The main course came, and suddenly they both discovered that they were very hungry. Later, over a shared dessert, Brock casually came out with the question that had been haunting him all week. It seemed that the tall, tanned man pushing Suzanne’s trolley at the airport was an acquaintance of her sister’s from Sydney, who just happened to be on the same flight.
The concert was to be held in a new library and community centre in Michael Grant’s constituency. The radical-looking structure, a prismatic blue oblong supported along one side by oddly angled columns,looked as if it had been dropped in,by helicopter perhaps, among the jumble of scruffy buildings cowering beneath the street lights and drizzle along the high street. As she and Tom made their way towards it, Kathy could see other people, some in suits with umbrellas and others in anoraks and jeans,heading under the raking columns towards the entrance. They waited in the shelter of the overhang until they saw Nicole and Lloyd running towards them, hugged and shook hands and made their way inside, where a stairway took them up into the belly of a curving pod, within which they found themselves in the foyer of the community hall.
Michael Grant was there, welcoming visitors. He shook their hands warmly, showing where they could leave their coats and find a glass of orange juice or wine, and said to Tom, ‘You must introduce your friends to Andrea. There she is, over there.’
He gestured towards a very attractive young woman who was talking animatedly with another couple. As they approached, however, the group broke up and the young woman turned away to speak to someone else.Tom led Kathy and the other two past her to a small, erect, grey-haired woman whose glass was being refilled.
‘Andrea!’ he cried, and bent to kiss her on the cheek.
‘Tom!’ The elderly woman’s eyes twinkled with delight.‘And is this Kathy? At last, I’ve heard so much about you.’ She took Kathy’s hand and squeezed it hard.
Andrea, Kathy later discovered, had been the CEO of a merchant bank in the City and then the head of a large charity before retiring, becoming very bored, and joining Grant’s office. As she talked, pointing out people who were present, it was clear that her mind and her wit were razor sharp. It transpired that the attractive young woman they had seen was Michael Grant’s daughter Elizabeth, who would be performing for them that evening with three of her friends from the Guildhall School of Music and Drama.
‘She’s extremely talented,’Andrea whispered,‘and very beautiful. Isn’t that the most perfect complexion? Creamy butterscotch. One day,when the mixing pot has done its work,we’ll all have skin like that,the ultimate human colouring.Too late for a wrinkled old mouse like me.’
She pointed out Grant’s wife, too, an elegant, rather calm-looking woman alongside her husband’s restless vitality, in conversation with a couple who looked as if they’d dressed for the opera at Covent Garden, and whose stiff expressions suggested they wished they were there instead.
‘Nigel Hadden-Vane and his wife,’ Andrea explained. She pronounced his name with an exaggerated posh accent that made it sound like ‘hard and vain’. ‘Tory MP, on Michael’s HAC-sorry, Home Affairs Committee. The enemy,’ she added,‘or one of them. Margaret Hart does her best to keep him in line.’ She pointed out a woman wearing a dramatic deep-red cloak.‘She’s the chair of the committee. Great fun. She tells people exactly what she thinks of them.You can watch them live on webcast. There’s another round of sittings coming up. But of course you’ve got better things to do.
‘Talking about the enemy, the person I’d really like to have invited here is Edward Roach-I’ve never met him in the flesh. Have you? No. But your Mr Brock has, hasn’t he? Is he coming tonight?’
‘He was invited,Andrea,’Tom said.‘Though he seems to have a lot on his mind at the moment.’
But at that moment Kathy spotted him arriving at the top of the stairs, making his way towards Michael Grant, who greeted him enthusiastically. She watched them talking together and was struck by how different Brock looked from when she’d last seen him in his office, weary and preoccupied. Now he had a smart haircut and seemed ten years younger and as animated as Grant. The MP led him over to meet his wife and daughter, and it was apparent from the way they were responding that he was being amusing and charming.
There were other faces there that Kathy recognised-Father Maguire,Winnie Wellington and, to her surprise, George Murray, trying to keep out of Winnie’s line of sight. He looked anxious when he saw Kathy watching him, and she smiled and gave him a little wave. As they took their seats, Lloyd made some comment about classical music and what to do if he started snoring too loudly. It occurred to Kathy that Lloyd had insulated himself with a few drinks before coming. ‘The tragedy is he means it,’ Nicole said, as Michael Grant appeared on the stage and silence fell.
