A/N: Betaed by Jen.
Part Eighty
On the morning of Saturday April the ninth, George couldn't settle to doing anything. They were having the first rehearsal for 'The Creation' that afternoon, which meant that she was about to discover whether or not she really could sing in front of that many people. In search of a venue, a member of the bar counsel, who clearly had nothing better to do with his time, had approached several vicars, with the possibility of using their churches. The only one to be remotely positive about the idea of lending a group of barristers the use of his church hall to rehearse in, plus his actual church for the eventual performance, had been the Reverend Henry Mills. George had been delighted when her father informed her of this, telling him that she already knew his wife, Barbara. Her father had wanted to know just how she knew this particular vicar's wife, but George hadn't been very forthcoming. She knew that her father wouldn't be exactly enthusiastic about her having made the acquaintance of an ex-con. George was looking forward to seeing Barbara again, Barbara being one of those people who could fit in anywhere and with anyone. Her father had told her that in the absence of anyone volunteering to play the harpsichord, Barbara had agreed to play for them. There were still a few gaps here and there, but all the significant parts had either been filled or partially filled. So, now here they were, about to see if they all had the makings of vaguely decent players and singers. George still didn't know who was playing Adam, and both her father and John were staying extremely quiet on the matter. But George didn't let this concern her. George's biggest fear, was sharing one of her most personal assets, with the people she usually only came into contact with on a professional basis. But she couldn't back out of it now. She fretted away the time, until she was due to pick up her father, by tidying up an already spotless house, by warming her voice up with any music other than classical, and by doing anything that would stop her wanting a cigarette. She had been trying, and in fact she had cut down considerably since John had persuaded her to play Eve, but that didn't mean her craving for Nicotine was any less insistent.
As Joe Channing got into his daughter's car, he could see that George was incredibly tense. "Would you like me to drive?" He asked, thinking that a nervous George wasn't something that should really be behind the wheel of a car. "No," She said curtly. "At least if I'm driving, I won't be tempted to smoke." "I don't know what you're so worried about," Joe said, as they drove away. "You're going to put everyone to shame." "I'm not the person I was thirty years ago, Daddy, and that means that I'm certainly not the singer I was thirty years ago. So please will you remember that. You might be wishing that you'd never had this ridiculous idea in the first place." "I'll be proud of you, whatever happens," Joe said quietly. George drove in silence, lost in her own thoughts of what was turning into sheer terror. Joe watched her with concern, knowing that as soon as she did sing, George would forget all this nonsense and simply get on with it. When they reached a long stretch of traffic waiting for the light to change, Joe reached for George's handbag, which was on the floor by his feet. Retrieving her packet of cigarettes and a lighter, he lit her one. As she took a hand off the wheel and gratefully reached for it, she said with a smile, "John will kill you." "Deed doesn't have to know," Joe said gruffly, knowing how strong the craving for Nicotine could be at times of stress. As George took a long, satisfying drag, blowing the smoke and flicking the ash out of the window, she gently inched the car forward, until the lights finally turned green.
When they arrived, George's exclamation of, "Oh, how pretty," perfectly described the setting. This church might only have been half an hour from the centre of the city, but everywhere was fresh with the emerging flowers of spring, the trees in the enormous wood opposite the church hall, thick with blossom. There was the church itself, with the church hall, where they were to practice, at the opposite end of the churchyard. Several cars were already assembled around the hall, and George had difficulty finding somewhere to park. When they went inside, they found that about half the people they were expecting had already arrived. Seeing Barbara standing with the man whom she'd questioned so ruthlessly in the Merriman/Atkins trial, who must be Barbara's husband, she walked over to them. "Barbara, good to see you. I bet you're wondering what you've let yourself in for." "I'm certainly looking forward to seeing what you make of Eve," Barbara said with a smile. "Have you been told who your Adam is yet?" "No, and both John and my ever loving father here, are insisting on keeping me in the dark." "Well, all I'll tell you is that we both know him." George's eyebrows rose. Not for the life of her could she come up with anyone whom both she and Barbara knew. "This is my husband, Henry, though I do believe you've met on a previous occasion." As George held out a hand to shake Henry's, she briefly wondered just how many times that blasted Merriman/Atkins trial was set to embarrass her. "I think that trial is going to haunt me for ever more," She said, not entirely knowing how to deal with someone she'd previously cross-examined for such an unworthy cause. "Please, let it be forgotten," Henry replied, giving her a gentle smile. "And this is my father, Sir Joseph Channing, who will be conducting us, for his sins." As Joe and Henry shook hands, George moved away to mingle with some of the others she knew, using any amount of small talk, to keep her mind off the approaching time when she would have to show them what she was supposedly made of. When she saw John arrive, she kept a slightly predatory eye on him, having also seen the arrival of Sir Ian and, to her astonishment, Lady Francesca Rochester, one of John's old and far more dangerous concubines. But when she saw Grayling appear through the door, she stared in shock. Walking straight over to her, Neil held out a hand. "Allow me to introduce myself as your leading man." "You're playing Adam?" George asked, her eyes widening in half surprise and half disbelief. "I certainly am. It's going to be interesting, working together, don't you think?" "You?" George asked again, unsure of just who was having a joke at her expense. Then Barbara's words came back to her. Yes, both she and Barbara did know Grayling. "But I thought you were..." Realising in an instant what she was about to say, Neil held up a hand to stop her in her tracks. Then, out of the side of his mouth so that no one would see, he said very quietly, "In company such as this, I'm just as straight as they think you are. Is that clear?" Feeling a blush spread to her cheeks at the enormous indiscretion she'd almost made, she said, "Yes, of course, I apologise. It was just a shock, that's all." "Didn't anyone tell you?" He asked with a smile. "No, neither John, nor my father, who will be conducting us by the way, felt the need to put me in the picture. I think it was their idea of a surprise." "Pleasant, or unpleasant?" He teased, looking forward to working with her immensely. "That remains to be seen," She quipped back. "I think it's going to be far more fun than I previously thought, though. The Judge who's singing the tenor, he's a frightful bore, and his wife, the terribly fierce old hag standing over there," She gestured to where Vera Everard was standing with Monty, "Had designs on playing Eve herself." "You barristers really do know how to bitch, don't you," Neil said with a grin. "How else do you think we climb the professional ladder?" George responded. "If not by pushing others off each rung as we pass."
