Anthony nodded. ‘Much later, when he was stone deaf.’
‘So you think he got it wrong?’
‘It’s meant to be quick and energetic, but—’
‘Not so quick as you played it?’
Anthony made a fist and held it up in solidarity with Diamond. ‘You’re right. Something is lost at the tempo he gives. I keep telling Ivan to slow up a touch. The music is without fault. It can take it. He won’t listen. He’s implacable. He treats the score as gospel.’
‘Don’t the others have something to say about it?’
Anthony shook his head.
‘Maybe they don’t want to make an issue of it,’ Diamond suggested. ‘Cat is all for peace and harmony and Mel is too new to the quartet to take a stand.’
From Anthony’s wide-eyed look this was an insight he had missed. ‘Do you play?’
Diamond shook his head. ‘Too busy with other things, unfortunately.’
‘But you know Beethoven.’
‘I wouldn’t go that far.’
‘You can speak to Ivan, tell him you were listening to us and it was too quick.’
‘Me? He wouldn’t take advice from me.’
‘For all he knows, you could be one of our audience.’
‘With luck, I will be tomorrow night, but I’m in no position to tell a man of his experience how to play.’ He was fast running out of musical conversation, but he knew it was the only way to make progress with Anthony. ‘Is there an interval?’
Anthony frowned. ‘It’s full of intervals.’
‘Not the music. I mean a break during the concert for people to walk about.’
‘That will be too late.’
‘I’m not planning to speak to Ivan. I was wondering what comes after.’
‘After the interval? Some solo pieces.’
‘From you?’
Anthony shook his head. ‘The others.’
‘All three?’
‘All three instruments. Violin, viola and cello.’
‘Nice. I can’t wait. But what about you? I heard you’re a brilliant violinist. Don’t you give solos?’
The lips tightened.
‘Sorry I asked,’ Diamond said. ‘You’re more of a team player?’
No response. After going so well, this had hit the buffers.
‘Do you happen to remember what music you played in the first few concerts the quartet gave?’
‘Yes.’
Anthony’s precise responses came with the mental condition. They could be a barrier to progress when you expected more. ‘I’d like to be told,’ Diamond said.
‘Beethoven Opus 131, Quartet Number 14 in C sharp minor. Schubert Number 14 in D minor. Haydn Opus 74, Number 3 in G minor. Shall I continue?’
‘Wonderful, but no need. And do you also recall where you played?’
Anthony frowned. ‘No.’
‘I heard you go to some splendid houses, perfect for chamber music.’
‘I’ve forgotten.’ The gracious drawing rooms of Somerset and Avon, their Baroque splendour enhanced by candlelight, had already been deleted from this young man’s discriminating memory. Only the music counted for anything.
‘They don’t make an impression?’
‘I’m not there for the architecture. You can ask one of the others.’
‘But you remember every note of the music? Am I right?’
‘Not every note. We have the score in front of us.’
‘And how was your playing received?’
‘All right.’
‘Would you happen to remember if one of the audience spoke to you afterwards about your playing?’
‘Depends.’
‘On what?’
‘What they had to say. If it was only praise I wouldn’t bother. We get a lot of that.’
‘I’m sure it’s all well meant,’ Diamond said. ‘Is there anything you would remember?’
‘Intelligent remarks.’
‘Intelligent remarks about what?’
‘The music.’
One relentless track.
Diamond took a deep breath and tried again. ‘Such as?’
‘Such as the stress we give to the fourth note in the opening of the Beethoven Opus 131, Number 14. Ivan is the player, not me, and it’s a signature moment that sets the tone for all that follows. It can sound disruptive, the transition from G sharp to A. They’re separated by a full bar. He draws it upwards a fraction on the G and then slips back to the same pitch after leaving the A.’
It was about as clear to Diamond as the second law of thermodynamics. ‘Thank you for explaining. Did one of the audience raise this with you?’
‘Yes.’
‘A woman?’
‘A man.’
Another hope dashed.
‘Can you think of a comment a woman made after one of those early concerts?’
Anthony frowned, as if deciding whether the question came within his span of attention. ‘One told me our performance of the Schubert was superior to the recording she has of the original Staccati. Since then I’ve listened to the piece myself, and she was right.’
‘Do you remember who she was, this woman who spoke to you?’
‘The wife of the man who owned the house.’
In his long career, Diamond couldn’t remember an interview as tough as this. Each door slammed shut before he could get inside. ‘Wasn’t there another woman who approached you, a younger woman, Japanese?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘You would if she had something of interest to say about the music.’
Anthony shrugged as if to say, ‘You tell me.’
Now it was Diamond’s turn to be logical. ‘I can’t tell you because I wasn’t there. Have you played with the quartet in Japan?’
‘Yes.’
‘The Japanese like classical music, don’t they? I expect some of them are very knowledgeable.’
‘Yes.’
‘You see, I’m wondering if a certain young woman who heard you play in Tokyo, or wherever it was, loved your playing, came to England this summer and got herself into one of the soirées the quartet gave. She could have introduced herself after the concert and told you she was a fan.’
‘Plenty do,’ Anthony said.
‘Plenty of Japanese women?’
‘All sorts. I don’t pay attention to fans.’
‘But you would pay attention if she made an intelligent comment about the music?’
‘I told you that already.’
Diamond decided the only way forward was an appeal to Anthony’s better nature. ‘Help me, Anthony. Try and remember. Whatever she said may not have seemed worth listening to at the time, but it could be important. She was Japanese and her name was Mari Hitomi and you’ve seen her picture before.’ He took the photo from his pocket.
There wasn’t a glimmer of recognition.
‘If she didn’t have anything to say about the concert, she may have asked a question about your violin, how old it is, how valuable, who made it, whether you have other violins.’
A shrug and a shake of the head.
‘She could have asked you to autograph her programme.’
‘I wouldn’t remember that.’ Anthony looked at his watch. ‘I must get back. The others will be ready to start again.’
‘She had a musical note tattooed on one of her upper teeth.’
‘A quaver,’ Anthony said at once, ‘on the lateral incisor, right hand side. Right to me, left for her.’ He didn’t add, ‘Why didn’t you ask?’ but Diamond felt as if he had. Even so, it was the breakthrough he’d been working for.
‘Did she say anything to you?’
‘She must have, for me to notice the tooth.’
‘Do you remember what was said?’
‘It couldn’t have been important.’
‘Take another look at the photo. Is this the woman?’
‘I don’t know. I can’t see her teeth.’
‘But is the face familiar?’
‘I told you I don’t remember faces.’
He got no further with Anthony.