Child of Music (Warrender Saga Book 5)

by Mary Burchell

  ‘If Janet’s aunt wishes to be there — ’ began Stephen very coldly indeed.

  And then, incredibly, rescue came from a totally unexpected quarter. Oscar Warrender turned at that moment from a conversation which had seemed to be engaging his whole attention.

  ‘When I audition,’ he said, briefly and rather disagreeably, ‘I prefer to do it on my own.’

  Then he returned to his conversation, and the talk flowed round the table again.

  The whole incident, from the moment when Anthea had thrown down her smiling challenge to Julia Morton, had taken perhaps five minutes. In that time, thought Felicity, if she were not much mistaken, Janet’s cause had been won. But balanced against that was something equally important. For some reason best known to himself, Stephen’s friendship had withered at the roots. He hardly addressed a word to her during the rest of the evening.

  It was ridiculous — and most unfair! The only part she had taken in the whole conversation was that one protesting, ‘No!’ And surely, she thought indignantly, she was entitled to one word of comment. Even if it were one he did not want to hear.

  Anthea, she could see, was in highest spirits. Her air of happy triumph could be set down, it was true, entirely to her operatic success that evening. It had been dazzling enough. But to Felicity — and to Stephen too, she felt sure — it was obvious that in a light-hearted but remarkably determined way, Anthea was also rather flown with her success in espousing the cause of Janet, and Felicity, against Julia Morton.

  When she finally bade Felicity good night, as the party was breaking up, she said softly and mischievously, ‘Well, was I as good as my word?’

  ‘You were wonderful!’ Felicity kissed her gratefully. ‘And Mr. Warrender’s intervention was more than I could possibly have hoped for.’

  ‘I briefed him on the situation,’ Anthea said shamelessly. ‘He took a little persuading, but he can’t refuse me much on a day of performance.’ And they both laughed and for a moment Felicity’s heart felt lighter.

  Most of the company were drifting into the big foyer now, some of them on their way to their rooms, others to find their cars or taxis. Felicity looked round for Stephen, so that she could bid him good night and thank him for her evening, and found that he was nearer than she had supposed. He was apparently just taking leave of Julia, and her hand was in his — a little as though it had been there some time.

  She gave him a farewell smile at that moment and said with an air of good-humoured reproach, ‘Don’t ever accuse me again of interfering over anything to do with Tarkmans.’

  ‘I won’t,’ Stephen said briefly. ‘So long as you resist the desire to say “I told you so” to me.’

  Then he kissed her lightly and turned away. Felicity was almost full in his path, but he barely seemed to notice her. Instead he made quite a long business of saying good night to another of his guests, and when he finally did have time for her, it was only to throw her a careless, ‘Good night, Miss Grainger.’

  She found herself stammering her thanks, not at all as she had intended to express them, while he listened with a faintly exaggerated courtesy which was rather unnerving. Then he said coolly, ‘Not at all. It was a pleasure to have you — and most illuminating.’

  And before she could ask the exact meaning of that, his attention was on someone else. There was nothing for her to do but retire to her luxurious bedroom, and sleep rather badly for the rest of the night.

  With the morning came the consoling thought that at least there would be the long drive back to Carmalton. During that time there would be ample opportunity to set right any misunderstanding. The whole thing was trivial really. If Anthea chose to give some support to her favourite pupil there was absolutely no reason why she, Felicity, should be treated as though she had offended in some way against some code of behaviour. Even Stephen would see the injustice of that, once he had had time to think things over.

  But nothing worked out that way at all.

  When she came down to join him at the hotel entrance at the agreed time, she found Julia there, and it seemed that she also was having a lift back to Carmalton. It was a circumstance to ruin any drive, but most particularly a drive during which she had counted on making some delicate explanations and retrieving an awkward position.

  Inevitably it was Julia who sat in front — though she did make some charming play of offering the place to Felicity. It was — final humiliation and disappointment — Stephen who said, ‘No, no, Julia, you come in front. I have several things I want to discuss with you. Miss Grainger and I did all our talking on the way up yesterday. She’ll be glad to be quiet in the back, I don’t doubt.’

