Cadenza

by Stella Riley

  ‘Does Rockliffe know?’ began Julian. And stopped when, beyond Arabella, he saw who his visitors were. For an instant, he looked stunned. Then a dazzling smile dawned and he walked into Miss Bea’s warm embrace, followed by a brisk one from Miss Abigail and a laughing one from Janet.

  ‘My goodness, Julian!’ she said. ‘You actually look like an earl.’

  ‘You didn’t think we’d miss this, did you?’ grinned Paul, shaking his hand. ‘We know you don’t need moral support or good luck wishes – but we wanted to bring them anyway.’

  ‘I – I don’t know what to say,’ stammered Julian. ‘I never expected or thought it might be possible … but God! It’s so good to see you all. Thank you. Thank you for coming.’

  ‘Thank Arabella,’ said Miss Abigail. ‘She arranged everything.’

  ‘You did?’ He turned to Arabella. ‘Do the children know?’

  ‘I told them half an hour ago. Before that, I couldn’t trust them to keep the secret. But we mustn’t stay – it’s nearly time and we ought to take our seats. I just wanted you to know your friends were here.’

  With a final round of well-wishing, the Beckingham party withdrew leaving Arabella and Julian alone. Impulsively, she placed her hands on his shoulders, reached up to brush his mouth with hers … and instantly found herself being thoroughly, if briefly, kissed. Then Julian said, ‘Thank you for that.’

  She smiled at him and turned to go. ‘It wasn’t any trouble. They are staying with --’

  ‘Thank you for that, too. But I meant the kiss.’

  By the time Arabella took her seat, having found a cushion for Ellie to sit on and sandwiched all three very smartly-dressed children between herself and Janet Featherstone, it was five minutes to six. She looked at the platform, ablaze with tall candelabra and set with chairs and music-stands for the ensemble, strategically placed around Rockliffe’s superb harpsichord. A small shiver of mingled excitement and apprehension slithered down her back and she wondered how Julian was feeling.

  Decorated with enormous pots of flowers on pedestals, the body of the ballroom was illuminated only by wall sconces which gave it a shadowy air of mystery. Every seat was occupied and the room was buzzing with laughter and conversation as Rockliffe’s guests speculated upon the contents of the scrolls tied with blood-red ribbon, one of which lay waiting on each chair. Arabella, her heart still filling her chest from Julian’s unexpected kiss, looked at hers for a long moment before slowly untying it.

  The concert was to begin with the Mozart concerto, with Julian’s solo programme following after the interval. This was laid out by composer – the first being Johann Sebastian Bach. Arabella smiled, happy to see that Julian had chosen to begin his recital with the Fantasia in C minor, followed by an Allemande from a Partita she didn’t think she knew and finally the Allegro from the Italian Concerto – which she did. Next came three pieces by Rameau, one she recalled being a pretty thing with a series of complex variations. And then came the Andante from a concerto by Johann Christian Bach … intriguingly labelled Arranged for solo harpsichord, J. Langham.

  Oh, thought Arabella, with a frisson of excitement. I didn’t know that was possible – and imagine most other people don’t either. It sounds clever … and it will pave the way for one of his own compositions later.

  But neither of the remaining items on the programme were Julian’s own. They comprised a pair of Scarlatti sonatas and two pieces by Joseph-Nicholas-Pancrace Royer who Arabella didn’t think she had ever heard of. Or had she? Not that it mattered. What did matter – at least to her – was that Julian hadn’t included any of his own music, most specifically, the Sarabande she had asked for. Just for a moment, she felt disappointed. Then she reminded herself that Julian knew what he was doing. If he had left his own compositions out, he’d done it for a reason.

  Somewhere, a clock chimed the hour. The ensemble players filed out to take their places and, once they were seated, Rockliffe strolled into the centre of the platform. Silence fell throughout the room.

  ‘The duchess and I welcome you to Wynstanton House and to what we believe will be a memorable occasion. I shall not sing Mr Langham’s praises because you are about to witness his gifts for yourselves. I shall merely say that I am as eager for this evening’s performance to begin as you are – since I have not, you will be amazed to learn, been permitted to hear so much as a note of it.’ He was rewarded by a ripple of amusement and when it died away, added simply, ‘Ladies and gentlemen … please welcome Julian Langham.’

