Eighty Days Red (25 page)

Program for an Artistic Soirée
Edgar Degas

13
The Wind Will Carry Us

Moving house took me much longer than it should have.

I had spent the morning with Susan, my agent and de facto manager, at a nondescript Starbucks near Victoria station, discussing my plans for the future. She was based in the US but had turned up out of the blue in London, frustrated with me ignoring one too many of her emails.

I’d arrived late, having rushed from Dominik’s side at his Hampstead house. I hadn’t wanted to waste a minute of time with him, so we’d spent all morning in much the same way that we’d spent the previous night, and the one before, and the one before that. Entwined in each other’s arms, fucking as often as we had the energy for. Some of the time, we’d make love, him full of affection and tenderness, and me brimming with contentment, happy to lie there beneath him, wishing that I could pause time and spend my life in that moment, listening to his deep, throaty laugh, meeting his gaze and waiting for the moment when the look in his eyes would turn from soft and warm to hard and cruel, and he would take hold of the wrist that he’d been gently stroking a moment earlier and pin me to the bed, whispering filthy things in my ear.

Visions of us between the sheets together had played and replayed through my mind as I threw on the nearest clothes I could find and raced for the tube, aware that Susan was probably already waiting.

She looked just the same as she had when I’d last seen her – perfectly turned out. Whether for a night on the town or coffee with a client, Susan always looked business. Her shift dress was beautifully cut, sea green to offset her reddish brown hair, and accessorised with a chunky gold Chanel necklace. She was engrossed in her BlackBerry, her fingers flying across the keys as quickly as a pianist’s.

‘Sleep in, did we?’ she asked, a little acidly, as I slid onto the barstool alongside her. She’d already ordered me a coffee. It was cold, but I sipped it anyway.
‘Sorry,’ I replied, blushing. I didn’t really have any excuse.
‘It’s good to see you, Ms Rock Star,’ she replied, now giving me a warm smile and a peck on each cheek. ‘And I hear you got your violin back.’
‘Yes!’ I said, enthusiastically.
‘So you’re ready to play?’
‘Never been readier.’
‘I am very glad to hear it. At least I’ll be able to read a newspaper without worrying about which page you’re going to turn up on next.’
Groucho Nights was just Groucho Nights now, without the special guests, and although I might consider a reunion in the future, for now I was eager to get back to my classical repertoire.
I floated the idea of a Kiwi album, and Susan readily agreed. The export market was an important one, she reckoned.
Sounds of home. It felt right. I had spent the past few years going from pillar to post, bouncing from one situation to another like a prize in a pinball machine. Now I had Dominik, and my violin back, and for the first time in my life I felt settled. It was time to look to my roots, as I had tried to do when I was with Simón, with the Venezuelan numbers. But this time I would look back to my own history, not anyone else’s, conjure up the landscape of my home and put it in a song.
The Bailly would be perfect for that. I felt a heady sense of excitement when I thought of it. My initial joy at its return had been fleeting. I’d forgotten the instrument as soon as I had Dominik by my side, had surrendered to the touch of his skin, the firmness of his commands, the sound of his voice. I’d been so happy to have him back, to feel him inside me again, that the violin had lain lonesome for a full day and night as we explored each other again.
When we’d finally worn each other out, I’d pounced on the instrument and begun to play immediately. Dominik had laughed to see my expression, like a child with a Christmas toy, as I pulled the Bailly from the case, ran my hands over the burnished, honey-coloured wood and checked the tuning before launching into all the music that was now ours, the backdrop to our relationship. Vivaldi, of course, and as I ran through the chords of each season I thought of the time that had passed, and the time that we had ahead of us. The way life moved and flowed relentlessly, always changing, but always something new and beautiful around the corner. I ended on the light notes of ‘Spring’.

My suitcase was only half full, and I hadn’t even started on the boxes, when I heard the squeak of the front door. It took me a few moments to pull myself up, because I was curled on the floor, wasting time with nostalgia, handling each last thing before I folded it away, and smiling at all the associated memories I had carried with me from one country to another.

Chris and Fran had arrived home, and not noticed that I had let myself into the house with the key he’d given me when I first moved in. I hadn’t returned it, as I still officially lived here, though I had, until recently, spent almost every night at Viggo’s.

