Forever (33 page)

She didn't so much look at Stephanie as
inspect her, and Stephanie returned the look boldly. 'My name is
Holly Fischer,' she said in English. 'I'm scheduled to interview
Herr von Ohlendorf?'

'Ah. Fraulein Fischer. We talked on the
telephone. I am Frau Ludwig.' The woman's English was thickly
accented but fluent, her smile brief and unwelcoming. She opened
the door further and motioned Stephanie inside. 'Please come in.
Maestro is expecting you.'

Frau Ludwig led Stephanie briskly down a
long pine-panelled hallway to the back of the house, where she
stopped at a glass-paned door. Fingers curled around the door
handle, she turned to Stephanie. 'As I told you on the telephone,
Fraulein Fischer, Maestro is a very busy man. You will have to make
it short. A half-hour, that is all he can spare.
Ja?

'I quite understand.'

'
Gut
.'

Frau Ludwig opened the door and they stepped
out onto an enormous stone-flagged terrace. Stephanie gasped at the
breathtaking view - the tiny village and the sapphire blue of the
lake below, and the pine-covered green mountains rising high all
around. There were white tables and chairs with yellow sunshades,
and unoccupied cushioned loungers. More masses of red geraniums
spilled colour from planters all along the surrounding low stone
wall.

'There is Maestro!' Frau Ludwig said
unnecessarily.

Old photographs of Detlef von Ohlendorf
invariably showed a thin, tall, stern man with strong cheekbones,
pale hair, and an intense authoritarian air. More recent shots
revealed a somewhat less angular, more kindly-looking gentleman
with white hair worn brushed back, whose lips sometimes held the
ghost of a smile. Yet no matter which pictures Stephanie had looked
at, he had always seemed larger than life.

Now, confronted with him in person, she was
slightly amazed by his actual physical presence, for like many a
living legend, he was much smaller in reality than his pictures or
reputation had led her to believe. Only five feet eight inches
tall, he nevertheless managed to exude a force field of
electrifying energy which, combined with his well-preserved looks,
made him seem far younger than his eighty-three years. His face was
still virilely handsome, his posture schoolboy-straight, and he had
about him that distinguished aura of command only great wealth and
power can bestow.

'Ah!' he exclaimed, stepping forward to meet
her halfway. 'You must be Fraulein Fischer.' He swooped up
Stephanie's hand and raised her fingertips gallantly to his lips,
his sharp, pale-blue eyes openly appraising.

'It is good of you to see me, Maestro,'
Stephanie murmured.

'Ah, but surely the pleasure is mine. It is
not every day I meet such a beautiful young woman!'

She laughed at his obvious flirting. His
hand lingered on hers, and she could feel his eyes shamelessly
undressing her. After an awkward moment, she cleared her throat and
took a step backwards.

'Please,' he said, letting go of her hand.
He gestured to the nearest table with the same famous elegance with
which he conducted the great orchestras of the world. 'Let us sit.'
And placing a hand under Stephanie's elbow he guided her towards
it. After he pulled out a cushioned chair and she was seated, he
sat down opposite her.

Too late, she realised that she had already
been cleverly manipulated - and to her severe disadvantage. He had
seated her so that she faced directly into the sun. Any nuance of
expression she might have hoped to catch would be lost. She
reminded herself to take care. She must not underestimate him.

'Could I offer you a cup of coffee?' he
enquired pleasantly, ever the charming host.

'Thank you, yes,' Stephanie said. She was
trying hard not to squint against the sun's glare.

He turned to Frau Ludwig. 'Two coffees,
bitte."

'Yes, Maestro. At once.' She turned and
marched efficiently back into the house.

Stephanie and the world's most powerful
living figure in classical music were alone.

With deliberate slowness, Detlef von
Ohlendorf casually crossed his legs. 'Now then, Fraulein,' he
suggested gently, velvet gloves hiding iron fists. 'Shall we
begin?'

