Appassionata

little dog loose.’

Marcus trailed miserably through the park. The white hawthorn bushes were so like fluffy white sheep and their lambs that Marcus half-expected the smaller bushes to run bleating up to the larger ones as he approached.

Declan cornered him in the summer-house.

‘Darling boy, I’m onotterably sorry about the rift with your father. Are you OK?’

The boy didn’t look it; he was wheezing terribly and was far whiter than the cherry trees which were steadily snowing down their petals.

‘I hear you had a great triumph with Rachmaninov.’

‘It was OK.’

‘Taggie sent special, if surreptitious, love.’

Marcus looked up.

‘She did? D’you think Dad will ever forgive me?’

Declan shrugged his massive shoulders.

‘He blames you for Tabitha’s defection. She’s still in the Rannaldini camp, riding wonderful horses in America. He also thinks Rannaldini masterminded your Rachmaninov concert.’

‘But that was George’s doing,’ stammered Marcus, really agitated, fighting desperately for breath. ‘I haven’t spoken to Rannaldini since he married my mother. He’s destroying her.’

‘Let me talk to Rupert.’

‘No, no,’ Marcus shook his head frantically. ‘It wouldn’t do any good.’

What would Rupert do with a gay son? Marcus thought despairingly.

Cathie Jones leant against a wall, empty glass hidden in the folds of her skirt. Blue stood beside her close enough for the hairs on their arms to touch, neither able to speak. For once she didn’t mind that Carmine was in the bushes with Lindy Cardew. Half a dozen people had drifted over in the last half-hour and praised her solo, giving Blue the perfect opportunity to escape, but he was still there.

As the last person moved on, he said: ‘I ought to get you another drink, but I’m terrified you’ll vanish. I’m going to make sure the programme needs a cor anglais when we go on tour in October, then you can come, too.’

A limousine had arrived to take Georgie home.

‘Thank you for a heavenly evening — can I come back soon?’ she asked George and Miles as, swaying on her high heels, she fell back into the car.

‘Of course you can.’

‘And we’re going to lunch.’ She waved at Declan.

‘Indeed we are.’

Then, seeing Marcus, she called out wistfully: ‘Will you say goodbye to Flora for me? I haven’t seen her all night.’ For a second her face crumpled. ‘I’m afraid I embarrass her,’ then pulling herself together, said, ‘Well, thanks everyone.’

But, as the chauffeur moved forward to close the door, he was knocked sideways by Flora hurtling across the gravel.

‘Oh Mum,’ she sobbed, ‘I’m sorry I’ve been such a bitch.’

Grabbing Trevor, plonking him down on the seat beside her, Georgie pulled Flora into the car, and took her in her arms.

‘It’s OK baby, it’s all right.’

I’ve got no-one to run to, thought Marcus despairingly as the limo bore them away.

To cap it, Howie, having paid court to Hermione in Cotchester, had beetled over to Rutminster to cash in on Abby’s great triumph. Seeing his newest client, he took Marcus’s arm.

‘How’s Prokofiev Five?’

‘It’s Three actually. I’ve got to go, Howie.’

‘Abby asked me to find you.’

Abby was still on the semicircular seat. Alexei was stretched out, his dark head in her lap, smoking a joint while Evgenia massaged his bony calloused feet.

Howie rushed forward. ‘Hi there, Alexei, I’m your greatest fan. Wonderful concert.’

‘Vonderful,’ said Alexei sarcastically. ‘The public, they clap even when it’s good.’ Then, peering round Howie at Marcus, murmured, ‘Hallo, little peasant.’

‘Hardly a peasant,’ laughed Abby. ‘Marcus’s father owns most of Gloucestershire.’

Marcus stared at them unable to move, his eyes huge and shadowed, his dinner-jacket slung over his shoulders.

‘He’s the one who should play Romeo,’ mocked Alexei.

‘Theese love is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden;

Too like the lightning, which does cease to be

’Ere one can say it lightens.’

Howie, who wasn’t interested in Shakespeare, broke the silence.

‘I want Marcus to enter the Appleton, Alexei,’ he said. ‘Help me persuade him.’

‘Piano competitions are sheet,’ Alexei took a drag on his joint. ‘Rachmaninov greatest pianist ever, Clara Schumann, Liszt, Schnabel, Horowitz, Gilels, Pablo Gonzales, none of them went een for competitions.’

‘John Ogdon did and John Lill and Murray Perahia,’ protested Marcus.

‘Ees media circus,’ said Alexei. ‘If someone ees good he come through anyway. Competition is queek passport. Your priority should be long-term aspect of music.’

‘Marcus has to pay the rent,’ protested Abby.

‘Eef you lose competition,’ Alexei took a slug of vodka from the bottle, ‘you are finished.’

‘Not true,’ said Howie, ‘and if you win, OK, you’re made. Here’s my card, Alexei, let’s lunch anywhere in the world, you name it, what’s your favourite restaurant?’

Alexei glanced up at Howie’s waxy sweating face.

‘One een which you are not.’

Tearing Howie’s card into little pieces, he dropped it on the grass.

‘Don’t be so bloody rude,’ said Marcus furiously and stumbled off into the night.

Abby caught up with him by the car-park:

‘What’s gotten into you? You’re not mad because Alexei’s doing a number? I do believe you’re jealous. Oh Markie, you must know you’re the one I love.’

FIFTY-TWO

In the weeks that followed, as Alexei kept ringing up Woodbine Cottage from all over the world, Abby grew more uppity and convinced he had fallen in love with her. Horrified by the conflict inside him, Marcus lavished even more attention on Abby, but suffered fearful guilt. He could still only get it up when he made love by thinking about Alexei.

By day he concentrated on work. Having dispatched Prokifiev’s Third with credit in Glasgow, he now had another concert playing Bartok’s Second Concerto with the Rutminster Youth Orchestra in the pipeline. Persuaded by Abby, Helen and Howie, deliberately ignoring Alexei’s advice at the gala, he had also entered for the Appleton Piano Competition in October. As competitors came from all over the world seeking the twenty-thousand-pound prize, Marcus didn’t even expect to qualify. But if he did, it would be good experience of playing under pressure.

In a Rutminster jeweller, Abby pointed out a ruby ring in the shape of a heart. Knowing Marcus couldn’t afford it, she suggested she bought it instead. But Marcus was adamant. Any engagement ring would be paid for by him.