‘I’m not an expert on the costume.’
‘But it’s part of that aesthetic experience you mentioned.’
‘Correct.’
‘I was going to ask what you think of this particular example.’
‘I wouldn’t have a view. Anyway, it’s only a photograph. You can’t tell.’
‘I’ve held it in my hands,’ Diamond said, ‘and it’s a marvellous piece of carving. Would you happen to know where objects like this are created?’
‘In Japan, I should think.’
‘Of Siberian mammoth ivory?’
‘I expect it gets shipped there.’
‘Might there be craftsmen working in Eastern Europe?’
He gave a shrug. ‘Conceivably.’
‘But you wouldn’t know any? The man in Archangel who makes the chess sets doesn’t have a second line in Oriental objects?’
‘Not to my knowledge.’
‘Has anyone ever discussed this with you before?’
Ivan swayed back as if Diamond had thrown a punch. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to.
‘One of the quartet?’ Diamond pressed him.
The conversation had hit the buffers.
‘I’m sure this is difficult for you,’ Diamond said. ‘They’re friends and fellow artists, but I’m investigating two suspicious deaths and I can’t allow your loyalty to obstruct me. They all know about your sideline selling the chess sets and one of them may have taken a particular interest in where they came from.’
‘Douglas Christmas knows more about my business than any of them,’ he said finally. ‘He assists with the finance.’
‘Providing you with the roubles. He told me.’
Ivan tensed. ‘That’s confidential. He had no right.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Diamond said. ‘Tax evasion isn’t my department. Leaving Douglas aside, which of the others has talked to you about the trade?’
‘I really think you should leave now.’
‘One of them saw an opportunity of branching out on his own. It’s Harry, isn’t it?’
Although Ivan didn’t speak a word, his face had turned deathly white.
‘I need to know, Ivan. You’re a frightened man. Anyone can see that. You could be in need of my protection. This isn’t chess, this is life and death.’
Frightened he certainly was. His lips gave an involuntary twitch before he got control. ‘I only learned about this through a mistake. Seven or eight years ago we were performing in Paris and I was stupid enough to invite a potential client to the hotel. There was some kind of mix-up at the desk and they sent him to Harry’s room instead of mine. Of course Harry wanted to know everything. He questioned me repeatedly until I told him the truth about the dealing I did. He was deeply in debt from his gambling.’
‘And saw this as a way out of his troubles?’ Diamond said.
‘Exactly.’
‘Except that he chose to deal in netsuke?’
‘It’s more profitable than chess sets.’
‘The Japanese woman who was found dead in Vienna had a netsuke in her T-shirt. They took it to be a suicide emblem. Convenient.’
Ivan shrugged and didn’t comment. He seemed to feel he’d said enough already.
‘One more thing,’ Diamond said. He took out the photo of Emi Kojima. ‘On the evening of your last concert in Vienna, did you see this woman?’
It was obvious from Ivan’s eyes that he recognised Emi at once. He made a performance of studying the photo to take time to prepare an answer. ‘She was in the audience.’
‘Did she speak to you afterwards?’
Another silence followed. This was being played like the serious chess match they could have had.
‘She spoke to us all,’ Ivan said. ‘You might as well know.’
‘And did she end the evening in Harry’s company?’
A nod. ‘We saw them in the hotel bar together.’
‘When you say “we”...’
‘Anthony, Cat, Douglas and me. After a time they walked to the elevator. The bar was on the ground floor. They could only have been going up to Harry’s room.’
Diamond gave a voice to the conclusion he’s been heading towards for days. ‘And now Harry is alive and here in Bath secretly watching you all.’
25
The man in Mrs. Carlyle’s front room was instantly familiar to Mel from posters of the Staccati, the sort of well-proportioned, rugged face that attracted women and put men at ease, yet now looking creased with fatigue or strain. He couldn’t have shaved for days. He was in some kind of padded jacket with the hood turned down. Far from threatening, he was obviously ill at ease.
‘Hope you don’t mind me calling. I really do need to meet you. I’m Harry Cornell.’
The educated voice did not match the unkempt appearance. It was all so disarming that Mel reached for the hand that was offered. ‘Mel Farran.’
‘Can we talk here without being overheard?’
Mel thought about the Carlyle women and their interest in everything he did. ‘Probably not. We can go out if you want.’
‘I’d rather not. How about your room?’
They went upstairs. Mel sat on the bed and allowed Harry to use the chair.
‘I hate this cloak and dagger stuff,’ Harry said, ‘but I can’t take chances. What I have to say is for you alone.’
‘Okay. Want to take your coat off?’
He shook his head. He kept his hands buried in the pockets. ‘First, I want to say how sorry I am for knocking you down the other day.’
‘That was you in the Megane?’ Mel said more as a statement than a question, confirming what he had already worked out for himself.
‘You weren’t seriously injured?’
‘More shocked than hurt.’
‘I know you played in a concert that evening. It was unforgivable of me. I’m truly sorry. I panicked when it was obvious you were coming towards the car to speak. I wasn’t ready to meet you then. All I could think was I had to get the hell out of there.’
‘Why were you there at all?’
‘Making sure.’
‘Of what?’
‘Where you lived. I’d already followed a taxi as far as the street, but I didn’t see where you went in. If nothing else, I got that confirmed.’
‘What exactly do you want?’
‘You’re a fine musician,’ Harry said. ‘I heard you playing today. You bring out the best in the others.’
‘Thanks, but—’
‘What’s your instrument?’
‘I thought you knew.’
‘The maker, I mean.’
‘Nicolò Amati.’
Harry’s eyes widened. ‘I thought it sounded out of this world. May I see it?’
A firm line was needed here. The man’s behaviour had done nothing to engender confidence. ‘Sorry, but no.’
‘You don’t think I’d damage it?’
‘It doesn’t belong to me.’
‘Ah.’ A short silence from Harry. ‘This is something I wanted to ask you about.’
No, no, no, a voice screamed in Mel’s head. ‘I can’t say any more.’
‘A very rich man owns your viola and wants it played to a high standard. Am I right?’
‘Shall we talk about something else?’
‘Soon after I joined the Staccati, I was given a Maggini to play,’ Harry said, smoothly overriding Mel’s request. ‘From 1610. Any of us would go through fire to own a fiddle like that. Extraordinary workmanship and a wonderful tone. You must have heard it on one of our recordings.’
‘I have,’ Mel said, ‘and I know exactly what you mean.’
‘None of us in the quartet owned our instruments,’ Harry said. ‘We were all indebted to the super-rich, but that’s the way things have been for as long as music has been played. Fat cats buying antique instruments as investments.’
‘I know.’
‘And then they’re horrified to discover the damn things need to be played to preserve their sound quality. Paganini presented his own Guarnerius to his native city of Genoa and they kept it in a glass case in the municipal palace and buggered the tone. To be fair, my patron may have been a fat cat, but he actually knew a lot about fiddles. He had an amazing collection from what I could gather. I don’t know if he owned an Amati.’