a special solo in the upcoming concert. She’s quite the revelation! Really come out of her, ah ha, shell.’ As he speaks, his fingers dig into my sleeve momentarily.
‘I thought something still in the ecclesiastical mould, Carmen,’ he says, and I’d like to step back, but I’ve got nowhere to go, ‘but a little lighter, to leaven the vigorousness of the Mahler. Perhaps something by John Rutter? Or a Willcocks arrangement?’ Who? I have to remind myself sharply to shut Carmen’s mouth.
He beams at me, and I hope Carmen’s face is registering enthusiasm, though, in truth, I have neither the time nor any interest in committing more music to memory. Carmen, the real Carmen, would probably be feeling euphoria right about now. Followed in rapid order — and I’d put good money on it — by crippling self-doubt.
There’s no let-up from Tiffany. She comes right back with, ‘Carmen and I often perform duets at St Joseph’s.
We have plenty prepared. Would you believe one of them’s actually a Rutter composition — you’d know it, I’m sure, Mr Masson — Angels’ Carol. It would be perfect to round out the program —’
‘In fact,’ I cut in quickly, ‘why not let Tiffany do the solo? She’s had loads more experience. She’d be a natural for a killer finale, right, Tiff?’ I feel a sudden twinge of discomfort— like a stitch in my side — see Delia and Marisol lock eyes in disbelief.
Tiffany’s expression dissolves, unflatteringly, into shock.
‘Why, thank you for your kind offer, Tiffany,’ Gerard Masson returns quickly, still standing way too close for comfort, ‘but I have a number of specific works in mind that I think would really bring out Carmen’s particular gifts. I thought we might open with you, my dear,’ he says, returning his full attention to me eagerly. ‘Give the audience something uplifting to begin the evening with before we, ah ha, hit them with everything we’ve got, so to speak. Can you stay behind after tonight’s rehearsal and we’ll get down to brass tacks? There’ll be a few extra rehearsals involved as well — all one on one with me, of course, there’s no time to waste — but you seem a quick study, it should pose no extra difficulty for you, I’m sure.
I’ve already cleared it with Fiona Fellows, who is all for you taking on more responsibility. Said it would do you good.’ I bet she did, I think grimly. What can I do but nod my head tightly?
My answer secured, the man finally lets go of me and sails ahead to the podium, crying, ‘Let’s mix it up this morning, people! We’ve got one more week after today to knock this thing on the head!’ As he says this, he shoots me a conspiratorial wink. It doesn’t go unnoticed.
‘You’re so two-faced,’ Tiffany hisses angrily, before turning a cold shoulder on me.
Conditions in the rehearsal space are almost as arctic, and the prospect of having to enter this room and start all over again the following Monday makes even me groan out loud.
Mr Masson continues, deliberately upbeat. ‘Today, Miss Dustin and I will take the general chorus ladies — choirs one and two — in the assembly hall.’ The
‘ladies’ in question roll their eyes and bitch loudly among themselves. ‘Mr Barry and Miss Fellows will take the general chorus men in the seniors’ rec room.’
‘Over my dead body!’ snorts one wag loudly, to accompanying laughter.
‘ I solisti,’ Mr Masson says in a hammy Italian accent, ignoring the joker with a fixed smile, ‘will have some special one-on-one time with Mr Stenborg. He’s had a few good ideas about how to sharpen up the boys’ entry into Figure 30. You have to admit it’s still pretty sloppy. I’ve asked him to work on individual entries and exits with each of you.’
‘Spencer, Spencer, Spencer,’ someone interjects, to more laughter.
I scan the room and pick out Spencer easily in the thin line-up of tenors. He’s blushing a fiery red as usual, and dressed again like a mail-order-catalogue model, which does him no favours.
Mr Masson frowns. ‘Now, now, we’re not singling out anybody for punishment here. From where I’m standing, everyone could use a little work. Carmen excepted, of course.’ He beams again my way when he says this, the stupid idiot, and plenty of people begin to whisper, craning their necks to see my reaction.
