11 Julia
11
Julia
June, 2002 – Bonn
Julia stood at the door of the music room and gazed at the piano. The black and white keys beckoned. She turned away, intending to clear up the kitchen after last night’s cooking, but with Prague only five days away, it was time to start practising again.
She sat down on the stool. Nothing too hard, something simple and familiar. She played the opening bars of ‘Für Elise’, holding her breath.
Halfway through, her fingers stiffened. She carried on, but the feeling was inescapable. Her hands turned to wood. The notes crashed, discordant and out of time.
‘ Meine Liebe ,’ Christoph was leaning against the doorway in his dressing gown. ‘So, that’s why you’re here.’
‘Did I wake you?’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. Here, let me help.’ She took his arm and helped him over to the sofa. His eyes were a little brighter. The sleep had done him good.
‘The sunlight woke me, and I came down to watch you play. The music was beautiful, and then …’ He glanced at her. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Oh.’ She closed the piano lid. ‘It doesn’t matter. You’ve got enough to worry about.’
‘You can’t fool me. Music flows from the heart to the head and through the body on to the keyboard. I can tell something isn’t right with your hands.’
Christoph’s gaze was unwavering. There was no use pretending.
‘I messed up the concert in London. This was supposed to be my big year, the year of the Queen Elisabeth competition. I have to play well or else …’
‘Or else what?’
‘It’s all I know. If I’m not playing the piano and moving forward in my career, then I don’t know what will become of me.’
She shouldn’t burden him with all this, but it was a relief to talk.
‘That stiffness in your hands is a warning sign,’ Christoph said. ‘It’s telling you to stop.’
‘That’s what Anna said, but I can’t just stop. There’s nothing physically wrong, I had it all checked out. I just need to keep practising.’
‘Don’t stop altogether,’ he said. ‘Just divert your energies into something different for a while, like you did last night. That crème br?lée was delicious.’
Julia went and sat down next to him. ‘Honestly?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘What made you cook it?
‘I found a recipe book under your stairs when I was looking for the vacuum cleaner. It’s dedicated to you.’
She fetched the book from the kitchen and showed him the flyleaf.
‘Goodness.’ He held the book, rubbing his thumb over the cover. ‘I’ve no idea where this came from.’ He pressed his forehead. ‘My mind’s been in a fog since Hilde died. Nothing fits together.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Last night, when I ate the crème br?lée, I thought about Paris, and the restaurant, Maxim’s. I could picture a kitchen, steel countertops and white tiles, and a woman who’d cut her hand. She made the most delicious crème br?lée.’ His face darkened. ‘I’ve no idea what it meant or who the woman was.’
Julia turned to face him. The subject couldn’t be avoided for ever.
‘Have you thought any more about what the doctor said about having further tests?’ she said.
Christoph kept his eye fixed on the recipe book.
Julia took a deep breath, determined to carry on. ‘The fog you mentioned could be the sign of something more …’ She tailed off, hoping he understood what she meant.
Christoph glanced at her. ‘Dementia, you mean?’ he said.
‘Possibly. It might be worth having the tests so it could be ruled out.’
Christoph shook his head. ‘It’s not that, I’m sure of it, but even if it was, I’d rather not know.’
Julia sighed. She could understand his fear. ‘Then what do you think causes the confusion?’ she said.
‘I don’t know. But your crème br?lée conjured a memory in my mind.’ He frowned. ‘I tried to stay good in the war, I tried my best, but I can’t remember if I succeeded or not.’
Julia took his hands. ‘I’m sure you did.’
Christoph sighed. ‘Why don’t you stay longer? You could cook some more of these recipes for me, help me remember. It might be a good diversion for your hands.’
‘I wish I could, but everything’s arranged. Sebastian’s expecting me in Prague in a few days.’ She took his arm, feeling guilty she couldn’t extend her stay. ‘Come on, let’s get you back upstairs.’
At the top of the stairs Christoph stopped, his brow furrowed anxiously. ‘This recipe book. Don’t mention it to Daniel, will you?’
