I then noticed the latch mechanism was dangling upside down on the door frame. After further examination, and with a little ingenuity, I managed to fix the latch back in place, but even as I locked the door once more I could see I had effected only the most temporary of solutions. The latch was liable to slip down again at any moment. I could be in the middle of
Asbestos and Fibre
- in the midst, say, of one of the highly intense passages in the third movement - and the door could easily swing open again exposing me to whoever happened by then to be wandering about outside my cubicle. And certainly, if some obtuse person, not realising I was inside, were to attempt to gain entry, the lock would not offer even nominal resistance.
All these thoughts ran through my mind as I seated myself back on the stool. But after a little while, I came to the conclusion that if I did not make full use of this opportunity to practise, I might never get another. And if the conditions were less than ideal, the piano itself was perfectly adequate. With some determination, I willed myself to stop worrying about the faulty door behind me and to prepare myself once more for the opening bars of the Mullery.
Then, just as my fingers were poised over the keys, I heard a noise - a small creaking sound such as might be made by a shoe or some piece of clothing - somewhere alarmingly close by. I spun round on my stool. Only then did I notice that although the door had stayed closed, the whole of its upper section was missing, so that it more or less resembled a stable door. I had been so preoccupied with the faulty latch I had somehow completely failed to register this glaring fact. I now saw how the door ended at a rough edge just above waist height. Whether the upper section had been torn off as a result of wanton vandalism or because some renovation was taking place I could not be sure. In any case, even from my seated position I could, by craning my neck slightly, gain a clear view of the white tiles and sinks outside.
I could not believe Hoffman had had the effrontery to offer me such conditions. To be sure, no one else had come into the room so far, but it was perfectly conceivable a group of six or seven hotel staff could come in at any moment and begin using the sinks. The situation seemed to me untenable and I was about to abandon the cubicle angrily when I caught sight of a rag hanging from a nail on the door post close to the upper hinge.