When John arrived, and after speaking to Barbara and Henry, he observed as Neil Grayling arrived and brought George up to speed on who was to play Adam. Even from where he stood, he could clearly see that George had said something she shouldn't, and that Neil's reply had embarrassed her. He would have made a move to intervene, but they seemed to immediately return to polite conversation verging on friendly banter. As he withdrew his gaze from George, he caught sight of Francesca Rochester, purposefully making her way over to him. The last time he'd seen her, she'd been protesting her innocence in the soft porn empire she'd been running with her cousin. She'd turned on the tears, trying to convince him that she was only doing it because she was scared of her cousin. She was the type of woman, who could look like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth one minute, and nail a man to the spot with her predatory, hypnotising smirk the next. If John had been in the habit of blushing, then his face might have taken on a reddish tint at the memory of how he'd screwed her in chambers. He didn't usually like such vulgarities in his vocabulary, but that's exactly what it had been. He could remember it as if it were yesterday. The way he'd used one arm to scatter papers, pens and all other possessions from the top of his desk, and with the other, pushed her down on it, removing her underwear and undoing his flies in an instant. The fact that he'd been caught doing this on the security camera had only increased any embarrassment he might have felt. "John, this is a nice surprise." Her voice was just the same as it had been then, the soft, though not overly cultured tones, sliding over his senses just as her hands had once done. "For you, or for me?" He asked, not willing to give her even the slightest hint of any reconciliation. "For both of us, I hope." "I doubt your husband would see it like that," John replied, keeping his tone even, though nevertheless cutting. "That was all a very long time ago, John," She said gently. "I had hoped we could all be friends." "After the stunt you pulled on me, you must be joking," John said icily, his words immediately killing any hopes she'd had of a bit of fun from him. "I want absolutely nothing to do with you. Is that clear? I wonder at Ian's common sense in bringing you here." "Ian has learnt the art of forgiveness," She said petulantly. "Only because he doesn't want to forfeit a large inheritance," John replied cruelly. "That's the only reason he's stayed with you, and you know it." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Karen approaching him. "Now if you'll excuse me, there's someone far more beautiful and far more genuine in her intentions for me to see." Francesca watched him as he strolled purposefully away, regretting the loss of this man who'd just for a while, made her feel so alive.
When he came up to Karen, he immediately put his arms round her and kissed her cheek. "Not that I wouldn't have done this anyway," He said in response to her look of surprise. "But I need to convince someone I'm otherwise involved." Karen laughed. "I might have known that something like this would drag too many of your old conquests out of the woodwork. Who is she?" "Do you remember me telling you about Francesca Rochester?" He said, gesturing to where Francesca had returned to Ian's side. "Oh, is she the woman who had a liking for a cousin and soft porn?" "That's her, one of the most evil little minxes I've ever had the displeasure of knowing." They were then approached by Neil and George. "Did you know about this?" George said to Karen as a form of greeting, to which Karen couldn't help smiling. "Of course I did, but the Deed here asked me not to tell you." "Typical," George replied, giving John a looked that combined a glare with the hint of a smile, showing him that she didn't mind in the least. "I didn't expect to see you here, Karen," Neil put in, glancing down at the viola leaning against her leg. "I was persuaded to join in, as I'm sure were you. Have you seen Barbara?" "Yes, and I take it that most people here aren't aware of her previous association with us." "No, and I think she would appreciate it staying that way." Then, looking closely at George, she added, "You're not nervous, are you?" "Of course I bloody am," George said tartly. "From what I heard two weeks ago, you will be absolutely fine." "And you're no use, you're biased." As John and Neil were currently screening both her and George from the rest of the room, Karen took the opportunity to briefly lay a hand against George's cheek. It didn't go unnoticed by either John or Neil, that George leaned ever so slightly into Karen's touch, showing that she needed that reassurance. At this point, various people began setting out chairs and music stands, and getting out their instruments. "I'm just going to get some fresh air," George said, wanting a moment of down time before they began. As she made a quick exit through a side door, John said, "I'll see if she's all right." When he'd gone, Neil said, "Is she good?" Karen smiled softly. "She's brilliant, but terrified of failing." They were then approached by someone who Karen thought she knew, but couldn't place. "Nikki told me you'd just been made Governing Governor," She said. "Congratulations." It was the soft, slightly northern accented voice that reminded Karen of who she was. "Thank you," She said, and turning to Neil added, "This is Clare Walker. What do you play?" She asked, looking back at Claire's face. "The flute, and you?" "The viola. Neil here's singing Adam." "Neil Grayling," He said, holding out a hand to shake hers. "Pleased to meet you."
As George stood outside, stubbornly trying to resist the urge to have a cigarette, John joined her. "You don't need to be quite so frightened of this, you know," He said gently, putting his arms round her. "I'm not," She insisted unconvincingly. "I'm just not looking forward to it, that's all." "You don't have to do it, if you really don't want to," He said, knowing that this would have the desired effect. "Daddy would kill me," She said. "Besides, as ridiculous as it sounds, I suppose I want to prove myself wrong." "That's more like it," He said, leaning forward to kiss her. "You've been smoking," He said, detaching his lips from hers and staring at her accusingly. "Blame Daddy," She said succinctly. "He lit one for me on the way here, and I couldn't exactly say no, now could I." "You Channings are as bad as each other," He grumbled, and then saw Jo walking towards them. "I couldn't find anywhere to park," She said when she reached them. Still keeping one arm round George, John leant forward to kiss Jo. "Now you've got two kinds of lipstick on you," George said with a laugh. "Oh, well, at least it might keep Lady Rochester at bay," John said philosophically. "Oh, is she here?" Jo asked, not relishing meeting this woman any more than John had. "Oh, yes, and I can see that she's going to cause trouble if she possibly can." As they heard people beginning to tune up, they walked back in. But as John moved to pick up his violin, and Jo and George went to find their places, John was accosted by Sir Ian. "Do you have a moment?" He asked, quickly drawing John aside. "I saw you talking to my wife earlier." "Her doing, not mine," John assured him. "And I would appreciate it if you would attempt to keep her under control whilst she's here." "And I would appreciate you not having anything to do with her, after last time," Sir Ian replied, not immediately taking any notice of John's words. "Believe me, Ian, having any contact with your wife is the last thing I want to do. After what she nearly did to me, I wouldn't touch your wife with a barge pole." Then, leaving Sir Ian mouthing fruitlessly to himself, John stalked away.