  Like a tiresome child being consigned to the seat where she would be of least nuisance!

  Felicity loathed every mile of the journey which, in reverse, had been so wonderful. Most of all she loathed it when Julia turned in her seat — as she did from time to time — and gave an admirable imitation of trying in the friendliest way possible to draw Felicity into the conversation. The condescension was insupportable, though the manner was irreproachable. And nothing could have indicated more clearly her awareness that the London visit had been to her advantage rather than to Felicity’s.

  To the last, Felicity clung to the faint hope that they might drop Julia off first at her place, thus leaving her a few precious minutes in which to make all well even now with Stephen. But it was not to be.

  At last — or all too soon, she was not sure which it was — they were in Carmalton and the cottage was in sight. But here fate did seem inclined to relent to a very small degree. For Stephen also got out of the car, took her case and walked up the path with her. It gave her a chance to thank him once more for the lift and the supper party — and this time in a more natural manner than she had contrived the night before.

  Again he said, with absurd formality and palpable untruth, ‘Not at all. It was a pleasure.’ So that she was stung into replying,

  ‘And most illuminating? That was what you said, wasn’t it? Though I can’t imagine what you meant by it.’

  She rummaged hastily in her handbag for her key, so that she should not have to look at him.

  ‘Think it over,’ he advised her coolly, ‘and you’ll realize what was meant.’ And then, as she still seemed to have some difficulty in finding her key, he added, ‘When are your friends coming to audition Janet?’

  ‘My friends?’ she looked up then in astonishment. ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ All the nervous frustration of the last hour went into that and made it rather more emphatic than she had intended. ‘The Warrenders are very much more your friends than mine, and Mr. Warrender is actually on the Board of Tarkmans.’

  ‘Exactly,’ he said pleasantly. ‘And that being so, had I wished them — or him — to give an opinion about Janet, I was perfectly capable of arranging it myself.’

  ‘But it just happened that way!’

  ‘Oh, Miss Grainger!’ He laughed slightly, and she wondered if it were possible that he had ever called her Felicity. ‘You must think me very dumb if you suppose I didn’t see through that little charade.’

  ‘I assure you — ’

  ‘That you never mentioned either Julia or Janet to Anthea?’ he suggested sceptically.

  ‘Of course I spoke of Janet. Why not? I’m entitled to praise my pupils to my friends, surely?’

  ‘And you’re asking me to believe that no hint of your absurd theories about Julia crept into the conversation, or that you didn’t in any way solicit Anthea’s intervention?’

  ‘I — ’ began Felicity. And then she stopped short, overwhelmed by the recollection of that short telephone talk she had had with Anthea the previous afternoon.

  In that confused moment it was difficult to remember what she had said or what Anthea had volunteered. They had laughed, of course — and Anthea had asked how important the whole thing was to her — and she had admitted that it was desperately important.

  Was that what had ranged Anthea so whole
heartedly on her side? or Janet’s side. It was difficult to keep the two apart when it came to Julia.

  Felicity honestly struggled to find an answer which was truthful and yet not incriminating. And, as she did so, he laughed again; that slight laugh which made her want to hit him — just as she had wanted to hit him all that time ago when he contemptuously dismissed her championship of that wretched, long-forgotten pianist.

  ‘Well,’ he said, after what seemed to her a very long silence, ‘I think I have my answer. And now I’m going to give you a friendly warning. No member of my staff ever gets more than one warning, Miss Grainger,’ he added, presumably in case she should be taking the ‘friendly’ too literally. ‘The one thing never permitted at Tarkmans is interference by anyone — and I mean anyone — with my direction or decisions. No lobbying, no intriguing, no meddling. Is that understood?’

  ‘Perfectly,’ said Felicity, who had gone pale with mingled anger and dismay. ‘But — ’

  ‘And no arguing,’ he finished unforgivably. ‘Goodbye, Miss Grainger.’

