“You mean Mr Conroy?”
“I meant Klauer. Dead now anyway, regardless of how things went. History doesn’t care either way.”
“Not necessarily.”
Verrine looks pleased to have elicited some resistance. “Are you going to tell me about the butterfly effect? Tiny details changing the course of history? I don’t believe that nonsense.”
“You’re a fatalist?”
“No, I believe we can all make a difference. I just don’t waste my time on details.”
“I’m guessing you don’t play an instrument.”
He laughs. “Touché. You’re right, I could never have been a performer. But I’ve helped launch a few careers.”
The waiter has reappeared, this time to replace redundant cutlery that had already been on the table when they arrived, with implements deemed appropriate to their order. Details, Paige thinks. Maybe Verrine’s right, we waste too much time on ones that make no difference.
“I want to know more about the Klauer piece,” Verrine says.
“You already know more than I do.”
“But you’ve played some of it, you know how it sounds. What did David say about it?”
“Didn’t he tell you?”
“I want to hear it from you.” Verrine’s look is momentarily steely, Paige can imagine him as boss of some big company, calmly firing an employee after years of faithful service, and again his eyes move to her breasts though this time they stay there a little longer. She doesn’t dislike his attention, instead she feels herself drawing power from it, and almost without thinking, she flexes her back, a movement that swats his gaze like a fly.
“The Klauer’s an interesting work,” she says confidently.
“Romantic or modernist?”
“Hard to say.”
“If it was a film soundtrack, what sort of film would it be?”
This is hard too; Paige thinks of the slow movement and tries to imagine the actors it would accompany, but all she can see is an empty landscape, remote forest or wetland, somewhere beautiful yet bleak. “Arty,” she says.
“I was afraid you might say that. No chance of making that your concert debut, then.”
“I already told you, I don’t have the score.”
“Oh yes, that’s right,” Verrine reminds himself. “But would you be able to play any of it from memory if you had to?”
“Why might I have to?”
“I was simply wondering.”
Their meal arrives; the risotto is a little tit-shaped mound that looks like a starter. Fortunately Paige isn’t hungry, Verrine’s manner has somehow taken away her appetite. He slashes his bloody steak with enthusiasm. She says, “You mentioned on the phone about possibilities. Performances.”
“That’s right.” He chews a piece of meat and looks as if he’s thinking of her body.
“So how would that work?”
“One step at a time, Paige. First I’d like to find David so the three of us can discuss this together.”
“Mrs White can give you an opinion.”
“I’m not looking for a reference,” he says with a voice that’s suddenly cutting, effortlessly dismissive. “I want to know why you’re pretending you haven’t heard from him.”
She feels the blood fall from her face. “What?”
His manner abruptly changes. “Only joking, Paige.”
“Why would you think he’d contact me?”
“Because you’re special.”
Conroy’s delusion: definite star quality. Paige says nothing.
“We’ve got to find him.”
So none of this is about her after all; Verrine wants to get in touch with his act. “What if he’s killed himself?” she says bluntly.
“He hasn’t. I know David, the pattern’s familiar. He’s prone to paranoia, sometimes feels he needs to run away and hide. Conspiracies, threats, he suddenly sees them popping up everywhere and can’t cope. Usually resurfaces after a few weeks but I can’t wait that long.”
“Look, Mr Verrine, I never had much to do with Mr Conroy, his mental health isn’t my business. I’ll be honest, I thought we were going to talk about my career, not his.”
Verrine is barely listening, he summons the waiter with a wave of his hand and orders another glass of wine to replace the one he’s drained. Then he says, “It’s you I want to talk about, Paige. But you’re wrong about David, closer to him than you realise. You’re his new discovery, his little star, he shows you something incredibly precious, shares it with you, this lost work he wants you to learn, a secret he keeps even from his wife.”
“I thought he didn’t have one.”
Verrine’s smile is undented. “Joking again. So let’s talk business. You’re young, pretty and talented. That’s a combination I like. But a career doesn’t simply happen, it has to be made. First thing we want is an endorsement, David’s won’t do because to be perfectly frank his opinion no longer carries the weight it used to. I’m thinking maybe Paul Morrow.”
“Send him a recording?”
“We set up a meeting and you play for him.”
She can’t believe this is real. “He’d honestly do that? Hear me play?”
“It’s exactly how he started, Pogorelich heard him at Steinway Hall.”
Paige can imagine it already, the instrument in front of her and Morrow just out of sight, can feel the pressure as she reaches for the keys. Her whole life resting on a single make-or-break performance, the verdict of one person.
“Well, Paige? Think you’d be up to it?”
“Mrs White would never let me.”
Verrine laughs. “Your teacher? What’s she got to do with it? It’s David who’ll be coaching you through this one, assuming we can find him. Though we won’t tell him the plan, of course. You’ll play for Morrow and if it’s a thumbs up I can guarantee we’ll be negotiating a recording contract within days. Better do something with your hair, though, and think about your wardrobe, I’m obviously no expert on that side of it but you’ve got a good figure, Paige, you should show it off. Bit of cleavage.”
It’s dizzying, this sudden vision of herself being wanted and admired. “Can I say anything about it to my parents?”
He shakes his head solemnly. “This is business, Paige, the big bad real world. Not a word to anyone, otherwise we risk blowing everything. What will you play for Morrow?”
“I suppose it would have to be Chopin.”
“No way,” Verrine says at once. “Forgive me, Paige, but to impress Paul Morrow with Chopin you’d need to be world class, and no matter how much David rates you, you’re not in that league. We’ve got to be realistic, it’s promise we’re selling, not achievement. It’s got to be a piece Morrow doesn’t already know, in fact I’m thinking it should be a piece that nobody knows.”
“Klauer?”
“Right on the money. So we drag David out of wherever he’s sulking, make sure he hasn’t turned the Klauer score into paper aeroplanes or roll-ups, get him to take you through it. You learn the whole thing, start to finish. When Morrow hears it, who knows, maybe a new star is born. Here’s to a beautiful collaboration, Paige.” He reaches across to shake her hand, the same firmness she registered at the start, only now the grip lasts longer, his palm is cool, she thinks hers must feel soft and wet. Then he gives her his card, elegantly printed and embossed, bearing what she assumes must be the name of the agency he works for.
“So there’s only one small problem,” Verrine adds as she puts the card away in her purse. “We need David. If he calls, as I’m sure he will, you know what to do. Arrange to meet him and tell me about it at once.”