The person he most wanted to see now was the person he felt oddest about seeing. He felt, with no apparent logic, that he and Voytek had compromised one another.
He killed an afternoon walking around in drizzle, hopped from café to café, and in the evening bought a ticket for the Konzerthaus. He sat at the back of the stalls, far enough away never to be spotted, and listened to Voytek play Mozart’s “Jeunehomme” concerto, the Ninth in E flat—one that he’d never much bothered with before.
The second half was Beethoven’s Second Symphony. One few orchestras would ever tackle. Troy found he could live without it and left at the interval.
He turned in at the Sacher, ridiculously early. Found himself buzzing from too much strong Viennese coffee. Found he’d no interest in any of the novels in his travelling bag. Lay back. Locked his fingers behind his head and watched the rippling reflections of street lamps in rain play across the ceiling as curling ribbons of light.