The Storm Sister (The Seven Sisters #2) (42 page)

‘I became a professional sailor.’

‘And played the hornpipe instead?’ He gave a short chuckle at his own joke. ‘Do you miss playing?’

‘To be honest, I haven’t had time to in the past few years. Sailing has been my life.’

‘And I can’t imagine a life without music,’ Willem said as he indicated Grieg’s piano. ‘This instrument is my passion and my pain, the driving force in my life. I
actually have nightmares about getting arthritis in my fingers. Without my music, I’d have nothing, you see.’

‘Then perhaps you have a stronger belief in your own ability than I did. I felt that I plateaued while I was at the Conservatoire. However much I practised, I didn’t feel I was
improving.’

‘I’ve felt that every day for years, Ally. I think it goes with the territory. I must believe I
do
improve or I’d kill myself. Now, shall we take a look at the hut
where the great man composed some of his masterpieces?’

The cabin was a short walk from the villa. Peering through the glass panes of the front door, I saw a modest upright piano standing against one wall, with a rocking chair placed next to it and a
desk positioned directly in front of the large window facing the lake. And there, sitting on the desk, was another little frog, identical to mine. I chose not to share the thought with Willem.

‘What a view,’ he sighed. ‘It’s enough to inspire anyone.’

‘But very isolated, don’t you think?’

‘I wouldn’t mind. I’d be quite happy alone. I’m very self-sufficient,’ he said with a shrug.

‘So am I, but I still think it would eventually drive me mad.’ I smiled at him. ‘Let’s walk back up, shall we?’

‘Yes.’ Willem checked his watch. ‘There’s a journalist coming to interview me at my hotel at four o’clock. The receptionist here said she’d call me a taxi.
Where are you staying? Perhaps I could give you a lift back into town?’

‘As a matter of fact, I haven’t booked anywhere to stay yet,’ I said as we walked back up the hillside. ‘I’m sure I’ll find somewhere through the tourist
information centre in town.’

‘You could check out my hotel. It’s extremely clean and on the old harbour front, with a glorious view across the fjord. I’m very impressed by your relaxed outlook on
accommodation,’ he added as we walked back to the main reception area. ‘When I’m travelling, I have to book weeks in advance and know exactly where I’m staying or I go into
severe meltdown.’

‘Maybe it’s all the years of sailing that have given me a more
laissez-faire
attitude. I can sleep anywhere.’

‘And maybe it’s because I’m more anal than most people that I can’t. My obsession with organisation drives everyone who knows me mad.’

I collected my rucksack from Else, the girl on the till, then waited by the entrance while Willem organised a taxi. As I watched him discreetly, I thought how his inner tension revealed itself
physically in the way he carried himself: like a soldier, every sinew taut, hands clenching and unclenching as Else spoke to the taxi company.

Driven
. . . was the word that sprang to my mind.

‘So, where do you live when you’re not sailing or running around looking for long-dead musicians and their wives?’ he asked me when the taxi arrived and we climbed in.

‘In Geneva, at my family home.’

‘So you don’t have a permanent place of your own?’

‘No, I’ve never really needed one. I’m always away.’

‘That’s another way in which we’re different. My apartment in Zurich is my haven. Mind you, I do have to stop myself from asking people to take their shoes off or pressing an
anti-bacterial wipe into their hands when they come to see me.’

My mind flashed back to the way he’d surreptitiously cleaned his hands after playing the piano earlier.

‘I know I’m odd,’ he continued affably, ‘so there’s no need to be embarrassed about thinking it.’

‘Most of the musicians I’ve ever met are eccentric. I’m tempted to think it’s just part and parcel of being artistic.’

‘Or possibly “autistic”, as my shrink tells me. Maybe there’s a fine line between the two. My mother says I need a significant other to sort me out, but I can’t
imagine anyone putting up with my foibles. Do you have a partner?’

‘I . . . I did, but he died a few weeks ago,’ I said, staring out of the car window.

‘I am so sorry, Ally, my condolences.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘Don’t worry, nobody does,’ I comforted him.

‘Is that why you’re here in Norway?’

‘Yes, I suppose it is.’

The taxi began to drive slowly along one side of the lovely harbour. It was flanked by wood-fronted buildings, painted in alternating shades of white, claret, ochre and yellow, with distinctive
V-shaped red-tiled roofs. All the colours blurred suddenly in front of my eyes as I felt tears pricking them.

‘Well’ – Willem cleared his throat after an extended pause – ‘I don’t usually talk about this, but as a matter of fact, I have some hands-on experience with
what you’re going through. My partner died five years ago, just after Christmas. It’s not a good memory.’

‘Then I’m sorry too.’ I patted his clenched fist, and it was his turn to look the other way.

‘In my case, it was a blessed release. Jack was very, very ill by the end. You?’

‘A sailing accident. One minute Theo was there, the next he wasn’t.’

