Chapter 38

Having a story to tell was a real blessing. It helped untie my tongue.

“Olivia, your violin was made in 1742 by Joseph Guarnerius. His name isn’t as well known as Stradivarius, but many violinists prefer the stronger character and tone of his instruments, and many of them are equally valuable.

“We don’t know who commissioned this particular violin, but we do know that a man named Luigi Tarisio bought it from a Benedictine monk in 1844—”

“Wait, Ted,” interrupted Olivia, laying her hand on my arm. “How do you know so much about my violin—right off the top of your head?”

I looked at her for a moment before answering.

“Because every violin lover knows about this violin,” I replied at last. “This violin is probably the most sought-after violin in the world. And one of the most valuable. Olivia, it’s worth millions.”

It was Olivia’s turn to be speechless.

“Tarisio,” I continued, mostly to fill the vacuum of her silence, “sold it to a wealthy Florentine aristocrat, Giuseppe Merino, who thought so highly of the instrument that he branded it with his family coat of arms.” I gestured toward the computer monitor, and Olivia nodded her understanding.

“An Englishman named Phillip Kendall was the next owner. He was a wealthy textile merchant who bought the violin from the Merino family sometime around 1860. He gave the violin a name: the Merino Rose.”

I turned the violin over, and Olivia ran a finger over the inlaid flowers.

“I wondered about those roses,” she said. “I’ve never seen a violin with that kind of decoration before.”

“It’s somewhat unusual,” I replied, “but it doesn’t always mean that the instrument is a fine one. What it usually means is that someone wealthy commissioned it, but in this case, we don’t know who.

“Anyway, Kendall was the man who made it famous, not only by giving it a romantic nickname, but also by lending it to the leading violinists of his day. Musicians all over Europe played the Merino Rose, including a very famous German one, Joseph Joachim.”

I paused and looked at Olivia. For a split second, I was angry at the violin for being so wonderful. If it had been some ordinary instrument, we’d have been done with it by now, and talking about more important things, like being together again. But this violin had stolen center stage. It was demanding all of our attention, holding us hostage.

As if she read my mind, Olivia grabbed my hand. Gazing straight into my eyes, she said, “Oh, Teddy, it’s so good to hear your voice.”

Oh, Olivia. It is so good to hear yours. And to feel your hands on mine.

We sat there silent for a moment and, just as it had every time I was with her, that extraordinary electric connection arced between us. How could it still be there, after all these years and after all that had happened? I could have sat there looking at her forever, but I forced myself to continue my story.

“Joachim fell in love with the Rose the first time he played it. He spent something like fourteen years trying to persuade Kendall to sell it to him. Kendall finally relented, and on New Year’s Day in 1879, Joachim played the premiere performance of the Brahms Violin Concerto on it in Leipzig. He called it ‘the violin of angels.’”

“I wonder how Arturo got it—or do you know?” asked Olivia.

“Up to this moment, I don’t think anybody knew he had it. The Merino Rose has been missing for well over a hundred years.”

I paused, reminding myself that it was still possible that this violin was nothing more than a beautiful fake. All the right identifiers were there, and I’d heard that one pure note, but still—

“Do you want to play it, Ted?” asked Olivia, once again reading my thoughts.

“I do,” I said. “In fact, I’d like nothing more. But first let me finish what I know of the rest of the story.

“About a year after the Brahms performance, the Merino Rose disappeared from Joachim’s conservatory in Berlin. The thief was never caught, but one of Joachim’s students, a young Italian named Vittorio Bonacci, was the leading suspect. He vanished along with the violin.

“In 1881, Bonacci died in a fire in Trieste, a big fire that killed a dozen other people and destroyed the Opera House. Rumors immediately swept the continent that the Merino Rose was also a victim of the Trieste Opera fire.”

“But you don’t think so?”

“Well, nobody knew for sure, and the Rose has become a kind of violin Bigfoot over the last century. Every few years, someone claims to have found it, but when the time comes for authentication, it’s always a fake or nothing at all. Replicas occasionally show up at auctions, but that’s all they are—copies.”

“Couldn’t mine be just a copy?”

“It’s possible, but—“

“Now I understand,” interrupted Olivia suddenly. “Now I know why Arturo left me his study. The real gift was the violin, and by hiding it in a room full of furniture, he made sure I got it.”

She stopped talking, and both of us stared at the instrument between us.

“If you played it, would you know for sure?” she asked quietly.

“I think so.”

“Then play it, Ted.”