Silent Crescendo

by Catherine George

  Judith hugged her excitedly.

  'Who's a clever girl, then. You didn't waste much time, did you!'

  'At my age one can't afford to.' Honor returned the hug, then pushed Judith away a little. 'Which brings up my next topic. Martin and I have to be in London next weekend for a charity concert in aid of Famine Relief, you know how involved he is in that sort of thing. A friend of his is lending us his flat in Cadogan Square overnight, and Martin thought you might like to come along for the ride, lend me a bit of support in case I feel peculiar. I do now and again these days.'

  Judith regarded her sister's serene face sceptically.

  'You look remarkably healthy to me, Honor Gresham. Are you sure all this isn't just part of the campaign for taking little sister's mind off her troubles?'

  'It is partly. But Martin's inclined to fly into a panic if I even flutter an eyelid, and why should you spend a lonely Sunday here in Hardwick when you could be in London with us, ready to hold my hand if necessary, which would leave Martin to his duties with an easy mind.' Honor's smile was coaxing.

  'I don't know,' said Judith doubtfully. 'I can't help thinking of the last time I came to a concert with you— pretty disastrous, one way and another. Besides, you know I don't really care for music; not that kind, anyway.'

  'This will be all light stuff; you'll enjoy it,' said Honor firmly. it will be a change for you, and I'll be glad of company if Martin gets tied up.'

  Judith gave in, not because she wanted to go very much, but she knew Honor worried over her. Now she was pregnant it seemed best to humour her, and by the time Honor went home all the details were arranged, even to what dress Judith should wear and who she could change duty with at the hospital.

  'By the way, does Mother know about the new arrival?' asked Judith as she saw Honor to her car.

  'No. I felt I'd like to get over the queasy morning bit first before making my announcement public—you can imagine how she'll take the news. I'll be knee-deep in advice and baby-clothes before I've had a chance to draw breath.'

  'How does Martin feel about it?'

  'Ecstatic!'

  Judith could well believe it, and waved Honor off, surprised to discover she was envious. She'd never given much thought to children of her own until now, but a sudden picture of having Rafael's child left her wide-eyed and sleepless for most of the night.

  The charity concert was to be a gala affair and required Judith's one and only long dress, a conservative black crêpe with long sleeves and a clinging skirt slit to the knee on one side. It had been worn only once before at the Hospital Ball and proved to be a shade looser when Judith tried it on for Honor's approval, but the latter pronounced it perfect for the occasion.

  'Is it grand enough for wherever this concert's being held?' asked Judith, eyeing her reflection with doubt.

  'Festival Hall, darling, I think, and you look lovely. Wear some beads, or something to liven it up, you look a bit pale lately.'

  'Only because I don't get so much fresh air these dark nights—I'll wear some extra blusher if it'll make you happier.'

  When Martin came for her on the Sunday morning Judith had to admit it was rather pleasant to be going on a trip. Sundays at home alone tended to drag, and this morning the weather was bright and sunny, so it seemed best to set out to enjoy the unexpected outing to the full. Judith kissed Honor's cheek as she got in the back of the car, smiling at her sister's air of suppressed excitement.

  'You look like a little girl out for a special treat, Mrs Gresham.'

  Martin grinned as he slid behind the wheel, casting a fond look at his wife's radiant face.

  'Pending motherhood suits her, doesn't it.'

  'I thought you didn't feel well in the morning, Honor?' said Judith drily.

  'Only some mornings, darling!'

  They took their time over the journey down, stopping at Oxford for lunch and arriving at the Cadogan Square flat in time for tea. Martin ushered the two women into a large, beautifully-furnished drawing room, and Judith stared round her with appreciation, letting out a low whistle.

  'Very nice indeed. Your friend must be loaded, Martin.'

  'I don't think he's short of the odd bob or two,' said Martin airily. 'He's not here at the moment, so said I could make use of it. Jolly good of him really. Honor, there'll be all the makings for tea in the kitchen, darling,' he added. 'You put the kettle on and I'll show Judith where she's to sleep.'

  There were only two bedrooms, both of them large, and both furnished with the same luxury and taste as the living quarters. Judith examined hers with interest after Martin left her, then unpacked her bag and hung her dress up before joining the others for tea.

