13

A footbridge behind the hotel connects the building to the mountainside. A dozen or so waiters, chefs and nurses are spread along it enjoying a moment of free time.

All are having a smoke, chatting away and joking as they take a break.

One figure stands away from the rest. She is smoking, but speaks to no-one. She seems very depressed. Leaning over the railing, she stares down at the ground without any interest. It is the masseuse who came to Fred’s room.

Fred is in one of the hotel corridors looking out through a window. His face is also filled with bleakness as he watches the lonely girl smoking and looking down over the railing.

The sound of the violin playing the same exercise attracts Fred’s attention. He goes off in search of it.

14

Fred moves cautiously along the empty corridor. The violin can be heard more clearly. He meets the sixty-year-old doctor with the friendly face followed by two nurses. He exchanges greetings with the doctor.

He comes to a room with an open door. The chambermaid is finishing tidying up and behind her, close to a mirror, standing in front of a sheet of music, a boy of twelve is practising endlessly those same two notes.

*

The chambermaid leaves the room with her trolley.

Instinctively Fred draws near to the threshold and watches the boy as he practises. The boy senses his presence and turns to look at him.

Fred gives him a smile. The boy returns it.

“Do you know who composed that piece you’re practising?” Ballinger asks, a hint of emotion in his voice.

“No. Who?”

“Me.”

“I don’t believe you. What’s the piece called?”

“It’s called ‘Simple Song, Number 3’.”

The boy checks the sheet music. “That’s right. And what’s the composer’s name?”

“Fred Ballinger.”

“And what’s your name?”

“Fred Ballinger. You can check down at reception. I’m a guest here in the hotel.”

The boy now shows some surprise. “Unbelievable.”

“Yes, unbelievable.”

“My teacher makes me play it because he says it’s an excellent piece for a beginner.”

“Yes, he’s right, because it’s a simple piece.”

“But it’s not just simple.”

“Oh, no?”

“It’s also a very beautiful piece.”

Despite his composure, Fred instinctively allows himself to say something warm and friendly.

“Yes, it’s very beautiful. I wrote it when I was still capable of love.”

The boy seems not to have understood the last remark very well and, as if nothing has been said, starts practising again.

Fred listens to him and then interrupts the boy again. “May I do something while you’re playing?”

Slightly unsure, the boy nods. “Alright.”

He starts playing again.

Fred cautiously enters the room and goes up to the boy.

The boy carries on playing. Fred raises his hand and moves the boy’s elbow three centimetres in order to correct the position of the bow.

He then closes the door behind him with a sense of accomplishment.

“That’s it. Much better.”

15

Only the clashing of cutlery breaks the lugubrious silence of wealthy people eating.