by Nancy Carson
‘Did you say there was a concert in the church tonight?’
‘Yes, Miss.’
‘An organ recital?’
‘No, Miss. They’ve got an orchestra up from London to play some of that classical stuff. Not my cup o’ tea, but there’s a good many as seem to like it.’
‘I’d love to go. What time does it start?’
‘Seven-thirty, Miss. But all the tickets are sold, they say.’
‘Damn! I’d have loved to have gone. Is there no chance of a ticket?’
‘I’ll see if I can find out if anybody’s got one, Miss. Would you like your dinner earlier? Just in case.’
‘Oh, please. I haven’t heard classical music played for ages. I used to be a cellist in the City of Birmingham Orchestra until a few months ago.’
‘A cellist? Honestly, Miss?’
She smiled. ‘Yes. Honestly.’
‘You must have been good.’
‘I wasn’t bad at all. I’m still pretty good.’
‘Did you give it up then, or what?’
‘A change of career. I’ll tell you about it someday when you’ve got an hour or two to spend.’
‘The day I get that lucky, Miss, the place will probably fall down. Well, I’ll leave you to get ready. See you later.’
Maxine took her bath, and got herself ready in double-quick time. Satisfied she looked presentable she went downstairs in a simple sleeveless black dress with a full skirt that she considered suitable for the concert if George had been fortunate enough to locate a ticket.
She sought him eagerly and found him in the bar. Between serving drinks he was talking to two men who were wearing dinner suits and black bow ties. Each had a half pint of beer in front of him and both were smoking.
‘Ah, there you are, Miss,’ George said sporting a wide grin. ‘We’ve been waiting for you to come down. These gentlemen would like a word.’
‘With me?’ She smiled at them apprehensively.
‘George here tells me you were a cellist in the CBO,’ the taller of the two men said.
‘That’s right, I was.’ She regarded him curiously.
‘Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Leonard Beresford, conductor of the City of Westminster Chamber Orchestra. We’re giving the concert this evening in St James’s church. I understand you wanted a ticket?’
‘Yes, I’d love to go,’ she answered excitedly. ‘Do you have one spare?’
‘Well, we might be able to get you in…’ He looked at his colleague and winked conspiratorially. ‘It depends largely on whether you are able to help us out…We’re in a bit of a pickle, you see. I know it’s a bit of an imposition but…but our cellist fell and broke his arm earlier…I wondered if…if you would be prepared, at this very short notice, to stand in for him?’
‘I’d be delighted,’ she answered sincerely. ‘Was it that poor chap I saw by the post office earlier?’
‘That was him. You don’t happen to have your cello with you, I suppose?’
‘Sorry, no.’ A shadow of disappointment clouded her face.
‘If you wouldn’t mind playing his? I’m certain he wouldn’t mind.’
She glanced from one to the other. ‘Okay. So long as he doesn’t mind.’
‘Normally, we would have two cellists in the orchestra but the other one is indisposed and couldn’t even make the trip. We couldn’t believe our luck, could we, Charlie, when George told us one of his guests was a professional cellist. Do tell us your name, by the way.’
‘Maxine Kite. Pleased to meet you.’ She shook hands with Leonard and Charlie.
‘Can I get you a drink, Miss Kite?’
‘Thanks, but maybe I should stay sober. What’s in tonight’s programme? It would be nice if I was familiar with every piece.’
‘Debussy – Nocturnes, Mozart’s Eine Kleine Nachtmusik. I’m going to play Bach’s Toccata and Fugue – they have quite a decent organ here, you know. We’re also doing Rimsky-Korsakov’s Capriccio Espagnol…What else are we doing, Charlie?’
‘Oh, some Saint-Saëns. All popular stuff. Nothing too demanding on the audience – or the musicians, for that matter.’
‘Would it absolutely terrify you, Miss Kite,’ Leonard said apologetically, ‘if I told you we were also planning to perform a selection from Saint-Saëns’ Carnival of the Animals in the second half of the programme?’