‘Why not? Julia asked.
‘I have a feeling he won’t like it. He was always so protective of Hilde. If he saw the dedication, he might be angry. Our relationship is complicated at the moment; in fact, it always has been. Can we just keep it between us, until I get things straightened out in my mind?’
Julia nodded. ‘Of course. Don’t worry, I’ll keep it out of sight.’
While Christoph slept, Julia tidied the papers on his bedside table. There were bills and letters, and one, handwritten, caught her eye. It was from Daniel. She hesitated, glancing at Christoph to make sure he was still asleep, then began to read.
The letter was short. He wrote about his job doing research for a food-production company in Frankfurt. Nothing personal. She was about to put it down, but then she reached the last paragraph:
… I’ve got a venture of my own to work on, so, if possible, I need my share of the money that’s tied up in the house. It’s what Mama wanted, and it’s such a big house for one person. I hope you’ll consider it, and respect her wishes at last.
Julia shoved the letter to the bottom of the pile. No wonder Christoph was anxious about Daniel finding out about the recipe book. There was enough going on between them if this letter was anything to go by. Surely Daniel wouldn’t bring this up again, not while Christoph was so weak. It was yet another worry to lodge in her mind.
Julia practised all day, hoping to banish from her mind Christoph’s advice about taking a break. The stiffness in her fingers came and went. The unpredictability was the most frightening part.
It was a relief to break off and ring Sebastian. She sat in the hallway on the bottom step of the stairs. At last, he answered.
‘How’s Christoph doing?’ he immediately asked.
It was good to hear his voice. He’d be at his desk, no doubt, in Tavistock Square, a cup of black coffee by his computer.
‘He’s out of hospital but very weak.’ Julia stretched her legs out over the tiles.
‘And you’re looking after him?’
‘Yes, until I leave for Prague …’
‘That’s cutting it a bit fine, isn’t it? I thought you were coming back here first.’ His voice was edged with tension. The tour meant a lot to him too.
Julia’s chest constricted. ‘It’ll be fine. I’ll meet you there.’
‘How’s the practice going?’
Julia bit her lip. The stiffness was still happening. If she kept practising between now and Thursday, she might be able to iron it out before Prague. ‘The problem with my hands comes and goes.’
‘But it’s improving?’
The screws tightened in her chest. She didn’t dare disappoint him. ‘A little, I think.’
‘Good. Then keep at it. Look, I was thinking, would you like to stay a few extra days in Prague after the concert?’ Sebastian said. ‘I’ve got some time free and I thought we could spend it together.’
‘Oh, Sebastian …’ This was dangerous territory.
‘I can’t stop thinking about what happened in Madrid,’ he said. ‘I know it’s been a year, but we kissed, Julia, that has to mean something.’
Julia closed her eyes and sighed. It had all been a mistake. After the concert at the Auditorio Nacional de Música, she’d got the call from Anna to say their mum had died. Sebastian had been there, gathering her in his arms, staying with her as she digested the news, trying to assuage her guilt about not being there. He’d held her close, comforting her, and when he leaned down to kiss her, just for that moment, Julia had wanted it as much as he did.
‘Sebastian, I think the world of you. My career would be nothing without you. But we have to put that night behind us for the sake of our professional relationship.’
He sighed. ‘I know. Forget I asked.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Is Daniel in Bonn? I don’t want him messing things up for you again.’
‘He won’t. I’ll be on that plane on Thursday, I promise.’
She put the phone down and stared at the receiver. Why was everything so complicated? Her fingers ached. Her head was spinning. One thing was clear, though. Christoph had to regain his strength before Daniel came back. Perhaps she should try another recipe from Sylvie’s book; it was what Christoph wanted. He’d enjoyed eating the crème br?lée and, what’s more, it had seemed to clear a little of the fog in his mind.