In his infinite wisdom, Joe Channing had taken it upon himself to assign players to particular pairings, in order to avoid any petty, adolescent squabbling on the day itself. He knew only too well that if any group of people were likely to argue about everything, it was a group of barristers. After all, hadn't he raised one of his own, and therefore had experience of such ridiculous behaviour? This did, however, only really apply to the string section, the woodwind and brass being few enough that they could sort themselves out. The simplest way to achieve this, had been to write everyone's names on detachable post it notes, which could be removed from the scores, leaving no lasting damage. Once the chairs and music stands had been set out, he went round, putting the scores out, one to a stand. When Jo realised that she would be sitting in the second desk of cellos, next to Brian Cantwell of all people, she inwardly groaned. Was this Joe Channing's idea of a joke? As she sat down with her cello, and Brian took his seat on her right, they exchanged assessing glances. "I see you've assumed that I will be turning the pages," Was his opening comment. "Well, as I am infinitely better looking than you," Jo replied confidently. "I naturally assumed that I would be sitting nearer to the audience." "You tell him, Jo," Came an approving response from Michael Nivin, who was sitting on Karen's right, in the corresponding desk of violas. Then, turning to Karen, he said, "Forgive me, but you don't look like a barrister." Karen smiled. "No, I'm a prison Governor. I got roped into this by John, John Deed." "Ah, yes, he always has had a level of persuasion that far outweighs the rest of us put together." Karen laughed. "I used to have the often fruitless task of trying to keep him in line, when I was the senior Judge in chambers." "Not a job I'd recommend to anyone," Karen said with a grin, thinking that this man must have had his hands full. "Being the resider, or keeping John from disgracing himself and the judiciary?" "Oh, the second, without a doubt."
So that everyone would be able to see the conductor, the woodwind, brass and timps had been arranged on the raised blocks that the local school used, whenever they held concerts here. Joe Channing was also raised, looking down on what he would almost come to regard as his flock, the group of recalcitrant Prima donnas he would eventually come to be proud of. All he had to do to get their attention was to raise his baton, at which they all fell silent. The three soloists, George, Legover and Grayling, were sitting on chairs in a row, with their backs to the orchestra, for the moment all hoping that Joe wouldn't require them immediately. "Now, I have absolutely no idea of the musical skill of most of you," He began, "So, we'll start at the very beginning, and see what happens. Chaos, is what the introductory piece is called, and chaos is what I suspect it will turn out to be."
As he raised his baton for the down beat, bows were lifted and breaths taken. The first chord definitely wasn't entirely together, but as they gradually became used to Joe's slightly wavering movements, they all began to relax. George was enchanted as she listened, smiling when she picked out a wrong note from one instrument or another, following the score to keep her mind off the ever approaching moment, when she would have to join them. She listened with pride as John's violin rose and fell just behind her, bringing back some brief, happy memories of when they'd been married, and she would often hear him practice on a regular basis. She also found herself picking out the cellos, of which Jo was one, and the violas, to which Karen belonged. Sir Ian's clarinet, Neumann Mason-Alan's trumpet, and the flutes, one of which belonged to the very pretty barrister who Karen had said had defended Nikki. When they eventually drew to the end of the final chord of Chaos, there was a slightly stunned silence. They really did have a chance of pulling this off! The three on the front row broke into applause, finally beginning to see that this mad idea really was possible.
"Not bad, for a first attempt," Was Joe Channing's critical assessment. "Though the ensemble effect left a lot to be desired. Still, I suppose that will come with practice. All I intend to do today, is to give you all a taste of what we need to accomplish, and to allow each and every one of you, to discover what is required of you, with regards to improvement and practice. Now, I suggest we give one of our soloists something to do. Would one of you like to volunteer?" Both George and Monty stayed absolutely quiet. After a moment's silence, Neil stood up. "In the absence of any other response, I may as well take the first plunge." There was a slight titter from the orchestra, most of them not knowing this stranger in their midst. Joe turned to face him. "Well done," Joe said approvingly. "A soloist with some spirit, that's a very good attitude to have. Do you have a particular piece you would like to attempt?" "How about number seven?" Neil suggested, number seven being the one that Karen had played part of when she'd auditioned. "Oh, thank you very much," Several of the violists grumbled, Karen included. A broad smile spread over Joe's face. "Yes, good idea, give all these string players something to think about, separate the wheat from the chaff." As Neil stood, and opened his score, George gave him a smile of encouragement, forever grateful to him for not having made her take the first jump.
As the cellos thundered, the violas swirled, and the first and second violins swept back and forth, the feeling of 'Rolling In Foaming Billows' was brought right into their midst. The flutes provided the illusion of the wild seabirds, and the other wind instruments the steady roar of the waves. But when Neil began to sing, both Karen and Barbara almost stopped playing. They had both known Grayling for some time, though Karen substantially better, and neither would ever have suspected that he had such a talent.
"Rolling in foaming billows, uplifted, roars the boisterous sea."
His voice seemed to swing with the cellos and battle in counterpoint with the violins, his deep, strong vibrato, captivating everyone. When the gale began to pass, and the tide begin to calm down, his roar decreased, the lyrical washing to and fro of the flutes, interspersed with his softer, finishing lines. As he sang the words, "Through silent vales, the limpid brook," the orchestra provided the feeling of the storm finally spent, leaving nothing but the gentle lapping of the waves against the shore.
