The Secret Knowledge

Chapter Eight

Paige has heard it repeatedly: you only get one shot. Now she’s on the train to Manchester to meet Paul Morrow who’s giving a concert there tonight. The famous pianist is sacrificing rehearsal time to listen to an unknown student, thanks to Julian Verrine.

She gets off at Piccadilly station and isn’t sure which exit to head for, she’s standing on the busy concourse looking at the map she printed from the internet when a lady stops to help her, even knows where the music college is, and when Paige thanks and leaves her, stepping outside into grey morning light, she thinks how helplessly lost she must have looked, when she ought to be leaping with excitement.

Doesn’t take her long to walk to the area where the college is situated, Verrine said he’d meet her there at eleven. She’s got time to kill and finds a café, cheap and shabby with fixed plastic chairs and a few customers who look like they’re out of work. She gets tea in a plastic cup and chooses a seat where no one can make eye contact with her, it gives her a view of the street and the small park across the road. While she leaves her drink to cool she taps out passages of Klauer on the table’s chipped edge.

David Conroy sent the whole score, never suspected her offer of safe-keeping was prompted by a hidden motive. It’s in her shoulder bag though she won’t be needing it, all the notes are inside her head, memorised just as Verrine ordered. Could turn out to be her signature piece, he says, her big break.

If Mr Conroy knew what was happening he’d probably see it as some kind of betrayal. But he’s not of sound mind, and even if he were, he’d have no right to feel betrayed, because between himself and Paige there has never been anything except the brief, professional relationship of teacher and student. She has to look after her own interests. Julian Verrine knows the business and he’s the one she must listen to. She checks her phone messages then switches it off since she might forget later, it would be a disaster if it rang during her performance. She sips her tea and the minutes pass until she sees a familiar figure outside, Verrine walking briskly past the park, looking smart in a charcoal-grey suit. She snatches up her bag and hurries out across the road to greet him, but when he sees her he shows no warmth, instead seeming almost annoyed at being accosted before their scheduled appointment.

“I hope you’re well rehearsed,” he says as they walk together to the college. Doesn’t bother asking if she had a pleasant journey, he’s got no time for redundant niceties. Instead he gives Paige instructions for the audition. “Initially you’ll be warming up at the piano while I speak privately with Morrow in another room. I’ll bring him in and do the introductions, then leave you both. All you have to do is play the piece.”

It sounds like a military operation. “What does he know about me?”

“That doesn’t matter. Just play your best. Either he likes it or he doesn’t.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

Verrine’s chin juts forcefully as he walks. “Then we’ve wasted our time, haven’t we?”

The college is large and modern, a slab of glass and steel that could be the façade of an international business. Verrine leads the way inside. Paige waits shyly while he speaks to the receptionist, acting as if he comes here all the time and everybody ought to know him. Perhaps they do, she thinks. He turns from the desk and tells Paige which room to go to. “Take the lift,” he suggests, indicating it with a casual wave of his arm.

“You want me to go there now?”

“Yes,” he says impatiently, “Hurry up.”

She does as he says, feeling like a school kid sent to see the headmaster. Coming out of the lift she finds the room easily enough, a small studio with a piano, a couple of chairs and music stands, some recording equipment, the place sound-proofed and windowless except for a round pane on the thick door. She seats herself at the keyboard and adjusts the stool to the right height, feeling isolated and nervous. A few bars of Bach get her fingers working and let her hear what the instrument sounds like, this relaxes her a little. But she can’t help thinking that Verrine wants her to fail, she can’t understand why he behaved so dismissively towards her.

She doesn’t play the Klauer, she wants to save it for when Morrow arrives. Instead she does random exercises, telling herself all will be fine. Yet the time drags, she expected to wait only a short while, ten minutes go by and she resorts to Schubert as a way of calming herself. She can’t think about the notes, only the door with its round porthole to the corridor and world beyond where everyone appears to have forgotten her. Impossible to enjoy the music this way, it feels more like punishment.

She’s well through the Moments Musicaux when the circle of light fills with a face and she stops. Verrine pushes open the door, Paul Morrow follows him inside, wearing jeans and tee-shirt, not as rugged looking as the PR shot on his website that Paige has visited many times, and he’s had a haircut too, but it’s the same broad smile she recognises, and she rises from the keyboard to accept his handshake.