‘Oh, no!’ she exclaimed. ‘You want me to play solo in The Swan? Oh, boy!’ She puffed out her cheeks then laughed. ‘I should have known there’d be a catch. Hey, I’ll try. I know it, but I should tell you I’m a bit out of practice. I haven’t played in an orchestra for nearly a year.’
‘Oh, you’ll cope,’ Charlie said encouragingly. ‘By the way, did you say your name is Maxine Kite?’
‘I did.’
‘There’s a coincidence. There’s a jazz singer called Maxine Kite. English, I believe. Doing very well in America.’
‘Fancy!’ she responded, amused, determined to admit nothing.
‘You’ve taken a load off my mind, helping us out, Miss Kite,’ Leonard Beresford said. ‘Maybe we’d best get over to the church and make sure there’s a cello still there for you. Shall we go?’
The church was more than half full already and more people were filling the pews. Maxine and her new friends headed for the chancel where seats for the musicians filled the space between the choir stalls, spilling over into the nave. She trembled at the prospect, not only of catching sight of Howard at last, but also because she had committed herself to playing cello in an orchestra she’d never sat with before. Anxiously she looked around, conscious of her heels clicking on the hard stone floor as she walked behind Leonard and Charlie. But she saw no sign of Howard at all.
A cello awaited her, auburn, old, beautifully made, cherished. Perhaps a Bergonzi, she thought. She would handle it with great care. She smiled favourably and Leonard nodded for her to sit down and check the tuning. He clicked a tuning fork against the heel of his shoe and allowed it to resonate through the body of the cello while she deadened the strings.
‘C,’ he announced.
She drew the bow across each string in turn. C – G – D – A. It was perfect; and the instrument had a beautiful warm tone.
‘The best of luck, Miss Kite,’ he said. ‘And thank you.’
‘Thank you, Mr Beresford.’ She adjusted the tautness of the bow to her liking. ‘I just hope I don’t let you down.’
The sibilant hum of whispered conversations pervaded the church and the sound of shoes scraping the stone floor of the aisles as it filled with people. Maxine looked around apprehensively while she waited for the rest of the musicians to take their seats. She flipped through the scores on the music stand in front of her. Thankfully, she was familiar with everything. She just hoped her ability to play and sight-read had not deserted her over the months.
The rest of the musicians trooped in and took their seats and she smiled at each in turn as they looked at her quizzically. A double bass player sat by her and expressed his surprise at seeing a strange face, until she explained briefly that she was merely a last minute stand-in for his injured colleague. At last, there seemed to be no more movement in the nave from the gathering audience and an expectant silence prevailed.
Then she saw him.
Howard stood up in one of the front pews and stepped forward to address the people. She noticed he was not wearing his spectacles.
‘Good evening,’ he began, his back to the orchestra. ‘On behalf of the Town Council and the people of Foxham, I welcome you all to this festive evening of music in this, our beautiful old church of St James’s. Although I am a relative newcomer to Foxham, I am aware of the close connection this town enjoys with the good people of Foxham in Connecticut, many of whom have made the journey over especially to be with us, as they do every year. Indeed, we welcome them tonight and we always shall. I know we have a feast of music this evening from the City of Westminster Chamber Orchestra. Please enjoy it. But first, let us g
ive thanks…Almighty God, we thank thee…’
He had not seen her. But she was trembling and her heart was thumping so hard that she thought each of her fellow musicians must also be able to hear it. He looked leaner and, typically, needed a haircut but, apart from that, he was the same Howard Quaintance she had fallen in love with. She longed to call out to him; to let him know she was there, to let him know she had come to him at last. But, of course, she could not let him know. Not yet.
He finished his short prayer thanking the Almighty for the gift of friendship, returned to his pew and smiled amiably at the person he was sitting next to. Maxine nearly missed her cue to begin as she craned her neck to see if it was a girl – a rival. But heads were in the way and she could not see. The music took her attention. The first piece was Mozart’s Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, bright, brisk, and melodious. At once, Maxine was aware she was playing in a smaller ensemble than she’d been used to with the CBO. She had not counted them but only eighteen or twenty musicians formed the orchestra. The sound was less rich but the precision was perfect, proving them competent and it more than compensated. She began to feel the familiar high she’d always felt playing in an orchestra, the sensation of flying on a magic carpet ride. Why had she ever given this up? She must have been mad. This is what she loved. It was so spiritually satisfying.
