I liked him, and it seemed clear he had nothing to do with the intrigue surrounding the arrangement, or he would not have been counseling me with such concern. All the same, I looked inside the envelope. Yes, there was my credit at the end of the parts. I could tell Haffner’s hand from my own. I had the version I wanted.

“May I ask why someone with your reputation worked on something that is certainly not worth your valuable time?” he asked. “It’s a very forward question, I know, but were you paid handsomely?”

I told him I was losing money on the deal.

He said, “Yesterday, I could only see the girl from the back of the room. She looked very unhappy but capable of being very beautiful. Tell me: did you do it all just for the girl?”

I tightened my grip on the envelope and got ready to leave the castle.

“Yes, Kat. I did it all just for the girl.”

Chapter 49

49

Meet Me at The Fair

Lying on my bed late that afternoon, wondering what other people did in the situation I was in, and then realizing that there were no other people in the situation I was in, I heard someone outside my door.

I got to my feet and stood by the door’s hinges.

There was a sound of something moving at my feet. I looked down and saw a small envelope bearing the Claremont’s emblem. I picked it up and opened the door quickly. A uniformed bellboy was stepping down the hall.

“Excuse me, let me give you something for your trouble,” I said. He trotted back to the door and gratefully accepted fifty cents. He had about nine more envelopes in his white-gloved hands. “Do you know if this just came in?” I asked, indicating the envelope I was holding.

“Phone message, sir, probably while you were out. The operator keeps them at her station in case people phone down from their rooms or call in from the outside. Every few hours I make the rounds and deliver copies to make sure our guests got the message.” He thanked me again and continued on his mission.

I closed the door and unfolded a little pink page upon which a blue carbon of the operator’s handwriting read: Meet me tonight at eleven-fifteen at the place where I burned my music pages. Take a taxi to the marina. Come the rest of the way by foot. If you tell or bring anyone, or try to contact me before then, it will be very bad for me. Your grateful collaborator, Gail.

I didn’t like it. Anyone could have given the no-doubt wide-eyed hotel operator the message. It could even have been a man, speaking like a woman.

Yet only Gail or Toby Ackland would have known about her burning the composition.