  Martin had to be at the theatre early, and left the others to follow later rather than subject them to a long wait before curtain up.

  'Don't want you bored stiff, Judith,' he said with a grin as he kissed Honor goodbye.

  'Don't worry, I promise not to yawn,' she retorted, 'and I'll take good care of your wife until you can take over.'

  'Not that I need much taking care of tonight,' said Honor, patting her husband's cheek. 'See you later, darling.'

  It was a lot later than they expected, both girls a little on edge as their taxi was held up in a snarl of traffic on the way to the theatre.

  'Lord, I hope we're not late,' said Judith anxiously.

  Honor relaxed as they began to move again. 'Thank goodness. We should just about make it in time now.'

  Judith wasn't listening. She was too busy peering through the window trying to make out where they were.

  'Honor—are you sure you gave the driver the right address? Even I know the Festival Hall is the other side of the Thames.'

  'Yes, darling, it's all right. Actually the concert isn't there after all. I got it wrong.'

  Judith frowned at her sister's serene profile, then gave a gasp as the taxi came to a halt near the unmistakable pillared facade of the Royal Opera House. She turned to her sister accusingly.

  'You knew it was at Covent Garden all the time! Are you up to something?'

  Honor ignored her, occupied with paying the taxi-driver and hurrying a protesting Judith through the doors of the famous lobby, where they were met by Martin. He was frantic.

  'Where on earth have you been?' he asked, giving them no time for explanations. it's almost eight, put a move on, you two.'

  By the time they were all three installed in their seats in the orchestra stalls there was no time for breathless recriminations before the conductor strode to the podium in the orchestra pit to thunderous applause, and after the National Anthem they began to get their breath back to the strains of the overture from Die Fledermaus. After this the great velvet curtains with the gold cyphers swept apart to reveal the backdrop for Swan Lake, two of the principal dancers posed with the corps de ballet ready to dance to Tchaikovsky's famous music. At once Judith relaxed. This, at least, was something she really did like, a physical skill and artistry she could relate to and appreciate as she sat back with a sigh of pleasure. Even when the ballet excerpt was followed by a cello solo and a soprano singing an aria from Faust Judith was able to give Honor a reassuring smile, indicating she was enjoying the rest of the evening too, anxious to make her sister happy.

  In the interval Martin shepherded his two charges to the Crush Bar to drink champagne and meet some of his fellow organisers of the concert. Judith chatted and laughed with people whose names she had difficulty in remembering in the hubbub of conversation going on around her, noticing that three people were pushing through the throng with blithe apologies, obviously making their way in Martin's direction. The man was thin and balding, with sharp intelligent eyes behind dark-rimmed glasses, the two women with him both beautiful, expensively dressed and with a marked physical resemblance.

  'Martin!' The man smiled broadly as he clapped Martin on the shoulder. 'You finally found your ladies—great. Isn't this tremendous? Everyone's in a fever of anticipation. I can't tell you how much this evening me
ans to me.'

  'And to me,' said Martin and hurriedly began introductions. 'My wife Honor and my sister-in-law, Judith Russell.'

  'I guess Robin should say snap,' smiled the older of the two women. 'I'm Holly Mellor and this is my sister, Lenore. Lenore Kramer.'

  Judith felt a stab of pain as she smiled and joined in the general amusement at the coincidence. So these were the Mellors, Rafael's agents and such close friends they knew him so much better than she herself could ever hope to now.

  'Isn't this just wonderful!' exclaimed Lenore Kramer, in a husky, transatlantic drawl that left no doubt as to her origins, her accent more pronounced than her anglicized sister. She ran slender fingers over her shining hair, the nails painted the exact shade of her elaborate, red-gold coiffure, her long, rather feline green eyes glittering with excitement. 'When Holly gave me the glad news I hopped on the next Concorde-nothing could have kept me away.'

  Judith smiled blankly, and glanced at Honor who was fidgeting uneasily. 'What's the matter, love?'

  'Nothing,' said Honor hastily, and retreated to the safety of her husband's protective arm.