She risked a glance at Howard. He was watching the conductor. Evidently, he had still not spotted her. But he was still not wearing his spectacles. From where he was sitting he would not be able to recognise her without them. Perhaps it was just as well.
A selection of Debussy’s Nocturnes followed and Maxine was settling into it well. Once more she risked a glimpse at Howard but still he showed no evidence of having seen her. Naturally, he would not be expecting to see her, she reasoned. When he did eventually, it would be a hell of a shock and she wondered just how he might react. She hoped he would not suddenly turn his back on her and walk out. That would be the ultimate humiliation.
During the interval Maxine put down her bow, rested the cello and breathed a sigh that the first part was over. The bassist was saying something to her but she did not hear him as she watched Howard make his way to the other end of the church for some refreshment. An auburn-haired girl of about twenty-five and two other people accompanied him. Maxine’s heart sank, for she knew now there must be a new woman in his life. She sighed profoundly. So she had come all this way for nothing. Still, it was better to find out now than to make a complete fool of herself later. Maybe it was fate that he was not wearing his spectacles. When this was over she could make her exit unnoticed.
‘Aren’t you coming for a cup of tea?’ the bassist asked. ‘There are some refreshments available under the tower.’
‘No, I’m going to stay here,’ she said politely. ‘I need to go over the score of The Swan before I play it.’
‘Are you sure? I bet I could smuggle something back here for you, if you wanted.’
She smiled at him collaboratively through her heartache. ‘Okay, thanks. That would be nice. Tea with just one sugar please.’
He winked and joined the throng awaiting refreshments. She was not going to join that horde and risk bumping into Howard there with that girl. It would be just her luck to receive the iciest of cold shoulders just to make her miserable life all the more wretched. No, she would remain where she was, an anonymous blur in his myopic vision, just another musician among those already present.
She read the score to The Swan and realised that where Howard was concerned she had lost her nerve. It had been a mistake to come to Foxham on this vague romantic notion that she could win her way back into his heart on sight. She should have written first. Knowing Howard, at least she would have received a reply, if only a polite one. Who knows, maybe he was even engaged now. He would not welcome sight of her if he thought it might upset his future wife. God! What an impetuous fool she had been. The same impetuosity had led her into trouble before by haring off on the Queen Mary, marrying Brent. She simply had not thought things through.
The bassist returned with a cup of tea and a chunk of angel cake. She thanked him and he told her his name was Alan. While she ate the cake and drank the tea he conversed easily and it was obvious he was interested in her.
‘Do you fancy a drink over at the Dog and Gun after the concert?’ he ventured.
She shrugged non-committally. ‘Actually, I’m staying at the Dog and Gun…’
‘Then I’ll be happy to walk you back there,’ he suggested. ‘If you’re not too tired we could maybe—’
‘Shall we play it by ear?’ she replied with a polite smile using an Americanism she’d picked up.
‘Pardon me?…Oh, I see. Okay. Fine.’
The audience was settling down again and she finished her cup of tea. Gallantly, Alan hurried to the rear of the church again with her empty cup and saucer and plate and returned to her side just in time. All went quiet and the old church shook as the first rousing chords of Toccata and Fugue exploded from the organ. Maxine had nothing to do in this, so she sat with her head down, listening to the inspired music created in Bach’s inspired mind, competently relayed through the deft fingers of Leonard Beresford. Naturally, she could not resist peering under her eyebrows from time to time at Howard. It was amazing that he had not yet spotted her. It was frustrating too, because she would really love to see his reaction now, favourable or not.
Toccata and Fugue finished and Leonard Beresford returned to the front to take the baton to sustained applause. Maxine turned up the score to Rimsky-Korsakov’s Capriccio Espagnol and waited for her cue. The piece lasted about fifteen minutes but seemed less.
