Page 39 of A Death in Cornwall

“I’d be careful, Gabriel. I can be quite irresistible when I want to be.” She played the same passage from the concerto’s second movement. “Better?”

“A little.”

She took a pull at her cigarette, then crushed it out. “So what do you require of me this time? Another dreary fundraiser or something a bit more interesting?”

“The latter,” said Gabriel.

“No Russians, I hope.”

“We should probably talk about this after your performance.”

“As it happens, I’m free for dinner.”

“A marvelous idea.”

“But if we can’t be seen together in public, our options are somewhat limited. In fact,” said Anna playfully, “it seems to me that the only place where we can be assured of absolute privacy is my suite at the Mandarin Oriental.”

“Will you be able to control yourself?”

“Unlikely.”

There was a knock at the door.

“What is it now?” Anna demanded to know.

“Ten minutes, Frau Rolfe.”

She looked at Gabriel. “You’re free to wait here, if you like.”

“And miss your performance?” Gabriel rose to his feet and draped his coat over his arm. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“What time shall I expect you?”

“You tell me.”

“Stay for the Beethoven. It will give me a chance to change into something a bit more comfortable.” She lifted her check to be kissed. “You have my permission.”

“Somehow I’ll resist,” said Gabriel, and went out.

Alone in her dressing room, Anna laid her bow upon the strings of the Guarneri and played a G-major scale in broken thirds. “Don’t smile,” she said to the woman in the looking glass. “You never play well when you’re happy.”

***

The seat to which the young escort led Gabriel was in the first row, slightly to the left of Simon Rattle’s podium and not more than two meters from the spot where Anna delivered a spellbinding performance of Felix Mendelssohn’s masterpiece. At the conclusion of the final movement, the twenty-five hundred members of the audience rose to their feet and showered her with rapturous applause and shouts of “Bravo!” Only then, with a mischievous smile, did she acknowledge Gabriel’s presence.

“Better?” she mouthed.

“Much,” he replied with a smile.

He adjourned to the foyer for a glass of champagne during the interval and returned to his seat for a memorable performance of Beethoven’s stirring Seventh Symphony. By the time Sir Simon stepped from his podium, it was a few minutes after ten o’clock. Outside, there were no taxis to be had, so Gabriel set off for the Mandarin Oriental on foot. As he was crossing the Ludwigsbrücke, a Mercedes sedan drew alongside him and the rear window descended.

“You’d better get in, Herr Klemp. Otherwise, you’ll catch your death.”

Gabriel opened the door and slid into the back seat. As the car rolled forward, Anna threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips against his cheek.

“I thought we were meeting at your hotel,” he said.

“I got tied up backstage.”

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