  'I gather you were at Rafael's last performance, Miss Russell,' said Holly Mellor, 'so you were one of the fortunate few who heard his swan song. You must be so thrilled to be here at his comeback as well!'

  The words took Judith's breath away. She flicked an incredulous, stormy look at Honor and Martin before smiling blandly at the others. 'Oh I am,' she said sweetly. 'Too thrilled for words.'

  'How I envy you,' said Lenore dramatically. 'I possess every last one of Rafael's recordings, and just listening to his voice turns my knees to jello, but actually seeing him perform in the flesh—now that's something else.'

  Martin coughed, his thin face flushed with embar­rassment.

  'I'm afraid you've spoilt our surprise.' He cast a hunted glance at his young sister-in-law's stony face. 'I hadn't told Judith we'd be seeing Rafael perform tonight.'

  'You mean you didn't know?' Robin Mellor shook his head in disbelief.

  'Amazing isn't it?' countered Judith. 'Probably I'm the only one in London who doesn't, or even nationwide. No doubt my parents in Wales are agog with the news at this very minute. Do clear up one point for me, though. Unless someone's discovered some miracle of medicine in Vienna or Switzerland, or somewhere, presumably Rafael won't be singing for us, so what does he intend to do—dance?'

  There was much feverish laughter at her sally.

  'That's rich,' said Robin Mellor, patting his forehead with a white handkerchief. 'Martin's been playing his cards close to his chest, obviously. Rafael's conducting his own tone poem, Miss Russell. Haven't you seen a programme? Look for yourself.'

  Judith studied the large, glossy programme thrust into her hand, unaware of Honor's placatory fingers on her arm. She stared at the item listed as the finale to the concert; a tone poem with the title Celtic Idyll, composed and conducted by Rafael David.

  'Judith—' said Honor, but Judith barely heard her over the outbreak of animated conversation among the others. The words were in black and white on the thick, shiny paper, unbelievable though they were. This was the bitterest blow of all, and the effort to retain her polite social mask took every last shred of willpower she possessed as she handed the programme back to Robin Mellor and listened to the others going on at length about Rafael's new venture, even agreeing on his strength of character in finding a new outlet for his artistic ability.

  'What a man—what an artist!' enthused Lenore. She gave a deprecatory smile and smoothed the clinging jade silk of her dress over her hips. 'Of course, Rafael and I go way back, since before I married my first husband. I've heard Raf sing in most of the opera houses in Europe and Stateside, you know.'

  'What enthusiasm, Mrs Kramer. You must be very devoted to music,' said Judith.

  'Only when the tenor is sexy as Rafael,' said Holly slyly. 'But you must be fond of music too, Miss Russell?'

  'She isn't really,' put in Honor quickly. 'In fact Judith was good enough to come along to keep an eye on me while Martin was busy with the Famine Relief Committee. I'm pregnant,' she announced baldly, flushing as the others exclaimed and congratulated, Lenore cooing over her with extravagance.

  Judith stood apart, seared by a deep hurt very close to anger at the thought of Rafael's turning to composing without any hint to her of his intentions. It must obviously mean he no longer felt anything for her, no longer included her in his future plans in any way, or surely he would have written or telephoned—even a stupid carnation or two would have been better than nothing. She went back to her seat with Honor and Martin, hardly aware of their muted explanations, brushing them aside with a bright smile as they settled themselves for the second half of the programme. There was a pas-de-deux from two rising ballet stars, followed by a tenor singing Puccini and a baritone singing Mozart, but Judith sat like a waxwork, blind and deaf to everything but the gradually mounting wrath inside her. Almost with detachment she con­sidered the idea of simply getting up and walking out of the Opera House, but rejected the idea regretfully as she felt Honor's hand close over hers as the applause for the baritone died away and the great house settled into an expectant hush as they waited for the man who, all unknown before to Judith, the majority of the audience had really paid to see.