There was a short silence when the piece came to an end, followed by an all mighty applause. Neil was incredibly touched by the faith they all clearly had in him. Joe turned to face him. "You were an unknown quantity before today, but I am pleased to say that you are shaping up to the challenge admirably. Now, I think it's about time that my lovely daughter showed you all what she's made of." George could have died, the colour suffusing her cheeks in humiliation. As she got to her feet, John only had to lean slightly to his right, in order to give her hand a quick squeeze. George was immensely grateful to him, his automatic show of affection giving her the courage she needed. "Are you all up to 'With Verdure Clad'?" She asked, sounding far more confident than she really felt. Joe smiled in fond remembrance. "I remember when you sang that at school," He said, turning to the correct page in the score and raising his baton. As George listened to the few introductory bars, the strings and Sir Ian's clarinet beginning the very slow 6-8 that gave the impression of a waltz, she took a deep breath, and opened her mouth.
"With verdure clad, the fields appear, delightful to the ravish'd sense, By flowers sweet and gay, enhanced is the charming sight, enhanced is the charming sight."
As George began, everyone who wasn't playing, immediately put down their scores and listened, her voice capturing every ear. Karen momentarily stopped bowing, the purity in George's voice making her utterly incapable of doing anything but listen. Michael Nivin, becoming aware that she wasn't playing, quickly glanced at her, seeing a look of such pride and wonder on her face that it made him smile. Joe Channing's baton had faltered, the exquisite quality of his daughter's voice, taking him back to that school concert when she was eighteen, when as far as he knew, she was entirely happy. He picked up the beat again soon enough, but nobody missed the succession of emotions that played across his face as she sang. As her voice rose and fell, the cellos, violas and second violins kept the beat gently swinging, with the first violins and the clarinet providing a contrasting counterpoint melody that delicately enhanced the words. When George reached the words, "With copious fruit, th'expanded boughs are hung," Her voice seemed to open up even more, her lungs and throat expanding with the words. But it was with the words, "In leafy arches, twine the shady groves," That Jo felt a shiver run down her spine. It was almost a physical feeling, causing her to gasp at the realisation that she had tears in her eyes. But as the strings moved into several bars of quavers, temporarily taking the six quaver rhythm that actually denoted the time signature, Jo recovered herself and prayed that Brian, in his infinite lack of tact, wouldn't have noticed her little moment of feeling. As George ran daintily through the various repetitions of, "Here fragrant herbs their odours shed; here shoots the healing plant," Clare's flute and Ian's clarinet, took it in turns to accompany her, their own little melodies appearing to hold a conversation. But as she lingered on the penultimate, "Healing plant," the orchestra briefly rested, allowing the pure echo of her voice to hover over the room, making every one of them wonder if her voice might just crack one of the windows.
As she eventually sat down to a second outbreak of applause, John leaned over to kiss her cheek. "Well done," he said into her ear, feeling the blush of pride on her face. Joe didn't know what to say. He was so proud of his daughter, briefly wishing that her mother could have been here to see this. Wholly unable to express his feelings on the matter, he felt it better to carry straight on. "Right, to finish off, I would like to attempt the trio, 'Most Beautiful Appear', because we haven't yet heard anything from you, Monty, and as your wife was so insistent of your talent, I am sure we are all looking forward to seeing proof of it. Now, whilst I know this is not going to be a very welcome suggestion, I think it would be beneficial to all, to carry straight on, and attempt 'The Lord is great' as well." "Daddy, no, you can't," Protested George, knowing only too well just how difficult this particular one was for all concerned. "And why not?" Joe demanded, looking down at his daughter. "Well, it's... It's..." "It's the hardest thing any of you will ever be required to perform," Joe finished for her. "Which is why, without much warning, I am pushing you to the very limits of your capability. If we are going to make a success of this, and after all this organisation I absolutely refuse to fail, you must be made aware of precisely what will be demanded of you in the coming weeks. So, we will begin with the trio, and carry straight onto the celebration of the fourth day."
As George listened to the introductory bars, she became aware, perhaps for the first time, of Lawrence James and Francesca Rochester's oboes, making her wonder at the justice of two such spineless individuals, being given anything resembling a creative talent. After what she'd just sung, George's own phrases came easily to her, leaving her slightly gob smacked when Monty began. She'd never heard him sing, and, though he was trying a little too hard, she could find no fault with his voice. But it was when they all began competing with each other that the fun really began. If they weren't weaving in and out of each other, they were forming complete chords, their voices soaring and dying, gently bringing in the celebration that was to follow.
In the slight pause between the trio and the piece that came next, George, along with both Monty and Neil, prayed that she could attempt to carry this off. They had no chorus with them today, which meant that a significant part of this piece would be missing, leaving the three soloists right out in the open, every wrong note available for all to hear.
As soon as she began, George felt as though she was on a collision course, the words and the notes almost running away with her, Neil and Monty doing their own thing, and with the first violins carrying away a melody of their own. The lack of a chorus was noticeable, though not entirely unwelcome, meaning that at least volume wasn't a problem for any of the soloists. As George rose to the top B flat, she felt that at any moment, she would be flying. All three of them had moments where they almost came unstuck, but all of them just about managed to keep it together till the end. All the way through, John had been aware of George's tension, her body almost like a coiled spring, ready at the merest provocation to spiral entirely out of control. He had been pleasantly surprised at the voice that emitted from Legover, not having previously thought the man had it in him. With all three soloists yelling their guts out, wind players blowing till they thought their lungs would burst, and string players plucking for their lives, the piece finally reached it's close, the timps and the strings providing the final two resonating chords. Yes, there had been fluffed notes from all concerned, and there had been areas of severe strain, both on instruments and their players' ears, but this was the most difficult piece they would ever have to play, and albeit flounderingly, they had done it, proving once and for all that they were all, each and every one of them, well and truly up to the job.