“Hey, good to meet you,” he says. She feels both star-struck and suddenly at ease.

“Paul, this is Paige. Paige, Paul Morrow.” Verrine has done the introductions, he excuses himself and departs.

Paul sits down and when he crosses his legs Paige sees he’s wearing no socks, his light brown shoes look expensively casual. She returns to the piano stool.

“You’re a pianist, then?” he says. “How long have you known Julian?”

“Not long. And you?”

“We met last year at Wimbledon.”

“Oh.” She wants to ask more, imagining some sort of champagne reception for celebrities.

Instead Paul says, “You’re going to play something?”

She nods.

“Go right ahead.”

Here it is, then, her big moment, but it’s too sudden, doesn’t feel right. There should have been a build-up, a stage for her to walk on, not this cramped room where Paul slouches nonchalantly like a holidaymaker waiting to be brought a cocktail from the bar. This is not how she wanted it.

“Can I ask you something?” she says.

“Sure.”

“What’s Julian told you about me?”

His brow creases with puzzlement. “You mean…?”

“My playing.”

“Right. Your playing.” He weighs it up as if it were a difficult question. “Well. Nothing.”

Like a bird hitting a window, she’s stunned. “Nothing?”

“Should he have?”

“But the meeting. While I’ve been waiting. What were you both talking about for all that time?”

“I never knew we were holding you up, Paige, I’m so sorry. All I knew was that Julian wanted to talk about a possible sponsorship deal, maybe we chatted a little too long.”

The truth of it: this is how Verrine managed to get her a hearing, smuggling her in on the back of more important business.

“Hey, what’s up?” Paul can see her dejection, reaches towards her in a spontaneous gesture of friendship. Being nice to people comes naturally to him, she can tell. “Has there been a misunderstanding? I don’t want to rock any boats.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’d like to hear you play.”

She turns to the keys and readies herself, a little girl on a high board above a dark pool, frightened to jump. Her one real chance and it’s all gone wrong before she even begins. How can she possibly impress him now? Her joints are frozen, the silence is awkward. Paige puts a hand to her forehead. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“It’s all right,” he says gently, out of sight. “Pretend I’m not here.”

He means well, but pretence is all she can think about, the falseness of the situation. Verrine lied to her, she lied to Conroy, everything’s a lie. Her head sinks. “I can’t do it.”

“We all get nervous.” He thinks she’s a beginner, a frightened kid at a grade exam who’ll be fine if only someone can give her a nudge like a wind-up toy that won’t work. “Nerves are good, they make us want to do our best.”

This well-meant pep talk isn’t helping. “Julian wanted me to play a piece by Pierre Klauer.”

“Not a name I know.”

“He thought it would impress you…” She buries her face in her hands, finds herself sobbing. A comforting hand touches her.

“Don’t stress yourself, I hate to see this sort of thing. Look at me, Paige. Why do you play piano, what’s it for? Winning prizes? Beating some sort of world record? No, you do it because you love it, that’s why we all do it, anything else is bullshit.”

“It’s no good, Paul, I should never have agreed.”

“So, you and Julian. You’re like…? What’s with all this?”

He still doesn’t understand. Paige explains.

“I’m meant to say if you’re any good?” He laughs. “Who gives a fuck what I think?”

“Everybody does,” she says, wiping her eyes.

“Verrine’s a businessman, Paige, leave business to people like him. Are you feeling calmer now? I want to hear this piece you mentioned. Never mind about impressing me, I’ll say anything Julian wants me to, he’ll sign a cheque from his company and that’s fine. But we’re not commodities, Paige, we’re artists. Let’s forget this mark-out-of-ten crap, it’s not a contest. Play it for me.”

He’s no longer the celebrity on her computer screen, now he feels like a genuine friend, actually the only true friend she can think of, waiting patiently to hear her performance. She’s ready to play, her fingers touch the keys and the air is moved by Pierre Klauer’s strange chords.

The door is suddenly pushed open, Paul is first to see. “What the…?”

Paige sees too. “Oh no.”

It’s Conroy. He looks haggard and dishevelled, in need of a wash and shave, could even have been sleeping rough. He enters, surveying the room and its occupants with a reptilian gaze as the heavy door swings closed behind him.