Next began the selection from Saint-Saëns Carnival of the Animals. Maxine was growing more nervous as her solo vignette grew closer.
At last, the time arrived.
Leonard beckoned Maxine to the front.
With her heart in her mouth she reluctantly stepped forward, carefully lifting the cello over chairs and other players. Alan graciously took her chair and music stand and placed it in the nave in front of the orchestra. She was close to Howard now, but she did not dare look at him and did not know whether he had noticed her. Then Leonard spoke to the audience.
‘Before we progress to The Swan and the Finale from Carnival of the Animals I am bound to tell you, ladies and gentlemen, that our regular solo cellist met with an unfortunate accident late this afternoon, which resulted in his breaking his wrist. He has therefore been unable to play this evening. However, Fate has smiled benignly on us and presented us with a late replacement in the form of Miss Maxine Kite, late of the City of Birmingham Orchestra. Miss Kite fortuitously happens to be staying here in Foxham and, at the very last minute, has very kindly agreed to stand in. I would like to take this opportunity of publicly thanking her for doing so, so redoubtably, at such short notice and without prior rehearsal with The City of Westminster Chamber Orchestra…Ladies and Gentlemen, The Swan.’
It happened in a flash. She looked again in Howard’s direction. He was wearing his glasses now, looking at her agog. She saw him swallow hard and she radiated a warm smile that in no more than a second conveyed everything she had ever felt for him. If he possessed any sentiment at all he would recognise it, but his look of incredulity did not seem to alter.
Since nobody played harp in this orchestra, they were using a piano accompaniment for The Swan. Staring at Howard, Maxine missed her entrance, so the pianist seamlessly repeated the introduction till a small cough from Leonard drew her attention back to the music. She smiled apologetically, glanced at Howard again, then drew her bow across the string to form her first note. The familiar, rich melody flowed through her fingers, swooping with intense poignancy that might have reflected her sadness over losing him, only to soar with renewed optimism that was excruciatingly restrained by the accompaniment’s interchanging major and minor chords. The first phrases were repeated. She played with a fervour that resonated through the hammer-beamed roof of the ancient church
like an incantation, invoking all the magical power that music could summon. The pent up heartache that had existed within her for so long seemed to be released. She had never played The Swan like this before. She had never played anything like this before. The cello oozed emotion as she wrung every last drop of pathos from the music. Her eyes became misty with tears and she could no longer discern the score. The Swan always had that effect on her.
But she did not need the score. She knew this by heart.
Howard watched and listened spell-bound. He saw Maxine’s beautiful brown eyes glistening with tears. She had not changed. She was no less lovely. Who would have believed that she would appear under his very nose like this, playing the same piece of music that always reminded him so poignantly of her? He had never heard it played so articulately. The vibrato she induced through the fingers of her left hand intoned such emotion and the physical grace with which she played reminded him of so much. What was she doing here now? Had she come to plague him?
The tempo slowed and the piano played its final descent. There was a second’s silence, then tumultuous applause. Maxine stood up to take her bow. Instinctively she looked towards Howard and saw that he was on his feet applauding. Before she realised it, he was taking the few steps from the pew towards her.
He reached her.
He took her hand and her heart started pounding more.
He looked directly into her eyes.
Through her haze of tears she saw his gentle smile.
‘Brilliant!’ he beamed. ‘Oh, Maxine, that was brilliant! Thank you for playing it so beautifully.’
She did not know what to say. She did not know what to do. She wanted to incline her head to receive a kiss but that would be too presumptuous. So she smiled at him with uncertainty and bowed again to the audience.
He still had her hand and squeezed it. ‘May I see you later?’
‘Oh, please,’ she replied earnestly, and a tear trickled down her cheek.
Suddenly, she felt quite drained.
Maxine did not know how she would get through the Finale; yet she did, smiling throughout its lively jaunt. The full accompaniment of the orchestra, the intricate piano phrases flawlessly played, contrasted vastly with the simple elegance of The Swan and she could understand why Leonard Beresford had chosen Carnival of the Animals. It provided a perfect finish to a vibrant presentation.