The House at Tyneford Read Online Free Page A

so pleased he’s joining them and so on.”
    “And you? Will you play?” said Anna.
    Margot and Anna were the same; they were caged birds if they couldn’t have music. Margot lit a cigarette and I saw her hand tremble, ever such a little.
    “I shall look for a quartet.”
    “Gut. Gut.” Anna nodded, satisfied.
    I took another gulp of champagne and stared at my mother and sister. They would make friends wherever they ended up. In any city in the world they could arrive, seek out the nearest cluster of musicians and, for as long as the sonata, symphony or minuet lasted, they were at home.
    I watched my sister, long limbed and with golden hair, like Anna’s, falling in damp curls on her bare shoulders. She sprawled in the wicker chair, robe dishevelled, sipping champagne and puffing on her cigarette with an air of studied decadence. A film of perspiration clung to her skin and she smiled at me with dreamy eyes.
    “Here, Elsie, have a puff.” She held the cigarette out to me, letting it dangle between her fingers.
    I knocked her hand away. “Don’t call me that.”
    I hated being called Elsie. It was an old woman’s name. Margot laughed, a rich tinkling sound, and at that moment I hated her too and was glad I was going far, far away. I didn’t care if I never saw her again. I retreated to the window, unable to breathe through all the mist. Despite the heat I clutched my robe around me, not wanting to take it off in front of them and display my big white knickers and schoolgirl brassiere or the small roll of baby fat oozing around my middle.
    Sensing a round of bickering about to start between Margot and me, Anna did the one thing she could to make us stop. She began to sing. Later that night Anna performed before all the assembled guests, while the garnet choker around her neck trembled like drops of blood, but it is this moment I remember. When I think of Anna, I see her lying naked in the bathtub, singing. The sound filled the small room, thicker than the steam, and the water in the bath began to vibrate. I felt her voice rather than heard it. Anna’s rich mezzo tones were inside me. Instead of an aria, she sang the melody to “Für Elise”; a song without words, a song for me.
    I leaned against the window frame, feeling the cool air against my back, the notes falling on my skin like rain. Margot’s glass sagged to the ground unheeded, the champagne trickling onto the floor. I saw that the door was ajar and Julian lingered in the doorway, watching the three of us and listening. He disobeyed Anna’s rule for the night. He was crying.

Chapter Three
    An Eggcup of Salt Water
    T he guests arrived for the party. A manservant had been hired for the evening, and he stood in the hallway, collecting coats from the gentlemen and assisting the ladies with their hats and furs. Robert was the first to arrive; he came before eight and I fixed him with a stare to display my disapproval. According to Anna, extreme punctuality was a terrible habit in a guest, although, to my irritation, when I complained about Robert, she said that it was acceptable in family or lovers. Some guests didn’t arrive at all. Anna had issued thirty invitations the week before. But people had started to disappear, and those who remained decided it was best not to draw attention to oneself, to live quietly and not make eye contact in the street. We understood that some would prefer not to come to a Passover soirée at the home of a famous Jewish singer and her avant-garde novelist husband. Anna and Julian said nothing about the missing guests. The table was silently reset.
    We all gathered in the drawing room. Those who had chosen to attend the party had apparently decided by unspoken accord to dazzle in their finest. If coming to the Landau party was dangerous, then they may as well be resplendent. The men were dashing in their white tie and tails. The ladies wore dark furs or dull raincoats down to the floor, but when they removed their chrysalis