Part Eighty
On the morning of Saturday April the ninth, George couldn't settle to doing anything. They were having the first rehearsal for 'The Creation' that afternoon, which meant that she was about to discover whether or not she really could sing in front of that many people. In search of a venue, a member of the bar counsel, who clearly had nothing better to do with his time, had approached several vicars, with the possibility of using their churches. The only one to be remotely positive about the idea of lending a group of barristers the use of his church hall to rehearse in, plus his actual church for the eventual performance, had been the Reverend Henry Mills. George had been delighted when her father informed her of this, telling him that she already knew his wife, Barbara. Her father had wanted to know just how she knew this particular vicar's wife, but George hadn't been very forthcoming. She knew that her father wouldn't be exactly enthusiastic about her having made the acquaintance of an ex-con. George was looking forward to seeing Barbara again, Barbara being one of those people who could fit in anywhere and with anyone. Her father had told her that in the absence of anyone volunteering to play the harpsichord, Barbara had agreed to play for them. There were still a few gaps here and there, but all the significant parts had either been filled or partially filled. So, now here they were, about to see if they all had the makings of vaguely decent players and singers. George still didn't know who was playing Adam, and both her father and John were staying extremely quiet on the matter. But George didn't let this concern her. George's biggest fear, was sharing one of her most personal assets, with the people she usually only came into contact with on a professional basis. But she couldn't back out of it now. She fretted away the time, until she was due to pick up her father, by tidying up an already spotless house, by warming her voice up with any music other than classical, and by doing anything that would stop her wanting a cigarette. She had been trying, and in fact she had cut down considerably since John had persuaded her to play Eve, but that didn't mean her craving for Nicotine was any less insistent.
As Joe Channing got into his daughter's car, he could see that George was incredibly tense. "Would you like me to drive?" He asked, thinking that a nervous George wasn't something that should really be behind the wheel of a car. "No," She said curtly. "At least if I'm driving, I won't be tempted to smoke." "I don't know what you're so worried about," Joe said, as they drove away. "You're going to put everyone to shame." "I'm not the person I was thirty years ago, Daddy, and that means that I'm certainly not the singer I was thirty years ago. So please will you remember that. You might be wishing that you'd never had this ridiculous idea in the first place." "I'll be proud of you, whatever happens," Joe said quietly. George drove in silence, lost in her own thoughts of what was turning into sheer terror. Joe watched her with concern, knowing that as soon as she did sing, George would forget all this nonsense and simply get on with it. When they reached a long stretch of traffic waiting for the light to change, Joe reached for George's handbag, which was on the floor by his feet. Retrieving her packet of cigarettes and a lighter, he lit her one. As she took a hand off the wheel and gratefully reached for it, she said with a smile, "John will kill you." "Deed doesn't have to know," Joe said gruffly, knowing how strong the craving for Nicotine could be at times of stress. As George took a long, satisfying drag, blowing the smoke and flicking the ash out of the window, she gently inched the car forward, until the lights finally turned green.
When they arrived, George's exclamation of, "Oh, how pretty," perfectly described the setting. This church might only have been half an hour from the centre of the city, but everywhere was fresh with the emerging flowers of spring, the trees in the enormous wood opposite the church hall, thick with blossom. There was the church itself, with the church hall, where they were to practice, at the opposite end of the churchyard. Several cars were already assembled around the hall, and George had difficulty finding somewhere to park. When they went inside, they found that about half the people they were expecting had already arrived. Seeing Barbara standing with the man whom she'd questioned so ruthlessly in the Merriman/Atkins trial, who must be Barbara's husband, she walked over to them. "Barbara, good to see you. I bet you're wondering what you've let yourself in for." "I'm certainly looking forward to seeing what you make of Eve," Barbara said with a smile. "Have you been told who your Adam is yet?" "No, and both John and my ever loving father here, are insisting on keeping me in the dark." "Well, all I'll tell you is that we both know him." George's eyebrows rose. Not for the life of her could she come up with anyone whom both she and Barbara knew. "This is my husband, Henry, though I do believe you've met on a previous occasion." As George held out a hand to shake Henry's, she briefly wondered just how many times that blasted Merriman/Atkins trial was set to embarrass her. "I think that trial is going to haunt me for ever more," She said, not entirely knowing how to deal with someone she'd previously cross-examined for such an unworthy cause. "Please, let it be forgotten," Henry replied, giving her a gentle smile. "And this is my father, Sir Joseph Channing, who will be conducting us, for his sins." As Joe and Henry shook hands, George moved away to mingle with some of the others she knew, using any amount of small talk, to keep her mind off the approaching time when she would have to show them what she was supposedly made of. When she saw John arrive, she kept a slightly predatory eye on him, having also seen the arrival of Sir Ian and, to her astonishment, Lady Francesca Rochester, one of John's old and far more dangerous concubines. But when she saw Grayling appear through the door, she stared in shock. Walking straight over to her, Neil held out a hand. "Allow me to introduce myself as your leading man." "You're playing Adam?" George asked, her eyes widening in half surprise and half disbelief. "I certainly am. It's going to be interesting, working together, don't you think?" "You?" George asked again, unsure of just who was having a joke at her expense. Then Barbara's words came back to her. Yes, both she and Barbara did know Grayling. "But I thought you were..." Realising in an instant what she was about to say, Neil held up a hand to stop her in her tracks. Then, out of the side of his mouth so that no one would see, he said very quietly, "In company such as this, I'm just as straight as they think you are. Is that clear?" Feeling a blush spread to her cheeks at the enormous indiscretion she'd almost made, she said, "Yes, of course, I apologise. It was just a shock, that's all." "Didn't anyone tell you?" He asked with a smile. "No, neither John, nor my father, who will be conducting us by the way, felt the need to put me in the picture. I think it was their idea of a surprise." "Pleasant, or unpleasant?" He teased, looking forward to working with her immensely. "That remains to be seen," She quipped back. "I think it's going to be far more fun than I previously thought, though. The Judge who's singing the tenor, he's a frightful bore, and his wife, the terribly fierce old hag standing over there," She gestured to where Vera Everard was standing with Monty, "Had designs on playing Eve herself." "You barristers really do know how to bitch, don't you," Neil said with a grin. "How else do you think we climb the professional ladder?" George responded. "If not by pushing others off each rung as we pass."
