Part Ninety-One
On the Saturday lunchtime, George began getting into the right frame of mind for the coming rehearsal that afternoon. She had already selected the pieces she intended them to work on, and was now thumbing through the score, leaving no stone unturned. Changes in key, time signature and tempo, she vowed to learn them all by heart. She wasn't fool enough to think she could conduct without a score, but she didn't want to have to rely on it. She wanted to do her father proud, even though he wouldn't be there to see it. John would though, and Karen, and Jo, and George found herself eager to impress all of them. Giving her baton one last polish, she switched the CD on for one final time, going through the hardest piece she intended to do that day, the one they'd done last Sunday. The trick with this one was anticipating the switch from 4-4 to 6-8, as it took place in the middle of a bar to provide the anacrusis. Halfway through however, Jo arrived to pick her up.
As there was a distinct lack of parking space around the church hall they used for rehearsals, it had been recommended that as many people travel together as possible. Jo's cello was reclining on the backseat, and George rested her baton on her lap. "Is that yours, or is it your fathers?" Jo asked, as George fastened her seatbelt and they drove away. "It's daddy's spare one." George caressed the tiger wood lovingly. "I'm rather looking forward to this afternoon," She said with an evil grin. "Yeah, well, just go easy on us mere mortals," Jo said with a rueful smile. "Oh, I'll be as gentle as a kitten," George said sweetly, not fooling Jo a bit. "Yes, and kittens have extremely sharp claws." "Then certain people will know not to wind me up, won't they." "Just try not to use this opportunity to settle any old scores," Jo warned seriously. "What, such as Francesca Rochester?" "She's just one of several." "Quite why daddy allowed her to be part of this is beyond me." "There wasn't much he could do to stop her," Jo said fairly. "It doesn't mean I have to be nice to her," George insisted. "I think she's found a fair few of us who have taken that view." "Serves her bloody well right."
When everyone had arrived, and the chairs and music stands had been set out as before, George stepped up onto the makeshift rostrum, provoking more than a few raised eyebrows. "My father cannot be here this weekend, so he has asked me to temporarily take his place. Now, whilst I know this will give most of you just cause for concern, both for your sanity, and the roof of this wonderful hall, I am just as capable as any of you at maintaining a professional facade, even though I may not always do so in court. I see that Sir Monty is also not here, though everyone else appears to be accounted for. You will have noticed that we now have the requisite number of second violins, thanks to Roisin Connor. I ask you all to be nice to her." Barbara gave Roisin an encouraging smile from where she sat in the middle of the string section. George then delighted the male members of the orchestra, by turning round to speak to Grayling. She was perfectly aware of the handful of sly smirks, as they admired her divinely sculptured backview, but she simply ignored it. "I do hope you're up for a lot of singing today," She said to Neil, who privately thought that it wouldn't do the orchestra any harm to come under her cosh. "As long as you give me a break in the middle, I'll be fine. What did you have planned?" "Numbers twenty-two, twenty-three, and depending on how this lot behave themselves," She added in a stage whisper. "We might even have a go at the two love duets." Swinging round to catch the men in mid gawp, she waved her baton to encompass every member of her orchestra. "As you heard, we will be starting with number twenty-two. Now, can anyone tell me what the possible pit fall might be with this?" "We're not at school, for heaven's sake," Sir Ian complained, none too quietly. "No, but if you can't tell me where every one of you might stumble with number twenty-two," George said with a winning smile. "Then you certainly should be." A few people laughed, including John. "The change in time signatures," Clare volunteered. "Thank you," George replied. Then, turning to Ian she added, "It's called abandoning that pride you're so fond of, Ian, you should try it some time." Leaving him in mid bluster, George continued with her explanation. "In bar eighteen of number twenty-two, the time changes from 4-4 to 6-8. The change in time signature, occurs in the middle of the fourth beat of the bar, leaving one quaver to act as the anacrusis, or up beat. You must be ready for this, because I won't be hanging around for any stragglers." As George turned to the correct page in her score, Michael Nivin said to Karen, "I think we're being given an inkling as to what she'd be like, if she ever became a judge." Hearing Karen's low, husky laugh, George glanced over at her, receiving nothing but an innocent smile in return.
