The Paris Affair

2 Julia

2

Julia

May, 2002 – London

The meal was a disaster. Julia tried to wipe the sauce off the hob where the beans had boiled over. She’d been checking the Beethoven score for the umpteenth time, trying to work out why it had all gone wrong, instead of concentrating on the cooking. Even the fishfingers she’d bought at the supermarket were burnt to a crisp.

The front door clicked open. She flung the cloth in the sink. They were back already.

‘What’s all this?’ Anna put her bag down on the table. Her daughter, Daisy, stared at the mess. ‘You’re supposed to be resting, love.’

‘I wanted to make tea for my niece and my wonderful big sister,’ Julia said. ‘I’m afraid it didn’t go to plan.’

Daisy glanced at her mum. ‘I don’t have to eat it, do I?’ she asked.

‘You go and watch CBeebies,’ Anna said. ‘I’ll bring you a snack.’

A lump formed in Julia’s throat. After everything her sister had done since Julia had fled Wigmore Hall three days ago, and she couldn’t even cobble a meal together. Tears filled her eyes.

‘Oh, love, it’s all right.’ Anna’s arms encircled her, the chunky-knit cardigan comforting against Julia’s cheek. ‘You’ve had a tough time lately with your hands.’

‘I’m just so afraid of it happening again.’

‘I know.’ Anna smoothed Julia’s hair back and sighed. ‘You always did push yourself. When Dad left, you got so intense about the piano. You were only seven, just a bit older than Daisy.’

‘I suppose it was a way of keeping Mum distracted,’ Julia said. ‘Just think, Anna, she’d be so disappointed if she could see me now.’

Anna sighed. ‘I don’t think anything made her happy. She couldn’t let go of her bitterness about Dad leaving.’

‘Maybe if he’d at least had a relationship with us,’ Julia said, ‘she might have softened.’

Anna gave Julia’s hand an anxious squeeze. ‘I just don’t know.’

Julia wiped her eyes and tried to pull herself together. She didn’t want Anna to worry.

‘I’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘There’s the concert in Prague in a couple of weeks, then Salzburg. Sebastian thinks I can put that concert at Wigmore Hall behind me.’

She glanced at her long fingers and square palms. Outwardly, there seemed to be nothing wrong. She still hadn’t mentioned the recurring problem to Sebastian, only to Anna.

‘Why not give your hands a rest from the piano and do something else? You could take up painting or gardening. Heavens, you could even learn to cook.’ Anna chuckled.

‘I haven’t got time to learn how to cook,’ Julia said with a smile. Cooking had never been her strong point. ‘This is the year, remember. The big piano competition.’

‘But you need a break, little sis,’ Anna said, frowning. ‘Jake made me take some time off after Mum’s funeral last year. It’s done me the world of good.’

Another reason for Julia to feel guilty. She should’ve been around . Instead, she’d been on tour, not even in the country the night her mum died. Her mum had insisted she go. Julia remembered her pale face, still lopsided from the stroke, words slurring as she spoke. ‘You might not get a chance like this again,’ Mum had said.

Julia squeezed Anna’s arm. ‘That’s why I wanted to make you both tea. To do something to help, after all you’ve done for me. Maybe I should postpone going to see Christoph. Stick around a bit longer …’

Anna shook her head. ‘Absolutely not. If anyone can sort you out, it’ll be Christoph.’

Julia hadn’t seen Christoph since last year. He’d turned eighty recently. She was looking forward to sitting in his music room in Bonn, discussing the merits of the Italian pianist and composer Ludovico Einaudi and the Beethovenhalle’s acoustics. Hopefully he’d know what would help her hands.

‘It’ll be good to see him,’ she admitted.

‘Do you remember how nervous you were when you went to stay with him in Bonn? You couldn’t quite believe that the famous pianist Christoph Baumann had come out of retirement to mentor one last student.’ Anna shook her head. ‘You must have really made an impression that first time you met.’

It had been a life-changing moment. She’d taken part in a recital in Frankfurt. Afterwards, there was a reception, and she’d been astonished when a sprightly old man – who she knew instantly was the Christoph Baumann – approached her. She had all his recordings in her LP collection and had read every article he’d written about the piano. Her mouth had gone dry, her mind blank, but then the first words he’d spoken had put her at ease.

She smiled now at Anna. ‘He said, “Julia, your playing was extraordinary, and I know we’ve never met before, but I have the strangest feeling that, somehow, we have. Tell me all about yourself.” We didn’t stop talking that day.’

‘Well, I’m glad you’re going to see him,’ Anna said. ‘His kindness and insight is just what you need.’ She paused. ‘But I hope Daniel’s still working abroad. He’s the last person you’d want to see with all this going on.’

Daniel. Christoph’s son. He must be thirty-two by now: a late and longed-for child to older parents. Christoph used to joke that he was old enough to be Daniel’s grandfather. Every now and then, Daniel appeared in her dreams, startling her awake at three in the morning, a surge of warmth across her skin. Even now, the thought of him made her blush.

‘No, he won’t be there, he’s never there when I am,’ she said.

Julia hadn’t seen Daniel for six years, not since 1996. She rubbed her temples. If there’d been even the slightest chance of Daniel being in Bonn, then she wouldn’t be going.