The taxi driver seemed embarrassed to find there was no one – not even a clerk behind the reception desk – waiting to welcome me. He wandered across the deserted lobby, perhaps hoping to discover a staff member concealed behind one of the plants or armchairs. Eventually he put my suitcases down beside the elevator doors and, mumbling some excuse, took his leave of me.
The lobby was reasonably spacious, allowing several coffee tables to be spread around it with no sense of crowding. But the ceiling was low and had a definite sag, creating a slightly claustrophobic mood, and despite the sunshine outside the light was gloomy. Only near the reception desk was there a bright streak of sun on the wall, illuminating an area of dark wood panelling and a rack of magazines in German, French and English. I could see also a small silver bell on the reception desk and was about to go over to shake it when a door opened somewhere behind me and a young man in uniform appeared.
‘Good afternoon, sir,’ he said tiredly and, going behind the reception desk, began the registration procedures. Although he did mumble an apology for his absence, his manner remained for a time distinctly off-hand. As soon as I mentioned my name, however, he gave a start and straightened himself.
‘Mr Ryder, I’m so sorry I didn’t recognise you. Mr Hoffman, the manager, he was very much wanting to welcome you personally. But just now, unfortunately, he’s had to go to an important meeting.’
‘That’s perfectly all right. I’ll look forward to meeting him later on.’
The desk clerk hurried on through the registration forms, all the while muttering about how annoyed the manager would be to have missed my arrival. He twice mentioned how the preparations for ‘Thursday night’ were putting the latter under unusual pressure, keeping him away from the hotel far more than was usual. I simply nodded, unable to summon the energy to enquire into the precise nature of Thursday night.
‘Oh, and Mr Brodsky’s been doing splendidly today,’ the desk clerk said, brightening. ‘Really splendidly. This morning he rehearsed that orchestra for four hours non-stop. And listen to him now! Still hard at it, working things out by himself.’
He indicated the rear of the lobby. Only then did I become aware that a piano was being played somewhere in the building, just audible above the muffled noise of the traffic outside. I raised my head and listened more closely. Someone was playing a single short phrase – it was from the second movement of Mullery’s Verticality – over and over in a slow, preoccupied manner.
‘Of course, if the manager were here,’ the desk clerk was saying, ‘he might well have brought Mr Brodsky out to meet you. But I’m not sure . . .’ He gave a laugh. ‘I’m not sure if I should disturb him. You see, if he’s deep in concentration . . .’
‘Of course, of course. Another time.’
‘If the manager were here . . .’ He trailed off and laughed again. Then leaning forward, he said in a low voice: ‘Do you know, sir, some guests have had the nerve to complain? About our closing off the drawing room like this each time Mr Brodsky requires the piano? It’s amazing how some people think! Two different guests actually complained to Mr Hoffman yesterday. You can be sure, they were very quickly put in their place!’
‘I’m sure they were. Brodsky, you say.’ I thought about the name, but it meant nothing to me. Then I caught the desk clerk watching me with a puzzled look and said quickly: ‘Yes, yes. I’ll look forward to meeting Mr Brodsky in good time.’
‘If only the manager were here, sir.’
‘Please don’t worry. Now if that’s all, I’d very much appreciate . . .’
‘Of course, sir. You must be very tired after such a long journey. Here’s your key. Gustav over there will show you to your room.’