From my seat on the floor facing into the hallway by the door, I had a perfect view of the pair of them, embracing tightly and kissing as though the world was about to end.
I blinked but when I opened my eyes again, they were still there, only now Chris was running his hand up the leg of my sister’s shorts and she had her arms over her head, trying and failing to wrestle her way out of her tight T-shirt.
I coughed loudly, alerting them to my presence before I saw anything more that I really didn’t want to see. Chris leaped in fright and swung around, searching for an intruder.
‘I’m in here,’ I called out.
‘Jeezus, Summer, don’t you ever knock?’
‘Knock? I was here first! Don’t you ever check your messages?’
‘I’ve been … distracted,’ he said with a self-conscious smile.
‘I can see that.’
Fran was as red as a beetroot. She was normally totally dismissive of her passing flings, and I’d never known her to be embarrassed at being caught out. That morning with Dagur, the drummer, she’d shrugged it off unashamedly in front of a much bigger audience.
This must be serious.
‘You two are … getting along well.’
Fran stepped forward to where Chris was standing, in the doorway of the bedroom that she and I had been sharing together, and took his hand.
‘We’re dating,’ she said. ‘I mean, officially.’
Chris grinned from ear to ear. ‘Your sister is my girlfriend.’
I threw a sock at him. He caught it easily with his spare hand, and continued to smile smugly.
‘So that’s why it seemed so tidy in here. I wondered why your stuff wasn’t spread all over the place like usual, Fran. You’ve just moved it all into his room. And here I was thinking that you’d turned over a new leaf.’
‘Maybe I have,’ she replied. ‘Just not in the direction that you were expecting.’
I smiled. I was happy for her. And for Chris. In fact, they made a nice couple, even if I had gritted my teeth at the thought of my best friend dating my sister.

Lauralynn had returned all excited from an overnight session booking at a studio in West London.

‘You won’t guess who it was for,’ she’d said to Dominik, after hanging up her leather jacket, setting down her heavy cello case in her room and rushing into the kitchen that had, by default, become their communal space.

‘Let me hazard a guess. The late Herbert Von Karajan is recording a symphonic suite inspired by the Rolling Stones’ drug songs and required a lengthy psychedelic cello solo as its highlight.’

‘Actually, that’s not far off …’ Lauralynn said.

‘And he’s come all the way to Shepherd’s Bush from wherever he’s been biding his time for over thirty years to do the deed …’ Dominik continued.
‘Stop being facetious. No, the booking was with Viggo Franck and The Holy Criminals. They’re recording new songs and needed a cello descant on one of the tracks. Their producer even tells me if the song makes it onto the album, I’ll be given a credit.’
Dominik had a wry smile. ‘That’s just wonderful,’ he said. ‘I’m happy for you.’
‘Mind you, I still haven’t met the famous Viggo Franck. He wasn’t at the sessions. Just his people. I played to the accompaniment of his backing tapes.’
Lauralynn gave her friend a closer look. He looked different, cheerful but slightly absent.
They hadn’t seen much of each other during the previous weeks since she’d returned from America. Either he’d been busy upstairs at his computer, presumably writing, or he’d been furtively slipping out of the house at odd times like a conspirator, avoiding her company and deflecting her questions. Lauralynn had been working nights for several days and she assumed his own nights were busy with Summer. She’d seen Summer’s shoes and things hanging about the house in odd places.
‘Is there something I should know?’ Lauralynn asked. ‘You’ve not been very communicative of late, you know?’
‘Well …’ He hesitated. ‘There’s been a lot happening.’
‘Summer?’
‘Yes. To cut a long story short, we’ve been seeing each other a lot. We’re going to give it another go, I think.’
Lauralynn beamed. ‘Splendid.’
‘We’ve finally reached a decision. I’m hoping she’ll be moving in later. With her stuff. I’m keeping my fingers crossed things will work out this time. We’re both nervous, of course, but we managed to find her violin, so I reckon it’s a good omen.’
‘Fantastic. You deserve each other, I’ve known it all along. And …’
‘Yes?’
‘I’d been thinking of moving on for some time, Dominik. You and me, we’re good mates, but it was never an ideal situation, was it?’
‘I suppose not.’
‘So all this is timely. As I’m sure you don’t want to have me around once Summer moves in, do you?’
‘It would be awkward,’ he agreed. ‘Do you have anywhere to go?’ he asked, concerned. ‘I’d feel awful putting you out on the streets.’
‘Hmmm …’ Lauralynn’s eyes sparkled with more mischief than usual.
‘What is it?’
‘I think I have somewhere to go.’
‘Perfect.’
‘Someone who was at the studio. The session actually ended quite early, we’d got things down after just a couple of takes. A friend of the band, she’d come along thinking Viggo was working at the studio last night, but it turned out he was at meetings with his record company. We got talking. I spent the night with her.’
Lauralynn even blushed slightly. Her overnight stand must have made quite an impression, Dominik thought.
‘My turn to be happy for you,’ he said.
‘Thanks,’ she giggled like a teenage girl. ‘I know it’s just one night but I think she’s rather special. You know how it goes, sometimes it takes just one glance.’
‘Or more,’ Dominik remarked.
‘Much, much more,’ Lauralynn agreed. ‘She’s staying at Viggo Franck’s big place in Belsize Park, says there are a lot of spare rooms and that he wouldn’t mind.’
‘You mean the Russian woman?’ Dominik said, a curious feeling sweeping over him, as if lots of different pieces of the puzzle were finally clicking into place.
‘Yes, Luba. The one you were going to introduce me to, remember?’
‘Ah, yes, the one and only Luba.’
‘Isn’t she wonderful?’
‘Oh yes, she is,’ he agreed. ‘Most definitely.’

