The Novel in the Viola Read Online Free Page B

that within the first year of marriage it was quite acceptable. I hoped Margot had written their first anniversary in her diary along with a note to ‘stop flirting with Robert’. She would be in America by then, and with something like regret I realised I would not be able to tell her to behave. I must write and remind her. Although, I mused, it was possible Americans had different rules, and I wondered if I ought to point this out to her. At that moment, I was feeling charitable towards my sister. While at most parties I watched as the men swarmed around Margot and Anna, tonight I had caught little Jan Tibor surreptitiously glancing at my bosom, and I felt every bit as sophisticated as the others. In the darkness of the hall I puffed out my chest and fluttered my eyelashes, imagining myself irresistible, a dark-haired Marlene Dietrich.
    ‘Darling, don’t do that,’ said Anna, appearing beside me. ‘The seams might pop.’
    I sighed and deflated. My pink sheath dress had once belonged to Anna, and although Hildegard had let out the material as much as she could, it still pinched.
    ‘It looks lovely on you,’ said Anna, suddenly conscious that she may have wounded my feelings. ‘You must take it with you.’
    I snorted. ‘For washing dishes in? Or for dusting?’
    Anna changed the subject. ‘Do you want to ring the bell for dinner?’
    The bell was a tiny silver ornament, once belonging to my grandmother, and tinkled a ‘C’ sharp according to Margot, who had perfect pitch. As a child, it had been a great treat to put on my party frock, stay up late and ring the bell for dinner. I would stand beside the dining room door, solemnly allowing myself to be kissed good night by the guests as they filed in for dinner. Tonight, as I rang the bell, I saw all those parties flickering before me, and an endless train of people walking past me, like a circular frieze going round and round the room, never stopping. They chattered loudly, faces pink with alcohol, all obeying Anna’s dictate of gaiety.
    My family was not religious in the slightest. When we were children, Anna wanted Margot and me to understand a little of our heritage and at bedtime told us stories from the Torah alongside tales of ‘Peter and the Wolf’ and ‘Mozart and Constanze’. In Anna’s hands, Eve was imbued with the glamour of Greta Garbo, and we pictured her lounging in the Garden of Eden, a snake draped tantalisingly around her neck, a besotted Adam (played by Clark Gable) kneeling at her feet. The Bible stories had the wild and unlikely plots of operas and Margot and I devoured them with enthusiasm, mingling the genres seamlessly in our imaginations. Eve tempts Adam with Carmen’s arias and the voice of God sounded very much like The Barber of Seville . If anyone had asked Anna to choose between God and music there would have been no contest, and I suspected that Julian was an atheist. We never went to the handsome brick synagogue in Leopoldstadt, we ate schnitzel in non-kosher restaurants, celebrated Christmas rather than Chanukah and were proud to be amongst the new class of bourgeois Austrians. We were Viennese-Jews but, up till now, the Viennese part always came first. Even this year, when Anna decided we would celebrate Passover, it had to be a party with Margot in her wedding sapphires and me wearing Anna’s pearls.
    The long dining table was covered with a white monogrammed cloth, the plates were gold-edged Meissen and Hildegard had polished the remaining family silver to a gleam. Candles flickered on every surface, a black rose and narcissi posy (rose for love, black for sorrow and narcissi for hope) rested on each lady’s side plate, and a silver yarmulke on each gentleman’s. Anna insisted that the large electric lamp be left off and candles provide the only light. I knew that it was only partly for the atmosphere of enchantment that candle glow casts, and more practically to hide the gaps on the dining room walls where the good