When John arrived, and after speaking to Barbara and Henry, he observed as Neil Grayling arrived and brought George up to speed on who was to play Adam. Even from where he stood, he could clearly see that George had said something she shouldn't, and that Neil's reply had embarrassed her. He would have made a move to intervene, but they seemed to immediately return to polite conversation verging on friendly banter. As he withdrew his gaze from George, he caught sight of Francesca Rochester, purposefully making her way over to him. The last time he'd seen her, she'd been protesting her innocence in the soft porn empire she'd been running with her cousin. She'd turned on the tears, trying to convince him that she was only doing it because she was scared of her cousin. She was the type of woman, who could look like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth one minute, and nail a man to the spot with her predatory, hypnotising smirk the next. If John had been in the habit of blushing, then his face might have taken on a reddish tint at the memory of how he'd screwed her in chambers. He didn't usually like such vulgarities in his vocabulary, but that's exactly what it had been. He could remember it as if it were yesterday. The way he'd used one arm to scatter papers, pens and all other possessions from the top of his desk, and with the other, pushed her down on it, removing her underwear and undoing his flies in an instant. The fact that he'd been caught doing this on the security camera had only increased any embarrassment he might have felt. "John, this is a nice surprise." Her voice was just the same as it had been then, the soft, though not overly cultured tones, sliding over his senses just as her hands had once done. "For you, or for me?" He asked, not willing to give her even the slightest hint of any reconciliation. "For both of us, I hope." "I doubt your husband would see it like that," John replied, keeping his tone even, though nevertheless cutting. "That was all a very long time ago, John," She said gently. "I had hoped we could all be friends." "After the stunt you pulled on me, you must be joking," John said icily, his words immediately killing any hopes she'd had of a bit of fun from him. "I want absolutely nothing to do with you. Is that clear? I wonder at Ian's common sense in bringing you here." "Ian has learnt the art of forgiveness," She said petulantly. "Only because he doesn't want to forfeit a large inheritance," John replied cruelly. "That's the only reason he's stayed with you, and you know it." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Karen approaching him. "Now if you'll excuse me, there's someone far more beautiful and far more genuine in her intentions for me to see." Francesca watched him as he strolled purposefully away, regretting the loss of this man who'd just for a while, made her feel so alive.
When he came up to Karen, he immediately put his arms round her and kissed her cheek. "Not that I wouldn't have done this anyway," He said in response to her look of surprise. "But I need to convince someone I'm otherwise involved." Karen laughed. "I might have known that something like this would drag too many of your old conquests out of the woodwork. Who is she?" "Do you remember me telling you about Francesca Rochester?" He said, gesturing to where Francesca had returned to Ian's side. "Oh, is she the woman who had a liking for a cousin and soft porn?" "That's her, one of the most evil little minxes I've ever had the displeasure of knowing." They were then approached by Neil and George. "Did you know about this?" George said to Karen as a form of greeting, to which Karen couldn't help smiling. "Of course I did, but the Deed here asked me not to tell you." "Typical," George replied, giving John a looked that combined a glare with the hint of a smile, showing him that she didn't mind in the least. "I didn't expect to see you here, Karen," Neil put in, glancing down at the viola leaning against her leg. "I was persuaded to join in, as I'm sure were you. Have you seen Barbara?" "Yes, and I take it that most people here aren't aware of her previous association with us." "No, and I think she would appreciate it staying that way." Then, looking closely at George, she added, "You're not nervous, are you?" "Of course I bloody am," George said tartly. "From what I heard two weeks ago, you will be absolutely fine." "And you're no use, you're biased." As John and Neil were currently screening both her and George from the rest of the room, Karen took the opportunity to briefly lay a hand against George's cheek. It didn't go unnoticed by either John or Neil, that George leaned ever so slightly into Karen's touch, showing that she needed that reassurance. At this point, various people began setting out chairs and music stands, and getting out their instruments. "I'm just going to get some fresh air," George said, wanting a moment of down time before they began. As she made a quick exit through a side door, John said, "I'll see if she's all right." When he'd gone, Neil said, "Is she good?" Karen smiled softly. "She's brilliant, but terrified of failing." They were then approached by someone who Karen thought she knew, but couldn't place. "Nikki told me you'd just been made Governing Governor," She said. "Congratulations." It was the soft, slightly northern accented voice that reminded Karen of who she was. "Thank you," She said, and turning to Neil added, "This is Clare Walker. What do you play?" She asked, looking back at Claire's face. "The flute, and you?" "The viola. Neil here's singing Adam." "Neil Grayling," He said, holding out a hand to shake hers. "Pleased to meet you."
As George stood outside, stubbornly trying to resist the urge to have a cigarette, John joined her. "You don't need to be quite so frightened of this, you know," He said gently, putting his arms round her. "I'm not," She insisted unconvincingly. "I'm just not looking forward to it, that's all." "You don't have to do it, if you really don't want to," He said, knowing that this would have the desired effect. "Daddy would kill me," She said. "Besides, as ridiculous as it sounds, I suppose I want to prove myself wrong." "That's more like it," He said, leaning forward to kiss her. "You've been smoking," He said, detaching his lips from hers and staring at her accusingly. "Blame Daddy," She said succinctly. "He lit one for me on the way here, and I couldn't exactly say no, now could I." "You Channings are as bad as each other," He grumbled, and then saw Jo walking towards them. "I couldn't find anywhere to park," She said when she reached them. Still keeping one arm round George, John leant forward to kiss Jo. "Now you've got two kinds of lipstick on you," George said with a laugh. "Oh, well, at least it might keep Lady Rochester at bay," John said philosophically. "Oh, is she here?" Jo asked, not relishing meeting this woman any more than John had. "Oh, yes, and I can see that she's going to cause trouble if she possibly can." As they heard people beginning to tune up, they walked back in. But as John moved to pick up his violin, and Jo and George went to find their places, John was accosted by Sir Ian. "Do you have a moment?" He asked, quickly drawing John aside. "I saw you talking to my wife earlier." "Her doing, not mine," John assured him. "And I would appreciate it if you would attempt to keep her under control whilst she's here." "And I would appreciate you not having anything to do with her, after last time," Sir Ian replied, not immediately taking any notice of John's words. "Believe me, Ian, having any contact with your wife is the last thing I want to do. After what she nearly did to me, I wouldn't touch your wife with a barge pole." Then, leaving Sir Ian mouthing fruitlessly to himself, John stalked away.
