Part One Hundred And Twenty Five
On the Saturday a week after the rehearsal, George and Neil had agreed to have another practice together, because George would be able to play the accompaniment to any of Neil's solos, and because George thought that he might be able to help her get a couple of her own into shape. They'd decided to meet at George's again, because she had a piano and Neil didn't. It was about a month until they would be performing 'The Creation', and George still wasn't happy with her solo that went up to top C. Every time she tried to practice it, her throat would tighten, her vocal cords constricting, because they were anticipating the sort of debacle that had occurred on the one occasion that she'd sung it in front of the rest of them. Neil had witnessed her failure on that occasion, which made it a little less frightening for her to ask his advice. Only a fellow singer could understand the feeling she had whenever she tried to sing this particular piece. She had no idea what he might suggest, but anything was better than nothing. She had a month to sort herself out, five weeks to be precise, which wasn't all that long for someone with a hectic busy life like her.
They'd gone through a couple of Neil's solos with George playing for him, and suggesting the odd minor alteration. The way his deep, throbbing voice reverberated around her lounge occasionally made her shiver. They were right, she thought to herself as she played, having something so powerful within touching distance, definitely was sexually exhilarating, whether it was intended to be or not. When he came to the end of one particularly resonant piece, George opened her mouth and spoke before she could banish the thought, which was uppermost in her mind. "Sing to all your lovers like that, and you'll succeed every time." As she put her hand to her mouth in mortification, Neil laughed. "It has been known," He said with a broad smile. "My tongue really will get me into trouble one of these days," She said, a faint blush staining her cheeks. "Yes, I don't doubt," Neil mocked her with a smirk. "Touché," She replied, admitting the success of his counter-offensive. "Would you like me to play for you?" He asked. "I didn't know you did," George said in surprise. "I might not possess a piano, but yes, I do, when I get the chance. My current partner has an ancient upright that I've been practicing on. So having the opportunity to play something so exquisite, would be wonderful." "Ah, then far be it from me to deny you the pleasure," She said, getting to her feet. George didn't usually like anyone touching her piano, the musician's immense protectiveness for their instrument, always kicking in if someone so much as put something down on it that didn't belong there. But as Neil Grayling moved the stool slightly further away to accommodate his longer legs, and ran his hands almost reverently over the keys, she knew that he held the utmost respect for something so precious.
As he began manipulating the beautifully carved keys, a look of sheer, unguarded pleasure spread over Neil's face. George watched him as she sang, first through 'With Verdure Clad', and then through 'On Mighty Pens', seeing his utter delight at the quality of her instrument. Neil couldn't quite believe his luck. For the last few weeks, he'd been playing through parts of this score, and had been thoroughly unmoved by the sound he managed to get out of Marcus's slightly battered upright piano. But here, now, he was running his hands over a beautifully kept baby grand, the subtle weight of the ivory keys really making his hands do some work. Their utter sensitivity was a power to behold, and made this particular piano a being in its own right. As her eyes followed the progress of his long fingers over the black and white keys, George reflected that this must be how he played the bodies of his lovers, skillfully coaxing every ounce of satisfaction out into the open.
When they reached the end of George's two solos, Neil said almost wonderingly, "That really is an utterly incredible instrument. I don't know how long you've had it, but you've looked after it beautifully." "Thank you," George said with pride. "Daddy gave it to me for a wedding present, so I've had it for more years than I care to remember." "Does your daughter play?" He asked, glancing at a picture of Charlie on top of the television. "No," George said ruefully. "Anything her mother might like her to do, has always been greeted with a firm no as a matter of course. John tried to teach her the violin once, and because it was John, she was perfectly open to the idea. But it wasn't very successful. Any musical ability that either John or I might possess, seems to have completely passed Charlie by." "You sound bitter," Neil observed. "It's entirely my own fault that my daughter barely gives me the time of day, well, except when she wants something that John isn't prepared to give her." George went quiet after saying this, and Neil realised that he'd accidentally stumbled into an area of George's complicated life, where he clearly did not belong.
