Appassionata

‘In the end the philanderer died a week before his wife did, and, free of him at last, she arrived on the other side.

‘“Here for all eternity,” said God, welcoming her with open arms, “there’s someone here you know already,” and there on the first fluffy white cloud was her husband shafting an angel.’

There was a long pause. Glancing sideways, Blue saw the bruise getting darker and darker as tears washed away the last vestiges of make-up.

‘Cathie darling, I didn’t mean to hurt you, but you’ve got to leave him. No-one will punish you. I’ll look after you, I promise.’

‘I can’t. He’d come after me and he’d kill us both.’

‘I’ll never turn my mobile off,’ Blue was in tears, too. ‘If ever you want me, just ring and I’ll come and get you.’

Imagining the rest of the orchestra and especially Flora trailing home the following morning with no-one to carry her case, George found it impossible to concentrate on his board meeting. He hoped none of the bitches in the orchestra nor those brutes in the brass section nor any section for that matter were pricking Flora’s bubble or wising her up about his thousand and one deficiencies. God, he missed her.

The board meeting had begun with regrets and a minute’s silence for Rodney’s death. Miss Priddock had sobbed all over her shorthand notebook, which made it difficult for her to use her biro, but she had been cheered up by yet another miniature from one of the brewers. Everyone expressed delight that Sonny’s Interruption had been nominated. Peggy Parker bowed graciously.

Then followed the usual moans about poor houses, insufficient sponsors and the rocketing cost of the latest marketing operations which George had introduced.

At least the cat-nip matador he’d brought back from Toledo had been a huge success, thought George. As if to avenge generations of brave bulls, John Drummond was now tossing it up in the air, and pouncing on it.

‘How did the tour go?’ demanded Peggy Parker, noticing George’s total inattention.

‘You better ask Miles — he was there longer than me.’

George was incensed when Miles, after pouring a glass of Lord Leatherhead’s spring water from the silver carafe Hilly had given him for his birthday, rose to his feet and deplored the hooliganism that had poisoned the tour.

‘Although there are still players who know how to act as worthy ambassadors for Rutminster, a crackdown is imperative before the Appleton Piano Competition in ten days’ time,’ emphasized Miles, ‘when the RSO will be scrutinized under the microscope, not only by the music world, but by the international media and the general public.

‘In a word,’ Miles cracked his knuckles, ‘I feel Abigail has lost control of the orchestra.’

‘That was a great many more than one word,’ said George furiously, ‘and your description of the tour is joost as inaccurate. The orchestra played brilliant, made many friends all over Spain and really put Rootminster on the map. They only screwed up on Saturday night because they were choked about Rodney, and that was only after they’d cobbled together the best memorial concert I’ve ever heard. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house when they played Nimrod,’ George’s voice shook slightly. ‘Abby did chumpion. It was the first time she’d played in pooblic and she had to conduct as well. She and Rodney were very close.’

‘How close, one wonders,’ said Mrs Parker sourly, ‘I gather Sir Rodney left her his home on Lake Lucerne.’

‘That’s out of order,’ snapped George.

Mrs Parker went puce.

‘And who’s going to foot the bill for the jacuzzi flooding the Don Hoo-an Suite?’ she spluttered.

‘I am,’ said George.

‘And what about Flora Seymour pulling the communication cord on the train to Madrid?’ chuntered Lady Chisleden.

‘Over the defenestration of some cuddly toy,’ said Canon Airlie. George started to laugh. ‘Perhaps some latterday Zola will leap to our defence in the Rootminster Echo,’ he suggested, ‘and start his letter, “J’acuzzi”.’

Everyone looked at him as though he’d gone off his head.

‘Oh forget it,’ said George, then added grimly, ‘you’ve been sneaking, Miles. The reviews were bloody good. Abby’s emerging as a first class conductor. Rachel’s Requiem’s Number Ten in the charts. We’ve got a big hit on our hands.’

‘What news of the merger?’ asked Canon Airlie earnestly. ‘What was the outcome of your discussions with the Arts Council on Wednesday? Did they provide any guidance?’

‘That lot are about as capable of guidance as a droonken guide-dog.’

Canon Airlie pursed his lips.

‘Lousy for morale,’ said a banker, ‘with so many conflicting rumours flying around.’

‘The RSO need a strong leader who can set a good example,’ Mrs Parker glared at George.

‘Why did the jacuzzi flood?’ asked Lady Chisleden.

‘Not really a matter for ladies,’ said Lord Leatherhead hastily, casting an eye at Miss Priddock who was stolidly taking the minutes.

Abandoning his cat-nip matador, John Drummond jumped onto the window-ledge to chatter angrily at two pigeons copulating on the roof. Cat’s television was much better in the summer, when the house martins and swallows flew in and out of the eaves.

They’ve all gone to warmer climes In the South, thought George. That was the tune Flora had played so beautifully at her audition. He looked at his watch. Her plane would be taking off any minute. If he hurried he could meet her at Heathrow. It had been the longest twelve hours of his life.

‘I agree that leadership must come from the top,’ Miles was saying. ‘If there were a merger, I think Rannaldini is the only man who could pull the orchestra together and save us from financial disaster.’

‘Where is Rannaldini?’ enquired Peggy Parker reverently.

‘Recording in Prague with some brilliant young Czech pianist. He always noses out the talent.’

George stubbed out his cigar and rose to his feet. Flora must have told Abby by now.

‘I’m afraid the only merger I’m remotely interested in at the moment is my own,’ he announced. ‘I’d like the board’s permission to take a three-month sabbatical.’

‘But you never take holidays,’ said Miss Priddock aghast. ‘Even durin’ that week’s skiing you worked in the evenings.’

‘Not this time,’ said George proudly. ‘I’m going to take Miss Flora Seymour, the most wonderful young lady round the world, and as soon as I get a divorce, she’s going to marry me.’

There was an absolutely appalled silence.

‘But she’s a member of the orchestra, and about half your age,’ exploded Mrs Parker.

‘And a baggage,’ chuntered Miles.

‘Well, I certainly didn’t put her outside my door at six o’clock,’ said George with a broad grin.

‘I hope you didn’t abuse your position, Hungerford,’ snorted Canon Airlie.

‘Ooterly,’ said George happily. ‘So would you if you’d been me, you old goat.’

‘But who is going to do your job?’ protested Lord Leatherhead. ‘Have left us in rather a hole yer know.’

‘As Miles is so frantic to run the orchestra, let him have a go. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a plane to meet.’

After he’d left and the uproar had subsided, Miles moved into George’s chair at the head of the table.

‘It was hard to talk when George was here, but I think it’s important that you all hear exactly how bad things were on tour and why we ought to replace Abigail as soon as possible.’

Flora’s happiness faded like a conker out of its husk as she struggled off the plane weighed down with presents for George, Trevor and Marcus. Having been briefed about the afternoon in the hot air balloon by Hilary and Juno, the orchestra had been mobbing her up about George all the way home. Some of the remarks had been very bitchy, until Flora had lost her temper and snapped that George loved her and was taking her round the world.

Guffaws greeted this.

As they all shuffled through Customs, Nellie turned to Carmine, who had been behaving in a very smug