The Trinity Six - Charles Cumming [107]
I will be at Kleines Café in Franziskanerplatz this evening from 10 p.m. and again tomorrow morning from 10 a.m. You may also reach me at the Goldene Spinne Hotel on Linke Bahngasse. I am registered under my own name. Again, I apologize for intruding on this important day for your family, and for failing to present myself in person, but you can understand that I am wary of who may or may not be watching. There was no other opportunity nor method of contacting you.
Sincerely
Dr Samuel Gaddis
He read the letter back three times, but was reluctant to cross anything out or to make changes to the text for fear of conveying the impression of an undisciplined mind. Instead, having added the telephone number of his hotel, he folded the note in half and, after brief consideration, wrote ‘Mr Dominic Ulvert’ on the front. Emerging from the bathroom, Gaddis saw one of the members of the string quartet coming out of the reception hall and decided that he would make as good a messenger as any.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Ja?’
‘Do you speak English?’
The musician was in his early twenties and carrying a violin in a black case. He was smothered in acne. In a thick Austrian accent he said that he spoke ‘some’ English and waited for Gaddis to respond, his head bobbing from side to side.
‘I wondered if you could do me a favour?’
‘Of course, sir. What, sir? Yes.’
‘Would you come with me?’
He took him to a window offering a view out on to the bridal party. The photographer was now arranging the guests into a family group. Wilkinson, still looking bored and out of place, was seated two chairs to the right of Matthias Drechsel.
‘Do you see the man with the pale cream waistcoat and the dark blue tie? He has grey hair, sitting in the front row on the left-hand side.’
It took a few moments to explain the phrase ‘pale cream’ and to ensure that the musician had correctly identified Wilkinson.
‘He is the father of the bride, ja?’
‘Yes. That’s right.’ Gaddis produced a smile of entreaty. ‘When they have finished the photographs, would you be kind enough to pass him this note? I have to rush off and I don’t want to disturb him. We haven’t seen one another for a long time and—’
The young man saved Gaddis the effort of amplifying his lie. ‘No problem,’ he replied, as if he performed similar tasks every day. ‘I do this for you.’
‘You’re very kind.’
Moments later, the musician was trotting down the steps of the Kursalon, violin case in hand, as the family photographs were drawing to an end. He approached Wilkinson immediately and engaged him briefly in conversation. Gaddis, who had followed him outside, returned to the chestnut tree where he found Kath talking to Dan.
‘Hello there, stranger,’ she said. ‘I thought we’d lost you.’
He turned to see the musician handing Wilkinson the note. Their encounter did not seem in any way unusual: he might even have been presenting an invoice to the father of the bride for the string quartet’s services. The musician then said something to Wilkinson and pointed up at the window of the Kursalon where Gaddis had been standing only moments earlier. Wilkinson, who had now seen the name on the front of the note, swept his gaze, in a barely disguised state of alarm, through three hundred and sixty degrees, searching for whoever had employed the musician as an errand boy. Gaddis turned around so that his back was facing him.
‘I can’t find your name on the table plan,’ Kath was saying.
‘That’s why I went inside,’ he replied. It was the last lie he would have to tell. ‘Truth is, I’m not feeling all that good. I just pulled out.’ He felt a sudden rush of anxiety, as if he could sense Wilkinson coming towards him. ‘I’ve asked them to take my name off the list. I’m going to head back to my hotel.’