  Then he turned and went back to the car, where Julia Morton was still sitting in the front seat. She was looking ahead, apparently interested in something in the village street. But to Felicity she was reminiscent of a cat who had eaten the cream. All the cream.

  CHAPTER SIX

  To Felicity the ensuing weeks were the most restless and miserable of her life. Until then, one of the many attractions of her work at Tarkmans had been the fact that at any time she might run across Stephen Tarkman, either in the school itself or as she came through the grounds on her way there. Now she took pains to avoid him, even to the extent of finding a slightly different route so that she need not even pass his house.

  But, once she was away from the place and a day or two stretched before her until she could go there again, she regretted not having accepted — or even sought — some opportunity to speak to him and so set right the unhappy discord between them.

  It was all so absurd, she kept on telling herself. There must be a common sense way of recapturing their friendship. The rift was based on little more than a triviality, and only Julia’s mischief-making could have given it such importance. That, and the fact that Stephen apparently deeply resented anything savouring of interference in his management of Tarkmans.

  Even the familiar relief of talking things over with Mary was denied her. For she simply could not bring herself to describe to a third person the humiliation she had suffered. Besides, the loyal Mary would undoubtedly blame Stephen. And, blameworthy though he might be, Felicity was illogically averse to hearing anyone else put into words the things she indignantly said about him to herself.

  So to Mary she spoke only of the highlights of her London visit. The journey there, the performance at the opera and the subsequent supper-party sounded like a dream of delight as she described them. Which was what they had been, of course. It was only the ending which had been so disastrous.

  Mary, who was a great one for detail, naturally put her finger on the weak spot and asked, ‘How was the journey back, after all that?’

  ‘The less said about that, the better,’ Felicity told her lightly. ‘Julia Morton chose to return from London also at just that moment. So we had the doubtful pleasure of her company.’

  And if Mary gathered from this that Stephen had regarded the addition to the party in that light too, Felicity hoped somewhat disingenuously that was the impression she had given.

  She went about her work both at Carmalton School and Tarkmans with all her usual conscientious attention. But she knew that something of her natural enthusiasm and pleasure had gone out of it. She simply could not find the familiar joy in it. But she had no idea that this was apparent to anyone else until Janet said to her one day,

  ‘Miss Grainger, aren’t you well?’

  ‘Well, Janet? Yes, of course I’m well. What made you think otherwise?’

  ‘You’re quiet and, somehow, sad. You don’t smile so often over the musical jokes that Haydn and Mozart make. I just — wondered.’

  This acute observation by the usually dreamy Janet so struck Felicity that she was silent for a moment, and Janet went on, ‘You aren’t worrying about not getting me into Tarkmans, are you?’

  ‘No, Janet.’ Felicity laughed a little, but she forbore to mention any fresh hopes for fear of further disappointment. After all, Stephen’s final reaction to Anthea’s interference was still very much in doubt, and it was difficult to say just how far Anthea would press her support if he showed determined opposition.

  ‘I daresay I’ve been getting a bit overtired,’ she told Janet reassuringly. ‘It’s quite something getting used to doing the two jobs, you know.’

  ‘But you like being at Tarkmans, don’t you?’ Janet pressed.

  ‘I love it!’ Felicity spoke with emphasis. For, however unhappy she might be at the moment, it was inconceivable that her pleasure in her work could be permanently affected. ‘Satisfied?’ She smiled at Janet.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Janet picked up her violin thoughtfully. ‘Yes, certainly — if you say it’s all right.’

  And at that moment there was a tap on the music-room door, and a prefect looked in.

  ‘Mrs: Bush said to tell you she has a visitor for you, Miss Grainger. She’ll be bringing him along in a minute or two.’

  ‘A visitor? — in school hours?’ Felicity’s natural surprise was immediately tinged with unfamiliar apprehension, and her thoughts flew to Stephen and the nightmare possibility that he had come to say she was no longer wanted at Tarkmans. But the absurdity of his taking that line, however angry he might be, reassuringly banished the thought, just as Janet said,

  ‘Shall I go?’

