The Storm Sister (The Seven Sisters #2) (58 page)

‘That’s very kind of you to say, but it was hardly perfect.’

‘No, it wasn’t, but it was a fantastic start. Now, I suggest we go through the piece together more slowly. There were a few timing issues we need to iron out.’

For the next half an hour, we practised the piece’s three movements one by one. And after I’d packed up my flute and we were walking out of the auditorium together, I realised that I
hadn’t thought about Theo once during the past forty-five minutes.

‘Going back into town?’ Willem asked me.

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll organise a taxi then.’

On the way back into central Bergen, I thanked Willem and confirmed that I would play with him on Saturday.

‘Then I’m very happy,’ he answered, staring distractedly out of the window. ‘Bergen really is a special place, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, I feel that too.’

‘One of the reasons I agreed to come and give the lunchtime recitals this week at Troldhaugen is because I’ve been asked to join the Bergen Philharmonic Orchestra as their resident
pianist. I wanted to test the waters, as it would mean leaving my sanctuary in Zurich and moving to Bergen more or less full-time. And after what I told you yesterday, you know what a big thing
that would be for me.’

‘Did Jack live in Zurich with you?’

‘Yes. Maybe it’s time for a fresh start. And at least Norway is clean,’ he added, his expression serious.

‘It is,’ I chuckled. ‘And the people are very friendly. Although it must be incredibly hard to learn the language.’

‘I’m lucky, I have a very quick ear. Notes and languages and the occasional maths puzzle, that’s my bag. And besides, everyone here speaks English.’

‘Well, I think the orchestra would be very lucky to have you.’

‘Thank you.’ He offered me a rare smile. ‘So,’ he asked as we arrived at the hotel and walked inside, ‘what are you doing tonight?’

‘I haven’t really thought about it.’

‘Join me for dinner?’

He saw my hesitation immediately. ‘Sorry, you’re probably tired. I’ll see you tomorrow at three. Goodbye.’

Willem walked away from me abruptly and left me standing alone, feeling guilty and confused. However, I really didn’t feel too well, which was very unlike me. And as I headed to my room
and lay down on my bed, I thought sadly how many things were ‘unlike’ me just now.

I’d had to go shopping in Bergen to find something suitably formal and demure for the performance. And as I put on the plain black dress in readiness for the recital, I
pushed away memories of donning a similar one for Theo’s funeral. I applied some mascara, feeling the adrenaline starting to pump. So much so that I had to lean over the toilet and gag.
Wiping my streaming eyes, I returned to the mirror to repair the mascara damage and add some lipstick. Then I picked up my flute case and coat, before taking the lift down to meet Willem in the
lobby of the hotel.

Not only did I feel under the weather physically, but I’d been unsettled about Willem since his dinner invitation. In our practices together since, I’d sensed a certain
froideur
emanating from him. He had kept the conversation on a purely ‘business’ level, our discussions in the taxi entirely based on the music we had rehearsed.

The lift doors opened, and I saw him waiting for me in reception, looking handsome in his bow tie and immaculate black tuxedo. And I hoped I hadn’t upset him with my refusal. I’d
felt faint shades of the awkwardness Theo and I had experienced at the very beginning of our relationship and something told me now that Willem definitely wasn’t gay . . .

‘You look nice, Ally,’ he said as he stood up and came towards me.

‘Thanks, but I don’t feel it.’

‘No woman ever seems to,’ he commented brusquely as we walked out of the hotel to the taxi he’d pre-booked.

Silence reigned in the car, and I was frustrated at the discomfort between us. Willem seemed distant and tense.

On arrival at the Logen Theatre, we walked inside and Willem found the organiser, who was waiting for us in the foyer.

‘Come through, come through,’ she said, leading us into an elegant high-ceilinged hall, the floor laid out with rows of seats and chandeliers illuminating the narrow apron balcony
above. The stage was empty except for a grand piano and a music stand for myself, and the spotlights were turning on and off as the lighting engineers made their final checks.

‘I’ll leave you both to have a run-through,’ the woman said. ‘The audience will be allowed in fifteen minutes before the start, so you have thirty minutes to judge the
acoustics.’

Willem thanked her then walked up the steps of the stage to the grand piano. He lifted the fallboard and ran his fingers up and down the keys. ‘It’s a Steinway B,’ he said in
relief, ‘and the sound is good. So, a quick run-through?’