Paul is bemused. “Looking for someone, bro?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Mr Conroy…”

“I knew you’d do this to me, Paige.”

Morrow registers the tension. “Mate, we’re in the middle of something and you ought to leave.”

“I’m not your mate. You don’t even recognise me, do you?”

“He was my teacher,” Paige tells Paul, her voice trembling.

“I don’t know what he thinks he’s doing, crashing in like this…”

“Paige, give me the score.”

Straight away she reaches for her bag on the floor, brings out the photocopy and tosses it across the room to him. “How did you know I’d be here? Have you been following me?”

“She gave you what you want, bro. Leave before this gets unpleasant.”

A sudden movement makes it all very unpleasant. From his pocket Conroy brings a black pistol and Paige feels the air rush out of her lungs.

“Shit, man, let’s not do anything stupid.”

The dark barrel points at Paul Morrow, then towards her, it waves easily, intimidating different parts of the room in turn. It occurs to Paige that it can’t possibly be real, there’s no way he’d be able to get hold of such a thing, it looks like an old-fashioned revolver, a toy. But she can’t be sure.

“What do you want?” she says, realising as the words struggle out of her that she’s shaking with fear.

Conroy keeps his eye and aim on Paul Morrow as he stoops to lift the pages of music from the floor where they landed, but he speaks to her. “I want to fix everything, Paige.”

“Please, Mr Conroy, just take it and go.”

With his back against the door he keeps both of them in view. “Who put you up to this?”

“Julian Verrine,” Paige says at once.

“I’m guessing he’s with the Rosier Corporation, isn’t he?” He looks at Morrow. “What’s in it for you?”

“Nothing,” Paul says weakly. “Sponsorship idea. Webcast concert.”

“Anything particular on the programme?” Conroy looks at Paige. “Surely you can work it out. This guy Verrine doesn’t care about either of you, the music is all that matters, it has to be in the broadcast so he needs a pianist, doesn’t matter who, as long as it’s someone who can play the notes right.”

Yes, Paige can work it out. Conroy has gone right over the edge, he’s lost touch with reality, but he’s determined to tell them both the details of his delusional fantasy.

“Laura was onto them, that’s why they made her disappear. A new kind of network they’re developing, faster than ever but it fries people’s brains.”

Morrow says, “Why don’t we all go and talk to someone about this?”

The gun swings at him. “You think I’m fucking nuts? You think I don’t already know that none of it makes sense? When I see a world gone mental, what else am I supposed to do?”

“Let’s find Julian Verrine, I could call him for you.” Morrow is about to reach for the phone in his jeans but the gun jabs towards him. It has to be a fake, Paige thinks. All of this is fake.

Conroy clenches the pages of the score between his teeth and with his free hand finds a red plastic cigarette lighter from inside his jacket. With a flick he summons a flame, plays it on a corner of a page and a moment later is holding the smouldering bundle which he drops into the metal bin beside the door. Black smoke thickens, rises to the ceiling and drifts across it.

“This is what Klauer would have wanted,” says Conroy. “This is what was always supposed to happen.”

The three of them are jolted by the sudden wailing of a fire alarm.

“We need to go,” Paul shouts.

“Stay where you are.” Smoke is still issuing from the bin, catching their throats.

“Everybody’ll be evacuating, you can get away now and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

“Please, Mr Conroy.”

He doesn’t move, instead he’s looking at Paige while the alarm blares, and in his eyes there’s something almost like tenderness. “I want you to be happy,” he says.

“Then you should go.”

“I know how much you must have wanted to come here, they made you think it mattered. You must have felt it was the happiest day of your life. Is that right, Paige?”

She says nothing, she can see from the corner of her eye that Paul is preparing to make a move.

“And you know, Paige, I’m sure that’s what Klauer thought too. I want to make this the happiest day of your life.”

Conroy points the pistol at his temple, Paul leaps from where he sits, and above the screaming of the siren Paige hears another sound, she doesn’t know where it comes from or what it means, only that the door has been opened, Conroy is staggering as Verrine bursts in and she drops to the floor while the whole world becomes black, cracked by gunshot, but it isn’t Paige who’s been hit. She’s been saved, like the music she’ll still play, by the man who will become her husband.