I ordered some room-service Caesar salad, for a midafternoon, left-handed lunch, and then called Carl using the hotel phone.
“Where are you?” he said. “I’ve had three phone calls from people saying they need to contact you urgently.”
“Who are they?” I asked.
“One was your mother,” he said. “One said they were from the Inland Revenue, and the third wouldn’t say.”
“Did you get their numbers?” I asked.
“You must know your mother’s number, surely,” he said. “The others didn’t leave one. They said they would call back. Where shall I tell them you are?”
I wondered again if I could trust Carl.
“Just tell them that I’m away,” I said. “And I will be for at least another week.”
“And will you?” he asked.
“Will I what?” I said.
“Will you be away for at least another week?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Could you cope if I was?”
“I could cope even if you stayed away forever,” he said, and I wasn’t quite sure if he was expressing confidence in his own ability or contempt for mine.
“I’ll take that to mean that everything’s all right at the restaurant, then,” I said.
“Absolutely.”
“Then I’ll call you again on Monday,” I said.
“OK,” he said. “But where are you, exactly? You told me you were going to your mother, so how come she called for you?”
“Better if you don’t know,” I said rather theatrically, which must have added to his suspicion.
“If you say so,” he said, sounding somewhat miffed. “But don’t forget to go and see your mother-she seemed very insistent that you should.”
“OK, I will,” I said, and hung up.
My mother wasn’t at home. I knew that because the night before I left for Chicago I had told her to go stay with another cousin in Devon, and she never needed telling twice to go down there because she loved it. I also told her not to call me since I would be away. But she almost never called me anyway. It was always me who called her.
I called my mother’s cousin’s house in Torquay, again using the hotel phone. She answered on the second ring.
“Hello, Max,” she said in her usual deep voice. “I expect you want to talk to Diane.” Diane was my mother.
“Yes, please,” I said.
“Hold on a minute.” She put the phone down, and I could hear her calling for my mother.
“Hello, darling,” my mother said over the line. “I’m having a wonderful time. It’s so beautiful down here.” She had always wanted to move to Torquay but had never actually got around to it. My mother didn’t actually get around to much, really.
“Hello, Mum,” I said. “Have you been trying to call me at the restaurant?”
“No,” she said. I knew she wouldn’t have. “Should I have?”
“No, of course not,” I said. “I’m just calling to make sure you’re fine.”
“Oh yes, darling,” she said. “Everything is fine here. Janet has asked me to stay for another week.” Good old Janet, I thought. Janet was my mother’s cousin.
“Fine, Mum,” I said. “Have a nice time. I’ll call you in a few days.”
“Bye, darling,” she trilled, and hung up.
I lay back on the bed and wondered who it was who had told Carl she was my mother.
I used my cell phone to call my brother. Toby and I hardly ever spoke, but it was not due to any animosity, just a result of us never having been close as children and less so as adults.
“Hello,” he said. “Long time no see.”
“Yes,” I said. “How are Sally and the children?”
“Fine, thanks,” he said. “The kids are growing up fast.” I don’t think he said it as a criticism of me for neglecting my two nephews and niece. We both knew that for some unknown reason his wife, Sally, and I didn’t really get on very well. He and I were both content with the fact that we saw each other only very occasionally, and usually at Newmarket, when he was there alone for the bloodstock sales.
“Mum’s in Torquay,” I told him.
“So I’ve heard,” he said.
“She’ll be there for another week at least,” I said.
“Thanks for letting me know,” he said. I knew that he popped in to see her fairly often. He lived in my father’s old house, next to the training stables, while our mother now lived in a cottage down the road.
“Toby,” I said, “can I see you sometime this coming week?”
“Sure,” he said. “When?”
“I’m not certain,” I said. “Monday, probably. Maybe Tuesday.”
“Fine,” he said.
“Can I stay the night?” I asked him.
There was a pause before he answered. “Is everything all right?”
“My house burned down,” I said.
“Oh my God, Max,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”
“I don’t think it was an accident,” I said.
There was another pause, longer this time. “Are you asking for my help?” he said.
“Yes I am, but it’s not financial help I need.”
“Good.” He sounded relieved. “Come when you like,” he said. “And stay as long as you want. I’ll fix it with Sally.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Can I bring someone with me?”
“A girl?” he asked. He knew me better than I imagined.
“Yes.”
“One room or two?”
“One,” I said.
“OK,” he said, amused. “Give me a call when you know when you’re coming.”
“Thanks,” I said again, and I meant it. “I will.”
CAROLINE AND I both flew back to London on Sunday night, but, annoyingly, on different airplanes. I couldn’t get a seat on the same flight as the orchestra in spite of being number one on the standby list, so I followed them into the Illinois evening blue sky some fifty minutes later. The airline had shown pity on my injured wrist and had provided me with an empty seat on my right so that I could rest the cast on a pile of aircraft pillows and blankets. Even so, I slept only in fits and starts, and was thankful when we touched down gently at Heathrow on time, at seven o’clock on Monday morning.
Caroline was waiting for me just beyond passport control, sitting on a bench alongside Viola, who was safely stashed away out of sight in her made-to-measure black case. While it was not quite a Stradivarius, Viola was still much too valuable to have traveled across the Atlantic in the aircraft hold.
“Where do we go from here?” she asked as I sat down next to her.
“What do you mean?” I said.
“Do you think it’s safe to go back to my place?” she said.
“When do you have to be back with the orchestra?” I asked her.
“Wednesday, lunchtime,” she said. “We have a couple of days off now before rehearsals for the concerts on Thursday and Friday at Cadogan Hall. But I’ve got to do some personal preparation before then.”
“We are going to stay with my brother for a couple of days,” I said.
“Are we indeed? And where does he live?”
“East Hendred,” I said. “It’s near Didcot, in Oxfordshire.”
I had no intention of using my cell for a while, so I called Toby on an airport pay phone in the baggage area to tell him we were coming today.
“Will it be safe?” Caroline said.
“I don’t know.” It worried me that it might not be totally safe for my brother’s family either. But it was a chance I had to take. “I don’t know if anywhere could be totally safe,” I said to her. “But I can’t hide forever. I need to find out why Komarov is trying to kill me.”
“If you’re sure it’s him,” she said, “don’t you think it’s time you talked to the police?”
“I will,” I said. “After I’ve spoken to my brother and showed him the metal balls. Then I’ll call the police.”
So it wasn’t the Boys in Blue I called next from the pay phone. It was Bernard Sims, my irrepressible lawyer.