  ‘Mrs. Bush said he was for Janet too,’ observed the prefect, looking frankly curious.

  ‘Oh!’ Another, much, much more exciting possibility then presented itself to Felicity, and she said, ‘All right, Marion — thank you.’ And then to Janet, ‘We’ll just go on with your lesson.’

  Janet, who had a remarkable capacity for dismissing the irrelevant (or what was to her irrelevant) and concentrating on essentials, lightly flicked the strings of her instrument to make sure it was still in tune and then, nodding to Felicity, who was seated at the piano, she launched into the third movement of the Mozart sonata she was studying at the moment.

  Felicity was facing the door and saw immediately when it opened. She would have paused for her headmistress in any case, but since on this occasion Mrs. Bush was accompanied by Oscar Warrender, she came to an abrupt stop.

  But Warrender said briefly, ‘Go on.’ And, since Janet had not even faltered, Felicity resumed her part.

  With equal courtesy and firmness, the conductor somehow dismissed Mrs. Bush from the scene, without offence and without question. Then he stood by the door, his head slightly bent, his whole attention, Felicity felt sure, on what he was hearing.

  He looked up suddenly and said, ‘Wait — ’ so authoritatively that Janet as well as Felicity stopped. Then he came forward, past Felicity at the piano, and asked Janet as though he were really interested in what she had to say, ‘Why did you take that repeated phrase so unusually slowly?’

  ‘Because I think the repetition is a — a sort of looking back,’ was the unhesitating reply. ‘It’s the only repetition in three pages of a — an onward sweep. I think it’s a pause in thought. A lingering pause in thought. Or perhaps it’s just — ’ she took off her glasses and smiled at the conductor — ‘that Mozart liked it so much he couldn’t resist repeating it.’

  Warrender laughed.

  ‘Mozart was too well disciplined to repeat anything just for the pleasure of doing it,’ he said, as though speaking to a grown-up. ‘But the lingering pause in thought — yes, I suppose it could be a nostalgic backward look. It’s quite an interesting idea. A bit fanciful, but not illogical. I’d like to hear the second movement. I’ll play for you.’ He gave Felicity the same politely dismissing glance he had given Mrs. Bush, and she ro
se at once.

  ‘No,’ stated Janet with unexpected firmness. ‘I’d like Miss Grainger to stay.’

  ‘Why? You’re not nervous of me, are you?’

  ‘Oh, no!’ Janet looked surprised. ‘You’re Mr. Warrender, aren’t you? I recognized you when I took off my glasses. There’s a photograph of you on the cover of the recording of the Brahms First. It’s a wonderful recording, and I think you conduct it jolly well.’

  ‘You set my mind at rest,’ said Oscar Warrender. ‘Why do you want Miss Grainger to stay if you aren’t nervous? I understood you were a very nervous little girl.’

  ‘Oh, no. Not of anyone like you,’ Janet explained. ‘Only of my Aunt Julia.’

  If the famous conductor found it chastening to be rated as less intimidating than anyone’s Aunt Julia he concealed the fact and merely repeated, ‘Why do you want Miss Grainger to stay?’

  ‘Because she’s had everything to do with my playing. She’s helped and encouraged me, and done all the hard work of teaching me. Now it’s exciting to have you come and listen to me, and I think she should enjoy it too.’

  ‘Miss Grainger, you may stay,’ observed Warrender, and he went to the piano. ‘Second movement, Janet. And I’d like you to stand where you and I can see each other.’

  She moved her music-stand immediately, so that she stood facing him. Then she put on her glasses again and nodded to him, using exactly the same little gesture with which she indicated to Felicity that she was ready to begin.

  But, instead of accepting his cue, he said, quite kindly, ‘Think about those opening phrases for a moment, Janet. They’re among the most beautiful in the whole range of music. Very simple, but the ultimate expression of a great musical thought.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Janet. And she paused obediently for a minute or two. Then she looked at him again and they both smiled. He softly struck the opening chords on the piano and, strongly and sweetly, unhurriedly but confidently, the violin came in on the rising melody.