The coffee was rich and strong and made from
freshly ground beans. Stephanie took hers black and it tasted, she
reflected, more like a good rich Turkish brew than anything
remotely Viennese. She set her cup down, dabbed her lips with a
small square linen napkin. The most famous conductor in the world
was still sipping delicately from his china cup, a man rendered
featureless by the corona of blinding glare. On the table between
them, the plate of assorted pastries Frau Ludwig had brought out
with the coffee remained untouched. Only a determined fly,
attracted by the sticky glaze of sugar on the tiny Zwetschken-
flecken, and the sweet filling of the slices of Mohnstrudel, showed
a sweet tooth. It was buzzing maddening loops and figures of eight
and trying to divebomb the delicacies. Birds trilled from the
nearby trees and Stephanie could hear a faraway aeroplane droning
lethargically. It was a propeller job and sounded, appropriately
enough, like a World War II bomber headed for some nearby
target.

Divebombing, a bomber: it occurred to her
that she was suddenly thinking in terms of war. And why shouldn't
she? The war had figured enormously in Lili Schneider's life. The
Nazis had made her a star - just as the Nazis had furthered Detlef
von Ohlendorf's career.

'The last time I saw Lili,' he said, 'was in
1949.' His cup clinked into his saucer.'

'You're certain?' Stephanie asked.

'Of course I'm certain. Lili was Lady
Hughes-Coxe by then, and her husband was very powerful. You see,
Fraulein Fischer, after the war, the Allies forbade me to conduct
for an indefinite period of time. It was Sir Kenneth who arranged
things with them and gave me my first postwar job. That was in
1947.' He paused, it would be hard not to remember everything about
Sir Kenneth and Lili. I owe them everything I enjoy today. The
power. The prestige. The wealth.' He gestured around. 'Everything.
I am totally beholden to them.'

'Beholden enough,' she asked softly, 'to
help Lili disappear?'

'I beg your pardon? I'm afraid I do not
grasp your meaning, Fraulein.'

'Then you don't believe she's still alive,
or that her death was faked?'

His cup and saucer rattled as he set them
down. He sat forward and leaned across the table.

'Just what are you suggesting, Fraulein?' he
demanded softly.

'I'm not suggesting anything. I'm merely
asking whether you have had any contact with Lili Schneider since
1949, that's all.'

He folded his arms on the table. She could
hear his breathing. It sounded suddenly quick and heavy.

'Are you saying . . .no, you cannot be. Lili
is dead and buried. I attended her funeral. Why are you hinting
that she is still alive? Why, Fraulein Fischer?'

'Because I have come across some evidence
-'

'Evidence!' he interrupted, snorting
derisively and throwing up his hands. 'My God! Don't you realise I
would be the first to know it if she were still alive? Don't you
understand that Lili and I were the best of friends? That the way
we worked together made us closer than loversT He sat back, staring
at her. 'Neither of us ever did anything without the other's
approval, Fraulein. Ever! And you sit there and talk of
evidence?'

Stephanie did not reply. She put down her
pen and notebook and reached for her briefcase. Swinging it onto
her lap, she unlatched it and took out a grey portable cassette
recorder.

'Please, Fraulein.' He waved it away. 'I
believe it was understood that this interview was not to be
recorded.'

'And I respect your request, Maestro,' she
assured him quickly. 'I only want you to listen to my
evidence.'

'Very well.' He nodded.

'Thank you.' She put the recorder down on
the table. Then she shut the briefcase, swung it off her lap, and
set it back down beside her chair. Although she could not see von
Ohlendorfs expression, she was almost certain that his eyes were
blazing. But what kind of blaze was it? One of hatred? Or
confusion?

She said: i don't believe I have to point
out to you, Maestro, that every musician has his or her own style
of playing an instrument?'

'Really, Fraulein. Permit me, but I think I
should know such things even better than you? Hmm?'

She could feel his condescending smile, and
flushed. Then she poised her finger on the PLAY button and punched
it.

First there was silence, and that was
followed by faint hisses and crackles. They gave way to undefinable
voices in the background, and then the first gentle notes of the
piano began smoothly. After six seconds, Stephanie pressed the STOP
button.

Her voice was soft. 'Well, Maestro? Do you
recognise the pianist?'

'Yes, yes,' he said with irritation.
'Guberoff. It has to be: the style is his. If you are acquainted
with it, you can tell that he is having difficulty because of his
arthritis.'

'Bravo, Maestro!' she whispered.

'Fraulein, what is the point of all this?'
he asked testily.

'You will see in a moment, I promise.' She
hit the REWIND button. There was a high-pitched squeal, a whirr,
and a loud click.

The tape was rewound.