In his infinite wisdom, Joe Channing had taken it upon himself to assign players to particular pairings, in order to avoid any petty, adolescent squabbling on the day itself. He knew only too well that if any group of people were likely to argue about everything, it was a group of barristers. After all, hadn't he raised one of his own, and therefore had experience of such ridiculous behaviour? This did, however, only really apply to the string section, the woodwind and brass being few enough that they could sort themselves out. The simplest way to achieve this, had been to write everyone's names on detachable post it notes, which could be removed from the scores, leaving no lasting damage. Once the chairs and music stands had been set out, he went round, putting the scores out, one to a stand. When Jo realised that she would be sitting in the second desk of cellos, next to Brian Cantwell of all people, she inwardly groaned. Was this Joe Channing's idea of a joke? As she sat down with her cello, and Brian took his seat on her right, they exchanged assessing glances. "I see you've assumed that I will be turning the pages," Was his opening comment. "Well, as I am infinitely better looking than you," Jo replied confidently. "I naturally assumed that I would be sitting nearer to the audience." "You tell him, Jo," Came an approving response from Michael Nivin, who was sitting on Karen's right, in the corresponding desk of violas. Then, turning to Karen, he said, "Forgive me, but you don't look like a barrister." Karen smiled. "No, I'm a prison Governor. I got roped into this by John, John Deed." "Ah, yes, he always has had a level of persuasion that far outweighs the rest of us put together." Karen laughed. "I used to have the often fruitless task of trying to keep him in line, when I was the senior Judge in chambers." "Not a job I'd recommend to anyone," Karen said with a grin, thinking that this man must have had his hands full. "Being the resider, or keeping John from disgracing himself and the judiciary?" "Oh, the second, without a doubt."
So that everyone would be able to see the conductor, the woodwind, brass and timps had been arranged on the raised blocks that the local school used, whenever they held concerts here. Joe Channing was also raised, looking down on what he would almost come to regard as his flock, the group of recalcitrant Prima donnas he would eventually come to be proud of. All he had to do to get their attention was to raise his baton, at which they all fell silent. The three soloists, George, Legover and Grayling, were sitting on chairs in a row, with their backs to the orchestra, for the moment all hoping that Joe wouldn't require them immediately. "Now, I have absolutely no idea of the musical skill of most of you," He began, "So, we'll start at the very beginning, and see what happens. Chaos, is what the introductory piece is called, and chaos is what I suspect it will turn out to be."
As he raised his baton for the down beat, bows were lifted and breaths taken. The first chord definitely wasn't entirely together, but as they gradually became used to Joe's slightly wavering movements, they all began to relax. George was enchanted as she listened, smiling when she picked out a wrong note from one instrument or another, following the score to keep her mind off the ever approaching moment, when she would have to join them. She listened with pride as John's violin rose and fell just behind her, bringing back some brief, happy memories of when they'd been married, and she would often hear him practice on a regular basis. She also found herself picking out the cellos, of which Jo was one, and the violas, to which Karen belonged. Sir Ian's clarinet, Neumann Mason-Alan's trumpet, and the flutes, one of which belonged to the very pretty barrister who Karen had said had defended Nikki. When they eventually drew to the end of the final chord of Chaos, there was a slightly stunned silence. They really did have a chance of pulling this off! The three on the front row broke into applause, finally beginning to see that this mad idea really was possible.
"Not bad, for a first attempt," Was Joe Channing's critical assessment. "Though the ensemble effect left a lot to be desired. Still, I suppose that will come with practice. All I intend to do today, is to give you all a taste of what we need to accomplish, and to allow each and every one of you, to discover what is required of you, with regards to improvement and practice. Now, I suggest we give one of our soloists something to do. Would one of you like to volunteer?" Both George and Monty stayed absolutely quiet. After a moment's silence, Neil stood up. "In the absence of any other response, I may as well take the first plunge." There was a slight titter from the orchestra, most of them not knowing this stranger in their midst. Joe turned to face him. "Well done," Joe said approvingly. "A soloist with some spirit, that's a very good attitude to have. Do you have a particular piece you would like to attempt?" "How about number seven?" Neil suggested, number seven being the one that Karen had played part of when she'd auditioned. "Oh, thank you very much," Several of the violists grumbled, Karen included. A broad smile spread over Joe's face. "Yes, good idea, give all these string players something to think about, separate the wheat from the chaff." As Neil stood, and opened his score, George gave him a smile of encouragement, forever grateful to him for not having made her take the first jump.
As the cellos thundered, the violas swirled, and the first and second violins swept back and forth, the feeling of 'Rolling In Foaming Billows' was brought right into their midst. The flutes provided the illusion of the wild seabirds, and the other wind instruments the steady roar of the waves. But when Neil began to sing, both Karen and Barbara almost stopped playing. They had both known Grayling for some time, though Karen substantially better, and neither would ever have suspected that he had such a talent.
"Rolling in foaming billows, uplifted, roars the boisterous sea."
His voice seemed to swing with the cellos and battle in counterpoint with the violins, his deep, strong vibrato, captivating everyone. When the gale began to pass, and the tide begin to calm down, his roar decreased, the lyrical washing to and fro of the flutes, interspersed with his softer, finishing lines. As he sang the words, "Through silent vales, the limpid brook," the orchestra provided the feeling of the storm finally spent, leaving nothing but the gentle lapping of the waves against the shore.
