The Tooth Tattoo(59)

Mel reached for the door handle.

Olga said, ‘Wait.’

There was such unexpected force in her voice that he froze.

She went on with more moderation, ‘Mr. Hamada apologises for all the inconvenience, the secretive way you were brought here. As a passionate lover of music he has been looking forward to meeting you.’

Mel hadn’t supposed this was about music, even though he was holding his viola in its case. After some hesitation he clasped the hand that was offered. Hamada had a strong grip. He was a short man, made shorter because he was in his socks. Mel guessed he was around thirty-five.

‘He has a musical matter to discuss with you,’ Olga went on, ‘but join us first in a drink.’

The bottle was waiting on ice in a silver cooler. The strong grip made short work of the cork. A flute of champagne was placed in Mel’s right hand.

‘You don’t have to hold on to your viola. You’re with friends here,’ Olga said.

‘I won’t be staying long.’

Hamada said something to Olga and she said, ‘He’s asking if he might see your instrument.’

‘No chance.’

‘He is very knowledgeable about them.’

‘Then it won’t interest him. It’s nothing special.’

‘But it plays well, obviously.’

‘I’m comfortable with it.’

‘Please allow him to see it. He’s not fooling. He’s a true connoisseur.’

‘I don’t care what he is. I was brought here under false pretences.’

‘Believe me, Mel,’ she said. ‘It’s very much in your interest to cooperate. This could be your lucky day.’

‘That’s what the taxi driver said before you got in. If this is luck, it’s not what I expected.’

She smiled. ‘You expected to be here alone with me? That was a little game and I’m sorry. Mr. Hamada is my employer. He has a wife and children. He came to Bath and reserved the suite specially to meet you.’

‘I can’t think why.’

‘Please indulge him. I’ll hold your glass.’ She must have noted the subtle softening of his protest.

Mel sighed. ‘He won’t think anything of this.’ He unfastened his case, removed the viola and handed it to Hamada, who gripped it by the neck and ran his hand lightly across the soundboard. Then he held it horizontally and examined the rib and the purfling along the edges. He studied the dark wood of the underside before speaking again to Olga.

‘He says it’s of English manufacture, early twentieth century.’

‘He’s right about that.’

Mel then heard Hamada say, ‘William Hill.’

‘Spot on,’ Mel said in surprise. ‘You do know your stuff.’

Saying you possessed a Hill viola could be embarrassing even among musicians if they weren’t specialists in stringed instruments. The name didn’t have the cachet of the great Italian instrument makers. Yet William E. Hill of Bond Street produced violins and violas of exceptional quality for fifty years as well as restoring a number of Stradivari instruments.

Nodding his approval, Hamada handed the viola back and spoke more words in Japanese.

‘He’s asking if you would be so good as to play something,’ Olga said.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Please don’t refuse. Just a few bars, to give him the measure of the instrument.’

With reluctance, Mel took the bow from his case, tuned the strings, and played the opening bars of Bach’s Chaconne from the Suite in D minor, but a fifth lower, in G minor. Just a snatch of the entire piece was sufficient to demonstrate the timbre of his viola.

Hamada nodded in approval and spoke again. Mel was getting the impression that this little man had a better understanding of English than he was letting on. The translation process kept him at a distance.

‘He compliments you on the sound of the instrument and the choice of piece,’ Olga said. ‘He says he doesn’t associate Bach with the viola.’

‘It was written for solo violin,’ Mel said, ‘and transposed by Lionel Tertis, the English master.’

Hamada nodded at the name and spoke some more.

‘He says Tertis, more than anyone in the world, raised the status of the viola. He played on an eighteenth century instrument of exceptional quality.’ She turned to Hamada to confirm the name.

‘Montagnana.’

A distinguished, but lesser known maker. Mel couldn’t any longer deny that the man was knowledgeable. ‘I wish I’d heard Tertis play. He lived to a great age, but he was before my time.’

Olga was translating for them both with apparent ease. She’d lured Mel here, but he still found her attractive. His playing of the Bach had been aimed more at her than her employer.