As she raised her baton for the downbeat, she glanced back to make sure that Neil was ready. The pure strength of the sound that surrounded her momentarily threw George, though she didn't let it show in her beat. Every person watching her was soon very much aware of one thing, George's beat was clipped, firm, and clear, with not a single trace of the slightly wavering quality that Joe's had possessed. It was immediately evident that George would wait for no man, or woman come to that. She could hear Neil's voice resonating behind her, with the occasional crescendo from the trombones in front, and the continuous chords from the strings all around her. They moved fairly smoothly through the time change, George's baton swooping from four beats to two dotted beats without a flicker. When they reached the section of pizzicato strings, accompanying the lyrical flute melody, George raised her left hand and brought them to a halt. "It is abundantly clear," She said in slightly disgusted tones. "Precisely who has practiced this before, and who hasn't. Clare, you were beautiful, but I cannot say the same for the strings. The whole point about this little section is for the flute to have as little accompaniment as possible. That means that you must, must, must play in time. The plucking needs to happen just before the note is required, for the sound to be heard on the beat itself. Let's try just those few bars again, without Clare, because I want to hear exactly where we have a problem." Raising her baton, she counted in the two bars before the plucking began. Allowing herself to be submerged in their sound, she was able to pick out those who kept to her beat. "Seeing as that was no more successful than before," She said, with a slightly malevolent grin on her face. "Let us try it without John, Roisin, Karen and Jo, as I suspect it is those few who are getting it right." She knew this to be true, as this was the piece they'd practiced on Sunday. Receiving a glower from Brian Cantwell, Jo smirked. That would teach him to think he was better than her, in court or out of it.
George worked, and worked, and worked her string section, until she was thoroughly satisfied. "Finally!" She exclaimed. "Now, let's try this from the top, and without any offbeat plucking, and as long as everyone is agreeable, we will carry straight onto number twenty-three. You do all need to get used to the length of breaks between pieces, and there isn't anything drastically difficult about number twenty-three for you to worry about, or for me to explain." This time, they managed to sail through the awkward sections, with the bassoon being added to the flute on the repetition of the pizzicato phrase. As they progressed smoothly into number twenty-three, the rest of the orchestra joined in, including Sir James Valentine's timps. When Sir James resumed his drumming after a significantly long rest, George again raised her hand to call a halt. "More sound, less noise please, Sir James. This is Haydn, not the fab four." John wasn't the only one to break into a roar of laughter at this remark. George would be signing her career suicide warrant if she wasn't careful. When they tried this piece for the second time, George could see Sir James frowning in ill-concealed hatred of her for embarrassing him. Having dragged her orchestra through these two of Neil's solos, George told him to take a break while they concentrated on the accompaniment for number sixteen, 'On Mighty Pens'. "Oh dear," Drawled Sir James venomously. "Can't Mrs. Channing sing and conduct simultaneously?" "Not this one, no," George replied curtly, not rising to the bait. "Now, the clarinet is supposed to represent the flapping of the bird's wings, and the flute, the bird's call. Everyone else, apart from providing the accompaniment, is trying to portray the backdrop of the air, through which the bird is flying. This is by far the first flute's greatest challenge of this work, so let's give her something to play for." Giving Clare a smile, she raised her baton, counting in the three silent beats before the up beat crotchet.
