A Song for Summer

The children waiting on the landing stage were larger than she had expected and did not look salubrious, but that only made it more likely that Marcus was here.

"Can we help you?"' said the only one that looked even remotely clean and decent, a girl with dark pigtails.

"I am Brigitta Seefeld," the diva announced, not troubling to introduce her maid. "And I am looking for Herr Altenburg, the composer, who I believe is working here."

Sophie and the others, in all innocence, shook their heads. Only Leon stiffened and looked wary.

"There's no one here called that," said Sophie.

"Definitely not," agreed Flix, making her way towards the little dog.

But Brigitta was not so easily put off. "Take me to your headmaster," she ordered. "Tell him that Brigitta Seefeld is here."

As the children led her towards the steps, Leon took Sophie aside.

"Go in and find Ellen," he whispered. "Tell her Brigitta Seefeld is here and looking for someone called Altenburg. Go on, quickly."

Sophie, without question, turned and ran towards the

kitchen. She did not pause to wonder why Ellen had to be told of this visit or its purpose: to fetch Ellen at all times was second nature now to the children in the school.

She found Ellen teaching the new kitchen hand how to slice angelica into interesting shapes. He was hoping to be a chef and had only been here a few days but everyone liked him: he was quick to learn and funny and would help with anything, indoors and out.

"Ellen, a great big blonde woman has just arrived; she's called Brigitta Seefeld and she's looking for someone called Altenburg. A musician. Leon said I should tell you."

Ellen looked up, the egg whisk still in her hand. At the same time a small exclamation from the trainee chef made them both turn. Usually so neat and careful, he had cut his finger.

"Where is she now?"' asked Ellen.

"Leon's taking her to see Bennet; we told her there wasn't anyone like that here but she didn't believe us." But Sophie was staring at the new assistant, who had gone as white as his overalls. There were people who couldn't stand the sight of blood, she knew that. It was nothing to do with cowardice; it was just one of those things. "Shall I go and get some sticking plaster from your box?"' she offered.

Ellen shook her head. "No, I'll see to it. Will you go to Bennet and tell him I'll bring coffee and cakes to his study. I'll be there in ten minutes if he would just wait there. Would you tell him that?"'

Sophie nodded and sped off--and Ellen went to shut the door of the scullery in which Frau Tauber was washing up.

"She knows you, of course."

"Yes." He was biting his lip. She could see the effort he was making to control himself.

"Well then, we must hide you," she said, fetching a roll of plaster and some lint. She bound up the finger, thinking. Then: "Didn't you offer to stand in for David Langley at the rehearsal?"' And as he nodded: "In that case, our troubles are over. You'll be as safe as houses there."

Brigitta's route towards the headmaster's study, escorted by Leon and followed by Ursula and Janey, was unfortunate. Unaware that she had been spared Chomsky's appendix scar, she shuddered as the biology teacher, virtually naked, ran past her with his net, searching for dragonfly larvae in the mud. An uncouth boy with dirty feet dropped from a tree, bumped into her, swore and disappeared.

"That's Frank," explained Janey helpfully. "His father's a famous philosopher and he's been through five psychoanalysts."

"I'll wait outside," said Ufra firmly, and led the dog away towards the kitchen garden.

As she passed the open doors of classrooms and rehearsal rooms, Brigitta's certainty that she had found Marcus' hiding place began to evaporate. In one a sinewy female in a leotard was exhorting a group of sulky children to give vent to their viscerality; in another a mustachioed woman in flannels was demonstrating the Primal Scream. A child lay on the floor in the corridor, reading a book and eating a banana. Surely even Marcus with his passion for freedom and tolerance, would not be able to work in this kind of bedlam?

But when she reached Bennet's study she became more hopeful again. The headmaster was a cultivated and good-mannered man who spoke excellent German and was properly dressed. His walls were lined with books, and the bust of Shakespeare encouraged her; Marcus had set six of the Sonnets for tenor, strings and percussion when he first came to Vienna, boring her with eulogies about the verse.

"I am Brigitta Seefeld--"' she began--and frowned angrily as the boy who had put himself forward all along, had the impertinence to interrupt her.

"Madame Seefeld has come because she thinks Herr Altenburg has been here," he said quickly. "I've told her he hasn't, but--"'

"Leon is right, Madame Seefeld. There has been no one here of that name," said Bennet with perfect truthfulness, giving Leon a reassuring nod.