I took my flute out of its case and noticed that my fingers were trembling as I put it together. We played through the sonata, then I went to find the lavatory while Willem practised his solo
pieces. I dry-retched yet again and as I washed my face with cold water, I mocked my ghostly reflection. I was supposedly the woman who could stomach the roughest conditions at sea without the
slightest upset. And now here, on dry land, playing the flute in front of an audience for twelve minutes, I felt like a seasick novice during my first storm.

When I arrived back in the wings, I peered through the flats and saw the audience filing in. I stole a glance at Willem, who seemed to be performing some kind of ritual a few feet away from me,
which involved a lot of muttering, pacing and finger exercises, and I left him be. Unfortunately, ‘Sonata for Flute and Piano’ was the penultimate piece of the recital, which meant
I’d have to sit out of sight backstage, waiting and worrying.

‘Are you okay?’ Willem whispered as we heard the compere introduce him and read out the most impressive parts of his CV.

‘I’m fine, thank you,’ I said as a burst of applause rippled through the audience.

‘I want to formally apologise for my presumptuous dinner invitation the other night. It was completely inappropriate, given the circumstances. I know where you are emotionally and from now
on, I’ll respect that. I hope we can be friends.’

With that, Willem walked out onto the stage and took a bow, before sitting down at the piano. He began with Chopin’s fast and technically complicated Étude No. 5 in G-flat
Major.

As I listened to Willem play, I pondered the endlessly intricate dance that went on between men and women. And as the final notes of the piece filled the hall, I acknowledged that part of me
felt oddly deflated by Willem hoping we could be friends. Not to mention the guilt that sat at the back of my mind whenever I thought of what Theo would have made of my confusion over my attraction
for Willem . . .

After what felt like a lifetime as I paced up and down the small space in the wings, I finally heard Willem introducing me and I took my cue to join him on the stage. I gave him a wide smile as
a ‘thank you’ for his kindness and encouragement in the past few days. Then I put my flute to my lips, indicated I was ready and we began to play.

After Willem had played his final piece of the evening, I joined him back onstage and it felt very odd to be taking a bow with him. The organisers even presented me with a small posy of flowers
to thank me.

‘Well done, Ally, that was good. Very, very good in fact,’ Willem congratulated me as we walked offstage together.

‘I agree entirely.’

I turned at the familiar voice and saw Erling, the curator of the Grieg Museum, standing in the wings, flanked by two other men.

‘Hello,’ I greeted him with a smile. ‘And thank you.’

‘Ally, this is Thom Halvorsen, Jens Halvorsen’s great-great-grandson and biographer. Not to mention virtuoso violinist and assistant conductor of the Bergen Philharmonic Orchestra.
And may I also present David Stewart, the leader of the orchestra.’

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ally,’ said Thom, as David Stewart turned to Willem. ‘Erling tells me you’re doing some research on my
great-great-grandparents?’

I looked up at Thom and thought I recognised him, but couldn’t immediately place where from. He had the familiar colouring of the Norwegians: reddish hair, a scattering of freckles across
his nose and a pair of big blue eyes.

‘I am, yes.’

‘Then I’d be happy to help in any way I can. Although please forgive me if I don’t make much sense tonight. I’ve just flown in from New York. Erling picked me up from the
airport and drove me straight here to listen to Willem play.’

‘Jet lag’s a killer,’ we both managed to say at the same time, then, after a pause, offered each other an embarrassed grin.

‘It is,’ I added as David Stewart turned to us.

‘Unfortunately, I’ve got to rush off now,’ he said, ‘so I’ll say goodbye. Thom, call me if it’s good news.’ He gestured his farewells and left.

‘As you may know, Ally, we’re trying to persuade Willem to join the philharmonic orchestra here. Any thoughts so far, Willem?’

‘Yes, and some questions too, Thom.’

‘Then I suggest we go across the road for a quick bite to eat and a drink. Will you two join us?’ Thom asked Erling and me.

‘If you have things to talk about with Willem, we wouldn’t want to disturb you.’ Erling spoke for both of us.

‘Not at all. It will only take a simple “yes” from Willem to crack open the champagne.’

Ten minutes later, we were all sitting in a cosy candle-lit restaurant. Thom and Willem were hunched over the table, deep in conversation, so I talked to Erling opposite me.