  Applause filled the air; some of it polite and some, from obvious quarters, wildly enthusiastic. And into it, Julian walked unhurriedly on to the platform. He bowed to Rockliffe, shook hands with the first violinist and finally, with a faint smile, bowed to the audience – at which point, the polite applause became noticeably warmer. From behind her, Arabella heard a gentleman murmur, ‘There’s not a sheet of music on the harpsichord and he’s brought none with him. How on earth--?’ And a lady promptly shushed him, adding, ‘With looks like that, who cares?’

  Julian took his seat and played an A so that his fellow musicians could check their tuning. Then, this done and all of them appearing ready, he placed his own hands above the keyboard, gave one decisive nod … and they began.

  The music was, quite unmistakably, Mozart’s. Elegant, tuneful and charming, it couldn’t have been composed by anyone else. Arabella had always loved Mozart. Listening to it now, she supposed she still did. But as the Allegro progressed, she began to realise that it wasn’t taxing Julian at all. True, it was beautiful … but it was also comfortable and, compared to other pieces she now knew, just a little bit safe. A glance at the faces around her, most of which were smiling, told her they didn’t share her opinion. She wondered if that would change later when they learned the full scope of Julian’s ability.

  In fact, Julian didn’t make them wait that long. He demonstrated it in the Rondo by performing his own sizzling arrangement of Mozart’s cadenza. Since the concerto was new to them, the audience could not know that. But the new heights of technical complexity were impossible to miss … and when the piece drew to its close, the surprised and enthusiastic reception told Arabella that people were beginning to realise they could look forward to something truly extraordinary.

  Julian bowed and turned immediately to acknowledge the ensemble who also bowed. He and the first violinist shook hands again and, since the applause was still continuing, everyone took another bow. Then, with a nod and a smile, Julian led the way from the platform, leaving Rockliffe to invite the audience to withdraw for a restorative glass of wine while the stage was re-set for the second part of the concert.

  Rob said eagerly, ‘Can we go and see Sir Julian now?’

  ‘Yes – but we mustn’t stay long. He still has a lot of work ahead of him,’ replied Arabella, half her attention tuned to snatches of conversation going on around her.

  They found Julian still surrounded by the ensemble, all of whom wore huge smiles. The cellist said, ‘Sir – working with you has been a privilege. I’m sure I speak for us all when I ask that, if you ever have need of a chamber consort again, you will bear us in mind.’

  ‘I will indeed, Mr Roland,’ agreed Julian promptly. ‘And I thank all of you for your support and patience – as well as a first-class performance.’ Catching sight of Arabella and the children hovering in the doorway, he added, ‘Now go and take up the duke’s offer of a drink. You’ve earned it.’

  They filed past Arabella, looking bashful when she added her own compliments. Meanwhile, Ellie winnowed her way through to demand that Julian admire her new dress.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ he said gravely. ‘I particularly like the frills. And the hair-ribbon.’ He looked at Arabella. ‘What are they saying out there?’

  ‘They loved it. They’re marvelling that you played the whole concerto without a note of music in front of you and I heard a couple of gentlemen arguing about the cadenza. One assumed it must be Mozart’s own – the other
said it wasn’t.’ She smiled at him. ‘It was yours, wasn’t it?’

  ‘It was mine … with Mozart’s wrapped up inside it.’

  ‘Is that allowed?’ asked Rob dubiously. ‘Changing it, I mean?’

  ‘Yes. Cadenzas are the soloist’s chance to show off.’ Julian grinned. ‘So I did.’

  ‘Spectacularly.’ Arabella eyed him thoughtfully. ‘Did you enjoy yourself?’

  ‘Yes. But I’ll enjoy the second half more.’

  ‘I think I will, too … though I wish you had included something of your own.’

  He laughed and shook his head. ‘Wait and see what happens.’

