The Glass Pearls (Faber Editions) by Emeric Pressburger

Author:Emeric Pressburger
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Faber & Faber
Published: 2022-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIVE

1

braun had successfully avoided Lilian for two whole days. On the third something happened that brought things to a head.

The evening started harmlessly enough. He and Helen were driving to the Festival Hall, to their last concert before the holiday. She was gay and reckless. He felt the sadness of the final stage of something he could not quite define. Things were building up to the inevitable cessation of an important period of his life. It seemed he was travelling towards a terminal where he had to get out, find another station, and take another train. Befittingly, the programme at the concert included Mozart’s G-minor symphony, his favourite composer’s favourite orchestral work.

‘I had a letter from Eve,’ she announced. With one hand on the wheel, she opened her bag with the other and dropped a letter into his lap. ‘Isn’t she clever?’

The letter contained nothing but cut-outs of photographs showing an important day of Eve’s life in Sweden. Leaving her daddy’s house by car (waving frantically into the camera), arriving at a village, on the edge of the forest (more waving), changing to a pony, riding through the forest, playing with a tame fawn, watching some wild fowl, picnicking on the shore of a lake, and then, most of the action in reverse. The pictures were carefully trimmed, so that no offending outside person would appear on them. Karl remarked on this. She nodded.

‘She’s having a grand old time. It makes me feel less guilty about my own holiday.’ Suddenly, she remembered something. ‘Did you know that Mozart lived in London?’

‘Who told you that?’

‘Nobody. I found out for myself. Ain’t I clever?’

He agreed about her cleverness, but thought there must be some mistake. Mozart might have visited London while touring the capitals of Europe, but he had not lived here.

‘You never believe me, do you?’

‘I always believe you. Hey! What are you doing?’

They were approaching Westminster Bridge, when she changed direction, turned right to go round the square.

‘I’m going to prove it to you. He did live in London. I know the house and if he were still alive, I’d see him once or twice every week, because the house is just round the corner to Thomas Harrower’s. I could get him a more suitable house with my general knowledge of properties. And you should be ashamed of yourself since you happen to live practically next door to him.’

She made a perilous U-turn where Pimlico Road branches into Ebury Street, taking no notice of a taxi which had to mount the pavement to avoid her. She jammed on the brake, killing her own engine, and with a dramatic gesture revealed a tablet embossed in the wall.

‘I had no idea,’ Braun admitted, watching the cab backing menacingly towards them.

‘And you call yourself a music-lover!’ Now she, too, saw the taxi. ‘What do you think you are doing?’ she yelled, and hooted furiously, as it came to a halt inches in front of her own car. The driver got out, a fat, bald-headed fellow.

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