‘You were really very good tonight, Ally. Too good to neglect your talent, never mind the actual joy of playing.’

‘Are you a musician too?’ I asked him.

‘Yes. I come from a family of them, like Thom. The cello is my instrument and I play with a small orchestra here in the city. It’s a very musical town. The Bergen Philharmonic is the
oldest orchestra in the world.’

‘So,’ interrupted Thom, ‘we can finally order the champagne! Willem has agreed to join us.’

‘No champagne for me, thank you. I never drink anything alcoholic after nine o’clock,’ Willem said firmly.

‘Then I think you’d better learn how to if you’re moving to Norway,’ Thom teased him. ‘It’s all that keeps us going through the long winters here.’

‘Then I shall join you in honour of this occasion,’ Willem said graciously, as a waiter appeared with a bottle.

‘To Willem!’ we all chorused, as our food arrived.

‘I’m actually feeling much more awake now after a glass of champagne.’ Thom smiled at me. ‘So, tell me more about the connection between you and Jens and Anna
Halvorsen?’

I briefly explained to him the story of Pa Salt’s legacy, which had included Jens Halvorsen’s biography of his wife, Anna, and the coordinates on the armillary sphere that had led me
first to Oslo and now to Bergen and the Grieg Museum.

‘Fascinating,’ he murmured as he studied me thoughtfully. ‘So perhaps we’re related somehow? Although to be honest, having so recently researched my family history, I
can’t immediately see how.’

‘Neither can I,’ I reassured him, feeling suddenly uncomfortable that he might think I was some gold-digging gene-stealer. ‘I’ve ordered your book, by the way. It’s
being shipped over from the States as we speak.’

‘That’s kind of you, Ally, but of course, I have a spare copy at home if you’d like it.’

‘Thank you. Or at least I’ll get you to sign mine. Since I’ve got you here in person, maybe you can help me with some details. Do you know what happened to the Halvorsen family
in the years after Jens’ biography ended?’

‘More or less, yes. Sadly, it wasn’t a pretty slice of human history, what with the two World Wars on their way. Norway was neutral in the First World War, but was hit pretty badly
by the German occupation in the Second.’

‘Really? I wasn’t even aware Norway
was
occupied,’ I confessed. ‘History wasn’t my best subject at school. In fact, I’ve never even thought of the
effect the Second World War might have had on smaller countries outside the main protagonists. Especially not here, in this peaceful country, tucked up at the top of the world.’

‘Well, we tend to learn our own country’s history at school, don’t we? What was yours?’

‘Switzerland,’ I chuckled as I looked up at him.

‘Neutral,’ we both chorused together.

‘Well,’ continued Thom, ‘we were invaded here in 1940. Actually, Switzerland reminded me of Norway when I went to Lucerne for a concert a couple of years ago. And it
wasn’t just the snow. They both definitely feel like they have a certain disconnect from the rest of the world.’

‘Yes,’ I agreed. I watched Thom as he ate, still trying to work out why he seemed so familiar, and deciding I must be recognising some genetic markers I’d picked up from the
photographs of his forebears. ‘So the Halvorsens survived the wars?’

‘It’s a very sad story actually, and definitely too complex for my jet-lagged brain to tell you now. We could meet up at some point, though – perhaps tomorrow afternoon at my
house? It used to be Jens and Anna’s home too, and I can show you where they lived out some of the happier moments of their relationship.’ Thom raised an eyebrow and I felt a vague
thrill that he obviously knew their story too.

‘Actually, I saw it a couple of days ago on the way up to Troldhaugen.’

‘Then you’ll know exactly where it is. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Ally, I’m for my bed.’ Thom stood up and turned his attention to Willem. ‘Safe flight home to
Zurich and I’m sure admin will be in touch with your contract. Call me if you think of anything further. So, Ally, two o’clock tomorrow at Froskehuset?’

‘Yes. Thanks, Thom.’

‘Fancy walking?’ Willem asked me after we’d said goodnight to Erling, who was driving Thom home. ‘The hotel’s not far away.’

‘I can just about manage that,’ I agreed, thinking some fresh air might help my now throbbing head. We strolled through the cobbled streets and emerged at the harbour. Willem halted
in front of it.

‘Bergen . . . My new home! Have I made the right decision, Ally?’