Julia lugged the shopping bags into the kitchen. She’d bought a beef joint, vinegar, bay leaves, cloves, peppercorns, onions and flour. Sylvie’s recipes were straightforward to follow. Julia imagined a woman who knew what she wanted and how to accomplish it.
Julia found a frying pan and a chopping board in the cupboard. The next recipe from Sylvie’s book was for Sauerbraten. Sylvie had added a note in the margin. June 1942. Le Meurice. Serve with potatoes and add white wine and beef stock if you have only a few hours to marinade the beef. Cook this meal as if your life depended on it . The page was soiled with blotches of sauce.
That year, 1942, Paris would have been under German occupation. What had she meant: cook this meal as if your life depended on it ?
The front doorbell rang. Julia glanced down the hallway. A familiar silhouette stood behind the coloured glass. What the hell? Daniel wasn’t expected for another two days. Julia tucked the recipe book into a drawer, remembering what Christoph had said about keeping it a secret.
She headed down the hallway, took a deep breath and opened the door. Daniel stood on the doorstep looking unusually smart in a black suit and white shirt. In one hand he carried a suitcase. A man loitered behind him with a clipboard, examining the front garden and scribbling notes.
‘Hi, Julia. I have a key, but I didn’t want to startle you,’ Daniel said. His eyes darted across her face as if reading her reaction.
‘I wasn’t expecting you today,’ she said. He looked tired, his tanned skin faded, smudges under his eyes, his hair dishevelled. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes, it’s just been a hard week.’
She stood back to let him in. He didn’t look okay. A long-buried impulse to reach out to him stirred, but she suppressed it.
‘How’s Papa?’ he asked. ‘I’ve been worried sick about him.’
‘He’s still very weak,’ Julia said. ‘He doesn’t have much of an appetite, so I’m trying to cook food he likes.’
Daniel raised his eyebrows. ‘But I ordered those meals so you wouldn’t have to cook.’
‘I know, that was kind of you, but so far Christoph’s barely touched them.’
The man with the clipboard came into the hallway. He glanced at the ceiling and wrote something down.
‘As you can see, it’s a bit dated’ – Daniel turned his attention to the man – ‘but there are still some original features. I’ll show you the rest of the house.’
Julia frowned. ‘Christoph’s sleeping. What’s going on?’ The man looked at Daniel. ‘Have I come at a bad time?’
‘No,’ Daniel said. ‘Of course not. You head down to the kitchen; I’ll be along in a minute.’
Daniel turned to Julia, a pained expression on his face.
‘I’m sorry. I should have rung and warned you. He’s just doing a valuation.’
‘I don’t understand. Christoph’s ill, and you’re trying to sell the house.’
Daniel frowned. ‘I didn’t say that.’
It was here, six years ago, that she’d seen Daniel walking out of the music room, a wad of Christoph’s cash in his hand. Now here he was, talking about valuations. How could he think about money at a time like this?
‘I saw the letter you wrote to him when I was tidying up his room,’ Julia said. ‘Christoph doesn’t need that kind of upheaval now.’
Daniel’s cheeks reddened. ‘You read my letter?’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to; it was just there.’
Daniel sighed. ‘I don’t mean him any harm, Julia. I’m just checking out his options.’ He raked his hand through his hair. ‘You don’t always have to think the worst, you know.’
Julia’s mind flew back to 1996. ‘Can you blame me?’ she said.
Daniel’s eyes dropped. ‘No, I guess not, but I promise, my intentions are good. Please, Julia. You’ll see.’
Julia let out her breath. It was hard to trust him after everything that had happened, but his face looked so pale and drawn she decided not to argue.
‘Fine, just don’t wake Christoph.’
He strode off to the kitchen. The slope of his shoulders and the way his hand gripped the suitcase made her want to follow him. To ask him … what? She exhaled. Just leave it alone.
Cook this meal as if your life depended on it , Sylvie had written. With all this talk of valuing the house, it seemed more important than ever to cook something that Christoph would eat and help him regain his strength. Hopefully it would take her mind off Daniel too and settle the flutter of nerves in her chest.