They played through this piece relatively smoothly, with George occasionally calling out various instructions or corrections on the hoof, not making the entire orchestra stop for every mistake. But after a succession of irritations from Sir Ian, George thought it was high time he was brought down from off his self-made pedestal. "Ian, when you play your introduction to the words, 'his welcome bids to morn the merry lark', you are giving the impression of a bird whose wings can barely be bothered to move. The bird is flying to her mate, with all the urgency of a bitch on heat, not with the lack lustre approach of a witless man, who can't think of a better excuse than the proverbial headache. Do I make myself clear?" As George took in the laughter from both Neil and John, together with most of the women, she noticed the blank expression on Lawrence James's face. It would not do after all, for Mr. James to be laughing at the plight of his immediate superior. Once the laughter had subsided, though with no reply from a smouldering Ian, George said, "Let's try again." Ian did put far more vigour into his phrases this time, though George suspected this was more from blind fury at his humiliation, than any attempt to improve. But when they'd moved onto the accompaniment for one of Monty's solos, this also done without the singer because of his absence, George's eye was continually caught by what Sir Ian and Lawrence James were doing. As the piece they were playing was mainly comprised of strings and a few brass, with both clarinet and oboe being given a break, Sir Ian and Lawrence James, appeared to be passing something between them, keeping it for a moment, and then passing it back. George couldn't be certain from where she stood, but she had a feeling that it was a notebook. So, that was what they were up to, was it? Writing notes instead of listening, like two adolescent schoolboys with nothing better to do. George would have left well alone, except for the evilly insipid grin on Sir Ian's face.
When they reached the end of the piece they'd been playing, George stepped down from the rostrum, walked between the first desk of second violins and the harpsichord, and unceremoniously plucked the notebook out of Sir Ian's hand, before he'd even noticed her presence. When he tried to take it back, she stalked away from him, ending up standing back on the rostrum, in full view of everyone. In response to Sir Ian's fruitless mouthing, she said, "If you are going to persist in doing what I think you were doing, at least have the decency to do it covertly, where I can't see you. Now, seeing as your little foray into adolescence was clearly far more important to you, what you have written must therefore be for public consumption." Then, to Sir Ian and Lawrence James's dismay, she opened the notebook, flicking through its pages, trying to find the choicest remarks to read out loud to all and sundry. "Well, well," She said, after reading for a few moments. "It appears that most of this drivel is aimed at me, which is all to the good. Let me see. Ah yes, 'I wonder where Mrs. Channing gets her fabulous wrist action from.' Why, thank you," She drawled with false gratitude. "I suggest you ask your old friend, the secretary of state for trade about that. I'm sure he'll be only too delighted to tell you. Oh, and here's an interesting one, 'What do you think it will take to make her snap?' Well, you can find out in a minute, can't you?" Then, after reading for a little while longer, she continued with, "'Have a guess at how many women in this orchestra have been to bed with Mr. Justice Deed.' Well now, your wife could go at the top of the list, couldn't she, Sir Ian. Oh, tut, tut," She said, on reading what came next. "'John Deed must have something going for him if Mrs. Mills keeps going back to him.' Well, you can ask your wife about that too, can't you." But when George read what was on the next page, she became absolutely still. The words she was seeing in front of her eyes were causing a combination of reactions in her, hurt, anger, a little confusion, and a desire to protect Jo, from ever finding out what those two of nature's miscreants had written about her. Every eye was on her as she stood there, holding the notebook in her slightly trembling hand. But when she said, "We will all be taking ten minutes break, after which we will be doing the two love duets," They all stared at her. Unwilling to give them any explanation, George stepped down from the rostrum, slipped the notebook into her handbag, and stalked purposefully towards the outside, needing a hit of nicotine more than anything else in the world.
Only one person came to disturb her, Karen. "Are you all right?" She asked, laying a hand on George's shoulder. "No," George replied quietly. "I'm not." "What did they say?" "Trust me," George said acidly. "You really don't want to know." "Was it about Jo?" "Yes, and I'll do everything I can to stop her from finding out what it was. God, I could strangle the pair of them." "You're doing very well today, you know," Karen said kindly, trying to make her feel better. "Well, I've now got to sing and conduct at the same time," George said with a mirthless laugh. "So let's hope I can pull that off as well."