‘To be honest, I don’t know which is worse. I had time to come to terms with it, but I still had to watch someone I loved suffer. I’m still not over it, I suppose. Anyway, I
don’t mean to depress you any more than you probably are, I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. It’s comforting in an odd sort of way to know other people who have been there,’ I replied as the taxi drew to a halt outside a tall brick building.

‘Here’s my hotel. Why don’t you come in and ask if they’ve got any rooms? I doubt you can do much better.’

‘Certainly, view-wise I couldn’t,’ I agreed. As I stepped out of the taxi, I saw that the Havnekontoret hotel was only a few metres away from the edge of the quay, against
which a beautiful old double-masted schooner was moored. ‘Theo would have liked this,’ I muttered, glad now I could say that and know he’d understand instantly.

‘Yes. Here, let me take your luggage for you.’

I asked the taxi driver to wait for a few minutes as I followed Willem into the hotel and enquired about availability at the desk. Once a room was secured, I went back outside and told the taxi
driver he could go.

‘Well, I’m glad that’s organised for you.’ Willem was hovering tensely in the reception area. ‘Apparently my journalist has arrived. I loathe them but there we are.
I’ll see you later.’

‘Sure,’ I said as he walked off in the direction of a woman who was waiting for him in the lobby.

After handing over my credit card, and getting the password for the Wi-Fi, I took the lift upstairs to my room. It was in the eaves of the building with a stunning vista of the harbour. Night
was closing in already, so I changed out of my jeans into sweatpants and a hoody and switched on my laptop. As I waited for it to connect, I thought about Willem and how, despite all his
strangeness, I’d liked him. Checking through my emails, I saw there was another from Magdalena Jensen, the translator.

Clicking on ‘Open attachment’, I watched impatiently as the next tranche of pages downloaded. And then I began to read again . . .

Christiania, Norway

August 1876

‘Anna,
kjære
, what a delight it is to have you back with us,’ Frøken Olsdatter said as she ushered Anna into the apartment and took her cloak.
‘With Herr Bayer away in Drøbak, life here has been far too quiet. How was your time in the country?’

‘It was lovely, thank you, although not long enough,’ Anna said as she followed Frøken Olsdatter into the drawing room.

‘Tea?’

‘I’d love some,’ Anna replied.

‘Then I shall bring it in to you.’

As Frøken Olsdatter left the room, Anna thought how glad she was to be back in Christiania with the housekeeper’s kind attentions.
And even if I have become spoilt, I do not
care
, she said to herself as she breathed a sigh of relief that she would sleep on a comfortable mattress and wake to breakfast on a tray tomorrow morning. Never mind the thought of a hot bath
. . .

Frøken Olsdatter broke into her thoughts as she came back with a tray of tea. ‘Well, I have some news for you,’ she said as she poured the liquid into two china cups and
handed one to Anna. ‘Herr Bayer is unable to return to Christiania at present. His poor mother is very sick and he cannot leave her. He thinks the end will come soon and, of course, he wishes
to be there with her. So, you have been left in my care until he returns.’

‘I am very sorry to hear that his dear mother is so ill,’ Anna replied, even though she wasn’t at all sorry Herr Bayer’s arrival was delayed.

‘Rehearsals are during the day, so I will chaperone you on the tram there and back. After you have finished your tea, you must go and inspect your new wardrobe. The winter clothes Herr
Bayer ordered from the dressmaker have been delivered. They are very splendid indeed, I think. There is also a letter for you which I have put in your room.’

Ten minutes later, Anna opened her wardrobe door to find it filled with an array of beautiful hand-made garments. There were blouses fashioned from the softest silk and muslin, skirts made from
fine wool, and two exquisite gowns: one the colour of topaz and the other a dusky rose-pink. There were also two new corsets, several pairs of bloomers and stockings as fine as spiders’
webs.

The thought of Herr Bayer ordering such intimate items for her made her shudder, but she put it to the back of her mind, telling herself it must have been Frøken Olsdatter who had
arranged the making of those. Sitting on a high shelf were two pairs of heeled shoes, one pair in the same dusky-pink silk of the dress with a little silver buckle, and the other pair a soft ivory
colour with white embroidery. Trying the pink pair on, her eyes fell on a hatbox, which she carefully lifted down. She gasped as she took off the lid. The hat matched her pink dress and sported the
most elaborate arrangement of feathers and ribbons she had ever seen. Anna thought back to her first arrival at Christiania railway station and how she had marvelled over the ladies’ hats.
This one, she thought as she set it carefully on her head, rivalled them all. As she practised walking around the room in her new shoes and head attire, she felt taller and older somehow, and
thought incredulously how much she had changed since her arrival here.

Then, sitting down with the hat still perched on her head, Anna took the letter Frøken Olsdatter had left for her. With a sigh, she saw it was from Lars and opened it tentatively,
dreading its contents.

Anna laid the letter down on the bed next to her. And sat, deep in thought, feeling both moved and unsettled at the same time.