She pressed the Play button once again.

Again there was silence, again hisses and
crackles and voices in the background. And again the lively gentle
piano starting up. And suddenly, that hauntingly crystalline voice,
pure as the driven snow, rang out powerfully:

'Was ist Silvia, saget an,

Dass sie die weite Flur preist -'

'Lili?' von Ohlendorf whispered hoarsely.
'Can it be?'

' - Schon und zart seh' ich sie nah 'n,

Auf Himmels Gunst und Spur weist -'

Stephanie watched the conductor closely. He
was sitting rigidly now. She could well imagine the colour draining
from his face, could almost feel the wave of shock hitting him like
a physical blow. But she was not prepared for what happened
next.

His hand suddenly lashed out. All she could
see was a blur, and then the recorder went flying off the
table.

She tried to make a grab for it, but her
reactions were too slow. It went crashing down to the flagstones,
still continuing to play:

' - Dass ihr alles untertan.

Ist sie schon und gut dazu?

Reiz labt wie milde Kindheit..."

He got to his feet so suddenly that his
chair toppled over backwards. 'Stop it!' he whispered. 'My God,
stop it! Stop it stop it stop it!' He clapped his hands over his
ears to drown out that heavenly voice.

Stephanie stared at him. 'Is it?' she
asked.'Is it Lili?'

'It. . . cannot . . . '

'Is it Lili?' Stephanie demanded again,
louder.

'Turn ... the verdammtes. . . Zeug. . .
off
!' he screamed.

Stephanie shrank back in her chair. Now that
he had moved away from the sun she could see his face clearly - and
it was frightening to behold. All flushed and contorted. Crimson
with rage.

'You are demented!' he shouted. Then
something within him snapped, and in a fit of wrath, he swung his
foot back and brought it swiftly forward, kicking the recorder. It
tumbled across the flagstones like a football, but the recorder
kept on playing as if to provoke him further:

' - Ihrem Aug eilt Armor zu,

Dort heilt er seine Blindheit,

Und verweilt in siisser Ruh . . . '

He whirled around, hands flat on the
tabletop, and leaned into Stephanie's face. 'Lili
ist tot!
'
he shouted, spraying her with spittle. Do you hear me?
Tot!
'

She flinched and tried to jerk her head
back.

'She is dead!' The cords on his neck stood
out like taut wires. '
Warum haben sie
- why did you bring
this trick tape to me? I demand that you tell me! Who created it?
Who is after me? Who sent you here?'

'N-nobody!' she whispered in shock,
clutching one of her hands against her breast.

'Have I not suffered enough?' he raged
maniacally. 'Must you raise the dead, also? It is part of ... of
... ' Suddenly his eyes bulged even further and he let out a
strangled cry. Like a marionette whose wires had gone slack, he
took one staggering step backwards, and then another, and another.
His pale, elegant hands jerked to his throat, the index fingers and
thumbs working desperately to loosen the collar.

Heiss!' he whispered in horror.
'Mir ...
ist... es ... so .. . heiss!
'

'Maestro!' Stephanie jumped to her feet.

And all the while, the incredibly sweet song
and its piano accompaniment continued to issue forth from the
recorder, mockingly beautiful and serene, as though nothing at all
untoward was happening:

' - Darum Silvia ton, o Sang

Der holden Silvia Ehren;

Jeden Reiz besiegt sie lang . . . '

Von Ohlendorf suddenly pitched forward and
Stephanie quickly caught him. Gently, she lowered him down to the
cool flagstones. His face was contorted with what seemed an
unendurable effort.

Oh God! He's dying, dying . . . 'Frau
Ludwig!' Stephanie yelled. Then, turning back to the old conductor,
she said gently, it's all right, you're going to be fine.' She
loosened his collar while she spoke. 'There,' she soothed, 'that's
better, isn't it?' She twisted her head back around.'Frau
Ludwig!'

A door crashed, then swift clacking
footsteps approached in a run. 'Maestro!' Frau Ludwig cried.
'Ach, du lieber Gott!
' She dropped to her knees on the other
side of the prone man and stared at Stephanie, it must be his
angina!' she said. 'The medicine! Quickly! It is in one of his
pockets!'

They searched his clothes until Stephanie
found the little container of nitroglycerine in an inside breast
pocket, is this it?'