  * * *

  By the time everyone returned to their seats, the platform had been cleared of everything except the harpsichord, its music-rest still empty and folded flat. This time, Rockliffe made no announcement but merely sat chatting to Lord Amberley until Julian emerged to immediate and welcoming applause. He bowed, smiled and took his place on the bench to sit perfectly still, his hands lying loose and relaxed on his thighs and his head slightly bent while the audience settled into an expectant hush. Then, lifting both head and hands, he sent the opening bars of the Fantasia singing bright and clear through the air … and Arabella promptly stopped breathing. Gradually, it occurred to her that she wasn’t the only one who had done so. The entire audience seemed suddenly frozen; fans stopped fluttering and no one moved or spoke or coughed. For four-and –a-quarter minutes, every single person’s attention remained utterly focussed on the man at the harpsichord. And then, as one, they broke into a storm of applause.

  They should not have done … so Julian hadn’t expected it. This was an educated audience, perfectly aware that the correct form was not to applaud until the end of the section – in this case, after the Allegro. Clearly no one cared about that. His mind still largely in the place it went when he played, he turned a gaze of baffled amusement on his audience and lifted one staying hand. Then, not waiting for silence but simply commanding it, he embarked on the Allemande.

  Arabella watched him, captivated as she always was by the changing expressions on his face, by the tilt of his head and the times he played, eyes closed, plainly engulfed by the magic he was creating. He didn’t just play with his hands. He seemed to play with his whole body … as if he felt each note and chord and phrase in every part of him. And this time, when he brought the Allemande to its end, his audience remained quiet and still, waiting for whatever jewel might come next. But at the conclusion of the Allegro, there was more deafening applause … and this time Julian rose from the bench, walked to the edge of the platform and bowed, hand on heart. There was a sort of touching humility to that bow which wasn’t lost on his audience and which caused the applause to go on for longer than it might otherwise have done. But when it finally dwindled, Julian did what not even Arabella had expected – though she quickly realised that she should have done. Asking for silence with the same small gesture he’d used before, he said simply, ‘I ask your forgiveness, ladies and gentlemen – but I shall play better without this.’ And he took off his coat.

  There were a few gasps. Then, from somewhere away to her left, Arabella heard a crack of laughter and Sebastian Audley’s voice calling, ‘Just the coat, Julian. Otherwise the ladies may faint.’ Which, naturally enough, provoked still more laughter – making it clear that the audience was ready to forgive anything.

  Julian merely smiled, handed his coat to a footman and resumed his seat to begin the sequence of delicate Rameau pieces. During them and for the first time since the concert had begun, Arabella let her eyes stray to the children. Ellie was wide-eyed, Rob looked dazzled and Tom wore an expression of such fierce pride that she had to blink back tears. Not one of them had fidgeted or said a word since Julian had played his first note.

  The pause before the Johann Christian Bach Andante was a long one. Julian sat perfectly still, his gaze resting on the keyboard, apparently unconcerned that his audience was silent and waiting with eager anticipation to hear what he had done with the music of Johann Sebastian’s youngest son. But finally, he drew a long steady breath … and began.

  From its very first notes, the main theme emerged haunting and beautiful … tugging mercilessly at the heartstrings as it promised fulfilment before once again falling away into loneliness and searching. Every emotion the harpsichord expressed was written on Julian’s face and in his posture. By the middle of it, half the ladies in the audience – Arabella included – had recourse to their handkerchiefs while the gentlemen sat tight-jawed. If anyone had doubted that they were listening to a true virtuoso, the masterly dynamics and perfectly controlled emotion in Julian’s performance of the Andante banished them.

  When his hands left the keys and the last, gentle notes died away there was utter silence. Julian didn’t appear to notice it. Even from where she sat, Arabella could see the disruption in his breathing.

  ‘Why aren’t they clapping?’ whispered Ellie, confused. ‘It was good, wasn’t it?’

  Unable to trust her voice, Arabella merely hugged the child and nodded.