‘She’s been note perfect and unimpeachable since she “rediscovered” her groove,’ he says, ‘which is more than I can say about the rest of you.’ His tone is light, to keep the sting out of his words, but Tiffany flushes an unbecoming maroon, because, let’s face it, she’s been right on the money, too. Only no one’s noticed lately, and that’s got to be a first for her.
‘Crush alert,’ someone hisses maliciously behind me, and people around me roll their eyes and laugh.
The expression on my face doesn’t change. I don’t even turn around. Because, unlike the real Carmen, I don’t care what people think.
‘Soloists, follow Paul, if you please,’ Gerard Masson finishes. He stumbles slightly against the microphone as he steps away from the conductor’s podium, but only I seem to notice it.
Tiffany’s the first to her feet, hugging her music to her chest and chatting animatedly to Paul Stenborg’s clean, Nordic profile before the rest of us have even gathered our things. The seven of us follow the handsome choirmaster into the same room the sopranos occupied the day before, and draw up seats close around the piano — Tiffany front and centre as usual; me out on the margin, nearest the door; Spencer settling in shyly beside me.
He raises his eyebrows wordlessly as if to say: Here we go again. I return the gesture.
I’ll have to get to Gerard Masson during one of my ‘special’ rehearsals. It will almost be worth being stuck in a practice room with the guy just to know for sure.
Chapter 19
‘Now, isn’t this cosy?’ says Paul Stenborg gravely, but with a twinkle in his eyes, as he plays a loud piano chord with a flourish and turns half-around on the piano stool to face us, sunlight glinting off his steel frames, his artfully tousled hair.
He works patiently on the entry to Figure 30 with the boys, drilling them on their individual weaknesses, before attending to the handful of entries that are led off by a bass or an alto.
‘ Lumen accende sensibus,’ — kindle our senses with light — he sings at one point, shadowing Delia note for note during a difficult passage around Figure 33.
I sit straighter in astonishment. His voice is like liquid amber — light, pure, supple. Itself wholly remarkable and more beautiful by far than Delia’s pedestrian instrument.
A countertenor’s voice, an angel’s voice, a complete show stopper. The man is a mystery box. Clearly, more than just great window dressing. I wonder again how he could be content with all … this.
‘ Amorem cordibus,’ he corrects Spencer gently a moment later, rolling his R s extravagantly. ‘Your vowels are far too flat. This is a romance language, Spencer Grady. The mother of all romance languages. The phrase is literally begging you to put some heart into it.’ He laughs at his little joke. Only I get it.
Strangely, Paul does not look my way all morning.
Instead, he’s incredibly attentive to Tiffany, the other girls; at times, he’s even almost kind to Spencer, who hardly wriggles in the seat beside me. It’s like I’m invisible again. Is he angry with me? I can’t catch and hold Paul’s gaze, and I’m intrigued, almost piqued.
Maybe he means for me to be. Whatever, I’m happy to play along. It’s giving me time to think. I don’t enjoy being the centre of attention, never have. Though I can handle it. There’s a distinct difference.
‘Time’s almost up, children,’ Paul says eventually, swinging across the back of the piano seat to face us.
‘I know that some of you are interested in pursuing a career on the stage beyond high school, and are more than competent to do so …’ He looks directly at Tiffany and Delia and smiles. And the girls — cast-iron bitches both — actually blush with pleasure. ‘So since that’s the case,’ he adds, turning back to face the keyboard, ‘let’s see how much of our good work this morning has actually sunk in. I’m going to take it from the top and you’re really going to have to keep up. The weak will fall by the wayside,’ he warns with a soft laugh. ‘And there will be no mercy.’ I flinch at the word.
Flinch again as Paul strikes the first chord of the piano accompaniment. He’s true to his promise, working his way through the piece at a flying tempo, only stopping occasionally to beat in Tiffany, Delia, Spencer, the other two boys, with his right hand while his left continues to dance across the keyboard.
