‘Stereos, you mean?’ Simon asked. ‘What kind of stereos?’
‘The kind that don’t bloody work.’
Paul couldn’t keep the smile from showing. ‘Yeah, I have a little experience with those. Want me to take a look?’
‘Please.’ Neil relaxed a little in response, pushing the door wider to let the boys in. Catching my eye, he flashed a brilliant smile. ‘I don’t bite, honestly.’
I hung back, and was relieved when Simon boldly came to the rescue. ‘She has to make a phone call.’ One couldn’t argue with that tone of voice, I thought, and with a tiny shrug that absolved me from blame, I turned my back on Neil and continued up the stairs.
The man at the Clos des Cloches picked up the phone on the second ring. It wasn’t Armand Valcourt. The older man, perhaps – François. At any rate, his voice was kind. Yes, he assured me, it was possible to take a tour that morning. Would ten-thirty be agreeable? That gave them nearly an hour to prepare. And for one? For three. That threw him for a moment, and he asked again, just to be sure.
‘Three,’ I repeated, and thanked him. Replacing the receiver, I sat back and waited for Simon and Paul to come upstairs.
The minutes stretched.
Finally I crossed to my door and opened it a crack, listening. They were still one floor down, in Neil’s room – I could just hear the murmur of voices. I was about to close my door again when I remembered what Paul had called me, yesterday: Mäusele. Little Mouse. I’m not afraid of anything, I told myself stoutly. Convinced of that, I stepped into the corridor and headed downstairs.
The door to Neil’s room was wide open, as he’d left it, and I could see the three of them inside, clustered round what looked like a chest of drawers.
‘Well, that’s not it,’ Paul was saying, his own voice losing patience. He shifted and I saw that he was frowning at a great gleaming metal hi-fi system. It was truly a monster – all dials and wires and separate components. Neil rummaged among the wires, pulled out a red connecting line and plugged it in somewhere else.
‘What about that?’ he checked.
Simon slotted a cassette tape into the machine and pushed a button. Nothing happened. ‘Nope. I hate to say it, Neil, but I think you’re out of luck.’
I hadn’t made a sound, but Neil looked up and over his shoulder, his eyes seeking mine unerringly. ‘Hullo,’ he said. ‘I don’t suppose that you …’
‘Sorry.’ I shook my head. ‘I’m hopeless with electronics.’
Simon grinned. ‘Well, you can’t do any worse than the three of us.’
Neil’s mouth curved wryly, and he dropped the wires, admitting defeat. ‘Come in,’ he invited me. ‘Don’t be shy.’
I came a few steps into the room, keeping the door to my back. It was a larger room than my own, with a soaring ceiling and cool shadows dancing on the papered walls. It was quiet, like him, and it smelled of him – of soap and freshly-ironed cotton and the faintly woodsy scent of aftershave. I concentrated fiercely on the window facing on the fountain square. His window, too, was more beautiful than mine. It was a door, really: arched glass panels that touched the floor, swinging inward on their hinges so that one could walk straight out into the narrow balcony beyond. The rustling branches of the acacia trees seemed near enough to touch.
Neil followed my gaze, understanding. ‘Nice, isn’t it?’
‘And you’ll notice,’ Simon pointed out, ‘that Neil doesn’t have any stupid curtains blocking his view.’
Neil smiled at that. ‘Yes, well, I’m afraid I had Thierry take them down. It improves the acoustics when I practise.’
‘You hear that?’ Simon asked his brother. ‘Thierry took them down. Favouritism,’ he pronounced. ‘That’s what it is. Though I don’t imagine Thierry’ll be too happy when he finds out you busted his stereo.’
‘Probably not, but I’m sure he’ll find me another. I’d just as soon have a smaller one, anyway,’ he confessed. ‘This one’s rather too powerful for my needs. Can’t set the volume higher than three, or it makes your ears bleed.’
‘That’s your age showing, old man,’ Simon teased.
I looked from the jumble of cassette tapes on top of the hi-fi to the sleek violin case propped on a corner chair. ‘Do you tape your practise sessions, then?’ I asked Neil.
‘Lord, no, I spend enough time listening to myself. No, my orchestra in Austria is learning a new piece,’ he explained, ‘by a young composer – very strange stuff, very difficult. And with a newly written piece I find a tape more helpful than just looking at the score. Actually,’ he said, rubbing the back of his neck, ‘this is the second system I’ve ruined. I brought my own portable one with me, but it barely lasted two days.’
‘Maybe someone’s trying to tell you something,’ Paul suggested, tongue in cheek.
‘Maybe. But if it keeps up, it’ll drive me to drink.’
‘Hey!’ Simon suddenly remembered his treasure hunt. He turned to face me, hopeful. ‘Did you get through to the Clos des Cloches?’
‘Yes.’
Something chased across Neil’s face, some flicker of emotion that was gone before I could identify it. ‘The Clos des Cloches?’ he echoed, lightly. ‘Why were you ringing there?’
Simon answered for me. ‘They gave Emily an invitation for a tour and wine-tasting. So we’re all going.’ Cheerfully, he looked in my direction. ‘Was this morning OK for them?’