Grant welcomed them and gave an outline of the youth programs their money would support,then introduced his daughter and her companions.Elizabeth took the microphone and explained that they called their ensemble ‘Doctor Breeze’, taking the name of the warm trade wind that soothes the beaches of Jamaica.They had selected a variety of pieces of music, she said, to reflect the diversity of the audience and the community they represented. She was a flautist, holding her flute as she spoke, and she introduced a classical guitarist, a cellist, and a young man at the piano, but behind them the audience could see other more esoteric instruments laid out on a table-a lute, a viola da gamba and others.
They began with Telemann, and Kathy heard Lloyd groan softly and saw him close his eyes. From Baroque Europe they then moved to twentieth-century South America with a piece by Villa-Lobos, then further south to Argentina and Astor Piazzolla, for whom Elizabeth exchanged her flute for an accordion-like bandoneon, to capture the poignant spirit of the Tango Nuevo. As the group moved from classical to jazz to world music, exchanging instruments, centuries and countries, the audience seemed to fall under a spell, both stimulated and lulled by every unexpected twist in the journey. They finished with a Vietnamese piece by an American composer, Monica Houghton, ‘We Rise Above Our Little Quarrels’, and by the end the listeners really did seem transformed. The applause was spontaneous, a single roar of sound, to which the group responded modestly. An encore was demanded, and they ended by returning to the eighteenth century from which they had begun, this time with Marin Marais. Lloyd had fallen asleep, and mumbled his objections as Nicole dug him in the ribs and they got to their feet.
Kathy wondered if she should say hello to Brock before they left, but he was deep in conversation with Jennifer Grant and the others were keen to leave, so they joined the crowd milling around the cloakroom. Kathy found herself standing next to Kerrie, the manager of Grant’s office in Cockpit Lane, and they were chatting about the concert when the imposing figure of Hadden-Vane swept by.Stopped momentarily by the congestion,he half turned to them. Noticing the flounce of a blue silk handkerchief in his top pocket to match his tie, Kathy thought of Martin Connell’s story about the MP and the knickers. She smiled, then abruptly suppressed it as Hadden-Vane turned and looked straight at her.His eyes connected, then passed on to Kerrie and lit up. He leaned towards her in a little bow and said softly,‘Hello,Kerrie.Enjoy the show?’
She smiled back and he continued on his way. Seeing Kathy’s look of surprise, Kerrie, still smiling to herself, said,‘He’s an MP. Full of himself. Reckon they all are over there, don’t you?’
Their coats arrived and Kathy said goodbye and joined the others. They headed down the street for a curry at a place nearby that Lloyd recommended. They took their seats and while they waited for their drinks to arrive they talked about the concert. Lloyd queried the fact that they’d played so many different instruments. He seemed to think this was a bit flashy and disreputable until Tom suggested it was like being a pentathlete. Then Lloyd caught the look on Nicole’s face and changed the subject. ‘Your boss didn’t show up then, Kathy?’
‘Yes, he did eventually. He was talking to Grant’s wife when we left, otherwise I’d have introduced you.’
‘Pity, I’d have liked to have met the great man before he quits.’
Kathy was used to Lloyd playing the joker, and she assumed from his exaggeratedly innocent expression and the flicker of exasperation on Nicole’s face that he was having her on. Still, she took the bait and said,‘Quits?’
‘Sure, any day now is what I hear. Hasn’t Tom told you that he’s taking over?’
Now it was Tom rolling his eyes, as if this was an old joke that had outlived its use-by date.
‘No, I don’t think he mentioned that.’ ‘Really?’Lloyd frowned with puzzlement and concern.‘Well,
he’s told us all about it, hasn’t he, Nic?’
‘Shut up, Lloyd,’ Nicole answered, but Kathy noticed she didn’t actually deny it. Tom was looking uncomfortable.
‘Oh God, yes, all kinds of plans to streamline . . .’