  When the tall, familiar figure in unfamiliar white tie and tails finally appeared, threading his way through the orchestra to step up on to the podium the applause that greeted him was deafening. Judith swallowed hard, staring with overt hunger at Rafael's grave face for an instant as he bowed and acknowledged the tumultuous reception. She shrank down into her seat, instinctive in her desire to hide, knowing she was ridiculous, yet almost certain that for a moment his eyes had found her before he turned his back and lifted the baton. In utter silence the audience waited before the first melancholy sound of the oboe responded to the coaxing baton, which beckoned the other instruments to follow suit, section by section, the rest of the woodwinds, then the strings and brass all woven together in the mounting excitement of the opening theme until finally the great roll of the tympani heralded a change of mood, the entire orchestra responding to Rafael's expressive hands and lithe body, which moved like a physical expression of the music he drew from the musicians, a melody of haunting serenity gradually mounting again to a joyous paean of triumph and joy which rose to a heart-stopping climax of sensual sound at Rafael's imperious command, then died away little by little until only the mournful oboe was left alone to shiver into silence that lasted a full five seconds before the audience erupted into wild applause and shouts of 'bravo' from all over the house.

  Judith let out the breath she had been holding, sitting perfectly still as she stared up at Rafael. He was breathing hard as he took his bow, then brought the orchestra to their feet to take theirs. She watched him with bleak irony, feeling like some humble mortal looking up at a god on the heights of Mount Olympus. The figure up there was some glittering stranger from another world; nothing to do with Judith Russell at all. Summoning a smile she turned to Honor and Martin after Rafael left the rostrum.

  'Thank you for bringing me,' she said simply, meaning every word. 'I wouldn't have missed it for the world.'

  'Sorry about all the cloak and dagger stuff,' said Martin awkwardly.

  'You know you wouldn't have come otherwise,' added Honor.

  Judith managed a laugh.

  'Dead right I wouldn't. And just see what I'd have missed. But I'd very much like to get out of here now, if you don't mind, and get back to the flat.'

  'But you can't do that!' Honor looked aghast. 'There's a supper-party, Judith, with Rafael as guest of honour, and you're invited, and—'

  'Honor,' said Judith, with a dangerous wobble in her voice, 'just what are you trying to do to me? I'm not thick, you know. I'm fairly sure I'm getting Rafael's message, loud and clear, and it says "over and out", so just let me go—please!'

  Nothing Honor and Martin could say would move her, nor would she
let them go with her. Martin's place was at the party anyway, in his capacity of committee member, and Honor's place was with him Judith stated with such finality there was no more argument, except that Martin made sure he installed Judith safely in a taxi before letting her go back to the flat alone.

  Left to herself at last Judith was hard put to keep back the tears on the journey. She gritted her teeth and stared out at the passing lights until she arrived at Cadogan Square and finally gained sanctuary inside the flat. She went straight through to the bedroom and threw her velvet wrap on the bed, almost tempted to throw herself down as well, but she resisted the impulse and made for the bathroom to splash cold water on her burning cheeks. She stared at her stormy face in the mirror, her brain reeling from the excess of emotion experienced during the evening, a shaming jealousy of Lenore Kramer and all she represented warring with the bitter hurt dealt by Rafael in his silence about his new career. Without doubt there were Lenore Kramers everywhere Rafael performed, only too eager to provide whatever form of diversion he required—Rafael himself had admitted he had never been neglected, after all. How stupid she had been even to imagine she could compete. Only until tonight she had never thought of competing in this particular sphere, nor considered the strength and quality of the competition. Lenore Kramer and Holly Mellor had both been wearing model gowns, probably from designers like Bill Blass or Bruce Oldfield. Judith gave a mirthless little laugh. Her own sober little black dress had been bought off the peg at a department store in Birmingham, quite expensive in fact, but certainly not exclusive. She shook her head, puzzled over Martin and Honor's reasons for bringing her to London for the concert in the first place. Knowing them both it had no doubt been for the best of reasons, but, Lord, what an experience it had turned out to be; painful in the extreme, but illuminating. At least she now had things in perspective. In Wales, away from everything, Judith Russell and Rafael David had been two people who came together in equality, the only difference between them the joyous one of their sex. Now they were well and truly back in their pigeon-holes again; Judith the small town physiotherapist, and Rafael the international star, regardless of whether he were singing, composing, conducting or whatever. And never the twain should meet again if she had anything to do with it.