Summer had an appointment in town that morning with Susan, who had called a meeting to further discuss Summer’s plans to reintegrate herself into the classical world with a return to her sources, and the added possibility of releasing a live album which had been recorded with Groucho Nights on their European tour in Sarajevo. She didn’t expect to be free until mid to late afternoon, at which stage she was planning to gather the rest of the belongings she’d kept at Chris’s Camden Town flat and come along to Dominik’s.

Dominik offered to drive Lauralynn and her stuff down the road to Viggo’s. As he rang the bell at the mansion’s door, he couldn’t help remembering how just under a week before he had used the clandestinely copied keys to make his way in. He had since returned those keys to Viggo.
It was Luba who opened the door for them.
She rushed ahead to give Lauralynn a lengthy hug and affectionately kissed Dominik on both cheeks and welcomed them in.
Considering all the sexual combinations they had been in or witnessed the other in, Dominik was surprised how damn normal it all felt. Like a story winding down to its natural conclusion. A story possibly dictated from afar by the supposed curse of the Angelique, he smiled to himself.
‘Viggo’s around somewhere. He will probably come down later,’ Luba declared.
Looking at the two women together, Dominik was struck by their similarities. He had not seen it before. Both tall and blonde and built like Amazons. Luba was less voluptuous but, a consequence of her dancer’s training no doubt, stood straighter, holding her breasts high and with pride, while Lauralynn’s stance was looser and more casual, her strong swimmer’s shoulders anchoring her frame and her curves.
They visibly suited each other.
Ah, to be a fly on that bedroom wall, Dominik thought.
He and Lauralynn pulled her two heavy Samsonite cases in, and Dominik returned to the BMW’s open boot to carry in a couple of large cardboard boxes, in which Lauralynn had hastily thrown her books and general bric-a-brac.
A surprisingly domesticated Luba offered them both coffee and cupcakes, but Dominik sensed he was fast becoming the third wheel of the carriage and the two women were evidently waiting for him to make his excuses and leave them to their own devices. He was about to bid them farewell when Viggo walked into the room. Skinny trousers as tight as ever, as if he had just spent a fortifying half-hour under the shower or in a steam room in order to tighten them even further across his sylph-like form. His T-shirt had seen better days, and was as full of artful holes as a slice of European cheese.
‘Hi, mate,’ he greeted Dominik in his customary casual tone.
Then turned his attention to the new arrival.
‘This is Lauralynn,’ Luba introduced her.
The rock musician stared at the statuesque blonde, his eyes darting busily between her and Luba.
‘Welcome, darling. I’ve heard a lot about you.’
‘You mean the cello track I recorded for your new song?’ Lauralynn asked. ‘Oh yes,’ Viggo grinned. ‘That too …’
Amused by Viggo’s early predatory intentions, Luba took Lauralynn by the hand and led her towards the hallway and in the direction of the house’s upper floors.
‘I’ll show you the room we’re giving you, come,’ Luba said.
Lauralynn waved at Dominik.
Viggo’s eyes followed the two women’s silhouettes as they stepped away. His little boy smile was on full display.
‘She’s a good friend,’ Dominik pointed out. ‘She’s nice. But, one word of warning …’
‘Yeah?’
‘She’s not much into men.’
Viggo’s smile grew even broader.
‘Never say never, mate.’