  Then, from the back of the room, a gentleman stood up and began to applaud, calling out, ‘Bravo! Bravo, indeed!’ Astoundingly, it was Ralph Sherbourne. And as if waking from a trance, more and more people followed his example until the entire audience was on its feet, wildly applauding. Rob and Ellie jumped up and down. Tom shouted himself hoarse. Arabella turned to Max, sitting on her other side and said helplessly, ‘What has he done? He can’t possibly eclipse that. No one could!’

  Max merely shrugged, grinned and continued clapping.

  On the platform, wearing a faintly dazed expression, Julian bowed and bowed again. Then, as if he didn’t know what else to do, he resumed his seat on the bench and waited.

  Eventually the tumult died down, people settled back into their places and Julian launched into the Scarlatti sonatas. The first was an unashamed display of technical brilliance; the second, softer and more lyrical. The audience appreciated both … but Arabella detected an air of increased anticipation. As if everyone believed that something remarkable lay in wait. Around her, she could hear people asking each other if they’d heard of Langham’s final choice of composer. And in the end, unable to bear it any longer, Rob turned around and informed the row behind him that Royer was French – and dead.

  ‘Really?’ asked one gentleman lazily. ‘You’re a very well-informed young man.’

  ‘Vertigo is my favourite,’ replied Rob. ‘I’m going to learn it one day.’

  ‘And is that why Mr Langham has saved it for the end?’ the same gentlemen enquired.

  ‘No.’ Tom turned his head. ‘He did it because it’s the only piece the duke asked him for especially.’

  Arabella’s eyes widened a little. She hadn’t known that Rockliffe had requested anything. Max murmured, ‘This should be interesting.’

  On the platform, Julian took his time adjusting the settings within the harpsichord. Once again, he was content to let the silence linger because the effect of what he was about to do would be the greater for it. La Marche des Scythes was going to shock them. He doubted any of them had ever heard anything like it … and he knew it was a risk. If they recognised that the reason they had never heard it before was because few harpsichordists had either the skill or the courage to play it, the risk would pay off. If not … well, he refused to think of that. Instead, he brought his hands down on the keyboard with sudden ferocity and plunged into the piece’s darkly furious opening.

  Jaws dropped, some people physically flinched and the numerous gasps went unheard against the thunder of the music – which suddenly sounded like four instruments, rather than one. Head down and eyes on his flying hands, Julian hovered between exultation and incipient laughter. Wild, dramatic and fiendishly difficult, La Marche yet had its unexpectedly playful moments. But none of it left room in his head or the world around him for anything but the explosive torrent of notes, spilling over like a surging tide.

  La M
arche stopped as abruptly as it had begun, leaving a deafening silence behind. Julian turned slowly and surveyed the audience, undismayed by the expression he glimpsed on most faces. He’d thrown down a musical gauntlet and they didn’t know what to make of it. Then Rockliffe came to his feet and said, ‘Congratulations, Julian. You promised me a surprise and have certainly delivered one. That was … extraordinary.’ And he led a round of applause which grew less and less ragged as the shock started to wear off.

  Julian bowed but didn’t return to his seat. When the room fell quiet again, he said, ‘Most of you are probably unfamiliar with Monsieur Royer’s work. Allow me to reassure you that Le Vertigo is easier on the ears.’

  A few people clapped and there was a scattering of laughter over which someone said, ‘Thank God for that. Mine are still ringing from the last one.’

  Julian shoved back the usual recalcitrant lock of hair and, over his shoulder as he sat down, said, ‘Mine, too.’

  Leaning closer to Arabella, Max said, ‘Is he supposed to chat to the audience?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t he? Rockliffe doesn’t mind. And they like him, don’t they?’

  ‘Oh yes. They like him. He has them in the palm of his hand – even after that unholy racket he just played. God only knows how he had the nerve.’

  ‘Shh,’ hissed his mother. ‘Julian’s ready to begin.’

  A melodic, almost lazy sequence of notes drifted through the room, followed by rippling runs and trills which resolved themselves into dreamy arpeggios. All the emotion of the Johann Christian Bach Andante seemed to be waiting in the wings and the audience settled into a state of comfortable expectation … only to be jerked awake by a pounding series of harmonically shifting chords.