There was a short silence when the piece came to an end, followed by an all mighty applause. Neil was incredibly touched by the faith they all clearly had in him. Joe turned to face him. "You were an unknown quantity before today, but I am pleased to say that you are shaping up to the challenge admirably. Now, I think it's about time that my lovely daughter showed you all what she's made of." George could have died, the colour suffusing her cheeks in humiliation. As she got to her feet, John only had to lean slightly to his right, in order to give her hand a quick squeeze. George was immensely grateful to him, his automatic show of affection giving her the courage she needed. "Are you all up to 'With Verdure Clad'?" She asked, sounding far more confident than she really felt. Joe smiled in fond remembrance. "I remember when you sang that at school," He said, turning to the correct page in the score and raising his baton. As George listened to the few introductory bars, the strings and Sir Ian's clarinet beginning the very slow 6-8 that gave the impression of a waltz, she took a deep breath, and opened her mouth.
"With verdure clad, the fields appear, delightful to the ravish'd sense, By flowers sweet and gay, enhanced is the charming sight, enhanced is the charming sight."
As George began, everyone who wasn't playing, immediately put down their scores and listened, her voice capturing every ear. Karen momentarily stopped bowing, the purity in George's voice making her utterly incapable of doing anything but listen. Michael Nivin, becoming aware that she wasn't playing, quickly glanced at her, seeing a look of such pride and wonder on her face that it made him smile. Joe Channing's baton had faltered, the exquisite quality of his daughter's voice, taking him back to that school concert when she was eighteen, when as far as he knew, she was entirely happy. He picked up the beat again soon enough, but nobody missed the succession of emotions that played across his face as she sang. As her voice rose and fell, the cellos, violas and second violins kept the beat gently swinging, with the first violins and the clarinet providing a contrasting counterpoint melody that delicately enhanced the words. When George reached the words, "With copious fruit, th'expanded boughs are hung," Her voice seemed to open up even more, her lungs and throat expanding with the words. But it was with the words, "In leafy arches, twine the shady groves," That Jo felt a shiver run down her spine. It was almost a physical feeling, causing her to gasp at the realisation that she had tears in her eyes. But as the strings moved into several bars of quavers, temporarily taking the six quaver rhythm that actually denoted the time signature, Jo recovered herself and prayed that Brian, in his infinite lack of tact, wouldn't have noticed her little moment of feeling. As George ran daintily through the various repetitions of, "Here fragrant herbs their odours shed; here shoots the healing plant," Clare's flute and Ian's clarinet, took it in turns to accompany her, their own little melodies appearing to hold a conversation. But as she lingered on the penultimate, "Healing plant," the orchestra briefly rested, allowing the pure echo of her voice to hover over the room, making every one of them wonder if her voice might just crack one of the windows.
As she eventually sat down to a second outbreak of applause, John leaned over to kiss her cheek. "Well done," he said into her ear, feeling the blush of pride on her face. Joe didn't know what to say. He was so proud of his daughter, briefly wishing that her mother could have been here to see this. Wholly unable to express his feelings on the matter, he felt it better to carry straight on. "Right, to finish off, I would like to attempt the trio, 'Most Beautiful Appear', because we haven't yet heard anything from you, Monty, and as your wife was so insistent of your talent, I am sure we are all looking forward to seeing proof of it. Now, whilst I know this is not going to be a very welcome suggestion, I think it would be beneficial to all, to carry straight on, and attempt 'The Lord is great' as well." "Daddy, no, you can't," Protested George, knowing only too well just how difficult this particular one was for all concerned. "And why not?" Joe demanded, looking down at his daughter. "Well, it's... It's..." "It's the hardest thing any of you will ever be required to perform," Joe finished for her. "Which is why, without much warning, I am pushing you to the very limits of your capability. If we are going to make a success of this, and after all this organisation I absolutely refuse to fail, you must be made aware of precisely what will be demanded of you in the coming weeks. So, we will begin with the trio, and carry straight onto the celebration of the fourth day."
As George listened to the introductory bars, she became aware, perhaps for the first time, of Lawrence James and Francesca Rochester's oboes, making her wonder at the justice of two such spineless individuals, being given anything resembling a creative talent. After what she'd just sung, George's own phrases came easily to her, leaving her slightly gob smacked when Monty began. She'd never heard him sing, and, though he was trying a little too hard, she could find no fault with his voice. But it was when they all began competing with each other that the fun really began. If they weren't weaving in and out of each other, they were forming complete chords, their voices soaring and dying, gently bringing in the celebration that was to follow.
In the slight pause between the trio and the piece that came next, George, along with both Monty and Neil, prayed that she could attempt to carry this off. They had no chorus with them today, which meant that a significant part of this piece would be missing, leaving the three soloists right out in the open, every wrong note available for all to hear.
As soon as she began, George felt as though she was on a collision course, the words and the notes almost running away with her, Neil and Monty doing their own thing, and with the first violins carrying away a melody of their own. The lack of a chorus was noticeable, though not entirely unwelcome, meaning that at least volume wasn't a problem for any of the soloists. As George rose to the top B flat, she felt that at any moment, she would be flying. All three of them had moments where they almost came unstuck, but all of them just about managed to keep it together till the end. All the way through, John had been aware of George's tension, her body almost like a coiled spring, ready at the merest provocation to spiral entirely out of control. He had been pleasantly surprised at the voice that emitted from Legover, not having previously thought the man had it in him. With all three soloists yelling their guts out, wind players blowing till they thought their lungs would burst, and string players plucking for their lives, the piece finally reached it's close, the timps and the strings providing the final two resonating chords. Yes, there had been fluffed notes from all concerned, and there had been areas of severe strain, both on instruments and their players' ears, but this was the most difficult piece they would ever have to play, and albeit flounderingly, they had done it, proving once and for all that they were all, each and every one of them, well and truly up to the job.