A Darker Music by Maris Morton Read Free Book Online

long? — years. Her stay in Perth had been full of a confusing procession of strangers, but they were all involved in one way or another with her treatment, connecting with her only in the most basic physical way.
    Mary Lanyon seemed kind. A small woman, she moved deftly at her work, her face intent, her dark hair shining under the overhead lights. She was a good listener and seemed to take an intelligent interest in what went on around her. She was an excellent cook, and time would tell what kind of a gardener she was.
    Clio eased herself up in the bed. Music was what she wanted. When Paul and Martin were here, she was always aware of the sounds they made moving around the house: their footsteps, voices, and the inane gabble of the television. Tonight the house was silent and still, the cold air settling around it like a blanket as the night deepened, but her bed was warm. Her need for music was sudden and compelling.
    She switched on the bedside light and folded back the duvet. Her nightgown had ridden up around her thighs, and she stared with distaste at her legs, the grey-blue veins showing through the dry skin like a river system on an alien planet. Her muscles, which used to be so firm and shapely, had withered away, leaving the skin slack and flaky. Where her calves pressed against the edge of the mattress the skin creased into dry folds — an old woman’s legs. She tugged the gown down to hide them, slipped her feet into her boots and went over to the shelves. There was a CD player there and dozens of discs. She picked a handful at random and took them with the player back to bed.
    When had she last done this? So many worries and bad experiences had filled her life these last months, distracting her from the enjoyment of what had once been her deepest pleasure.
    She lay back and considered the kind of music that would suit her mood. It was such a long time since she’d played any of her discs that it would be like listening to them for the first time. Mozart? So much joy in the music; then, when you least expected it, a phrase of such tenderness that it brought tears to your eyes. She remembered the tears that had nearly overtaken her this afternoon. Mary wouldn’t have noticed, she’d covered up well. If she cried here, it wouldn’t matter. It might even use up a ration of those tears that she knew were waiting in some hidden but endless store, and keep her dry-eyed tomorrow. She’d had about enough of being brave.
    Among the discs were some of the string quartets, and she found the one that included Number 15 in D minor. She inserted it into the player, eased the headphones into position, turned the light off and settled to concentrate on the sounds, once so familiar, of violins, cello and viola, interweaving their distinctive voices.
    The moment she heard the downward cadence of the Allegro, the entirety of the piece came back into her memory with perfect clarity. She closed her eyes.
    A remembered conversation, a ghost from the distant past, crept into her awareness.
    It was Tallis, of course, asking one of his rhetorical questions. ‘Can any of you explain how a mere sequence of tones, the aural sensations generated by changing vibrations in strings of different lengths, can evoke emotion so strongly?’
    Of course there was no answer. Nobody had ever managed to explain that mystery, but until they’d got to know Tallis they’d kept trying to come up with something, however puerile. And reaping his scorn, until they’d learnt at last to accept the magic and embrace it.
    Through the headphones the quality of this CD was so clear that you could get an inkling of what it was like to sit there among your fellow musicians, two violins on one side, cello on the other, each aware of the others but locked into a greater awareness of the notes they were playing, striving to reproduce a pattern of sounds created by a young genius in the eighteenth century. It wouldn’t be the same as he’d imagined it —