When George returned inside, she walked up to Neil. "Are you ready for this?" She asked him. "It'll be a bit like my marriage," He said ruefully, and at her raised eyebrow added, "Acting in love when I'm clearly not." "Oh, I see," She said, for some reason wanting to know more about this enigma before her. "I'm going to need you to stand where I can see you." As Neil moved to stand between the back desks of the first and second violins, George mounted the rostrum and flipped the pages of her score. When she'd raised a hand for silence, she said, "This may be marked 4-4, but it is so slow, that the triplets give the effect of a waltz. Seeing as this is a love duet, this is particularly appropriate." She counted in one bar's rest, to give them an idea of the speed, adding two softer beats to every actual beat, to mark out the triplets and make the time easier to follow. The strings achieved the waltz effect of the music, being joined by Lawrence James and his oboe. But as she and Neil were about to begin singing, George held up a hand. "Mr. James, would it be too much to ask, for you to play that little phrase all in one breath?" "Of course, Mrs. Channing," Lawrence replied ingratiatingly, clearly trying to make up for his and Sir Ian's earlier misdemeanour. "Imagine you're about to go down on a woman, Mr. James," John said into the silence, causing a ripple of laughter and a brief, thoroughly wicked little smirk from George. This time, she let the music flow, joining Neil in their appreciation of the God who had created them. George could clearly see Neil from where she stood, and attempted to persuade her soul to join with his, to combine their love for music, if not each other. But something felt wrong. She should be singing this with John, not with Neil. She had sung this with John, on Easter Sunday, in her lounge at home. It had felt real then, but now it just felt forced. When they reached the end, George felt disappointed. This was supposed to be wonderful, something to take pleasure in, but it simply left her flat and dejected. "Let's carry straight on," She said, not wishing to dwell on anything to do with that particular piece. "We'll miss out the preceding recit." "Why, is that so that you don't have to say 'Thy will is law to me'?" John asked stonily. "I would be committing heresy to my reputation if I did that," George said, turning to face him, and liking neither the tone of his voice nor the look on his face. "John, don't scowl, it really doesn't suit you." Not having time to wonder what his problem was, she lifted her baton, finding that yes, with a relatively easy piece, she really could detach her hand from her voice, from the rest of her body, so that it kept up its work without faltering. She was able to let herself go a little more with this one, but she still felt that something was missing, something she couldn't quite put her finger on.
'Spouse adore'd, at thy side, purest joys o'erflow the heart; life and all I have, all I have is thine; my reward thy love shall be.'
George put everything she had into those lines, but still it wasn't quite enough, and when their lines began to intertwine, creating the most deliciously decorative counterpoint, she tried to feel that she really was enacting this with a lover. But Neil Grayling wasn't her lover, he was just a man, just a gay man whom she would never be attracted to, and who would most certainly never be attracted to her. They managed to keep up the act, Neil clearly putting far more into it than she did, until they were approaching the end.
'With thee, with thee, is every joy enhanced.'
What a joke, George thought grimly to herself, what a sheer mockery of the love that was supposed to exist between a man and his wife. She and John had been like that once, in those early, golden days, the days before Charlie had come along, forever separating her and John in all but name and association. Even now, even though he still slept with her, still said that he loved and wanted her, even now they hadn't managed to recapture that incessant bliss Haydn had spoken of.
When she lowered her baton for the last time, there was a short silence. "I think we'll leave it there for today," She said, and everyone could hear the dull finality in her tone. As she stepped down from the rostrum and picked up her handbag, Neil approached her. "That didn't go to well, did it?" He said quietly. "No," She said regretfully. "Maybe it'll go better next time." Neil was about to say something further to her, but George felt John's hovering, malevolent presence before she saw him. "I think we need to talk," He said icily. "Now." "John, is this absolutely necessary?" George asked, the irritation evident in her tone. "I was planning to get a little drunk with Jo this evening, wasn't I, Jo," She said as Jo approached them, begging Jo with her eyes to acquiesce and cover for her. "Yes," Jo replied, seeing that George clearly needed her intervention. "Tough," John said abruptly. "Because you and me are going to talk, this evening, tonight, now. Is that clear?" Even George knew not to disobey the rigidity of either his voice or his expression. "I'm sorry, Jo," She said bitterly. "It appears I have an unavoidable appointment with the master here. Do please excuse me."