"There is one of your solos that we haven't yet covered," He said, breaking in on her less than pleasant thoughts, and trying to get her back on track. "Yes," She said, focussing her gaze back on him and away from the past. "No matter what I try to do with this piece, I just can't get it right. It's as if all my muscles are expecting me to get it wrong." "Okay," He said, flipping through the score until he came to the right page. "Just try it now, and let's see how far we get." "It'll probably sound terrible," She said nervously. "So, it's not your body that thinks you're going to fail," Neil told her seriously. "It's you yourself. Keep on thinking like that, and you'll never get it right. In order for your body to have the remotest chance of fulfilling the requirements of a piece like this, you need to start out by believing that you can do it." "But that's just it," George said tightly. "I don't." Neil pondered this one for a moment. "When did you last smoke?" He asked, trying to single out anything that may cause a problem. "Yesterday," She told him honestly. "And when did you last have sex?" He asked, knowing this wouldn't be answered quite so easily. "Precisely why is that important?" She asked with a smile. "That's what you get when you tangle with a lawyer," Neil said dryly. "I'm simply trying to work out how relaxed you ought to be." "Last night," She told him, not quite meeting his eyes. "Then it obviously doesn't have anything resembling a lasting effect on you," Neil observed. "That's one way of putting it," George replied fairly. "But what makes you say that?" "You look very nervous, extremely tense, and though it really isn't my place to say it, far too thin for your own good." George opened her mouth a couple of times, but unable to come up with anything remotely intelligible to say, she shut it again. "Have you eaten today?" He continued. "Because low blood sugar certainly won't help your energy levels, which are absolutely vital if you want to put everything you've got into a song, and this song requires exactly that." "No, not yet," She said, refusing to meet his penetrating gaze. Glancing meaningfully at the clock on the mantelpiece, that said it was nearly four in the afternoon, Neil said, "Then please go and eat a slice of bread and jam, and have a cup of tea." Without a word, George did as he asked, making a cup for him as well so that she didn't feel quite as conspicuous. When she returned, handing him his cup, and sitting on the sofa to do his bidding, he could see that there wasn't a hint of butter underneath the jam. Thinking that she probably wouldn't want him to watch her eating, he flipped through some of the other music she had scattered over the top of the piano. Chopin, Beethoven, Brahms, even some Debussy, showing him that here was one very skilful pianist, who didn't go out of her way to show off her talent. When she'd finished eating, and had put her plate back in the kitchen, she finished her mug of tea, and moved to stand once again near to the piano. "How do you feel now?" He asked her. "Extremely full," She replied, unable to be other than honest with this man who didn't judge her. "Well, let's give it a go now, and if it doesn't work," He told her gently. "Then we'll find a way to make it work. We did with the duets, so we can with this." "I think I need the security blanket of the chorus behind me for this one," She said, still trying to avoid singing this in front of him. "It'll be a bit threadbare in places with our chorus," He said, making her smile. But taking her at her word, he moved over to the CD player, and slotted in the first disk of 'the Creation', moving it to the right track for 'The Marvelous Work Behold Amazed.'
As the sound of the oboes and strings began to fill the room, Neil came to stand behind her, turning her to face the stereo across the room, so that she couldn't possibly see the score on top of the piano. He thought she would almost certainly know this by heart, but he wanted to make sure. He placed his hands on her shoulders, slightly altering her posture, making her spine as straight as a pencil. But as she took in a breath to begin singing, he could feel her shoulders slightly rising under his hands. So as to make sure he was right about how she was breathing, he placed a gentle hand across the stretch of ribs above her breasts, just under her collarbones. As she moved through the words of the first verse, he felt every intake of breath high in her chest. Reaching for the remote control on the coffee table, he paused the CD. "You're not breathing properly," He told her succinctly. "You're breathing through your chest, rather than through your diaphragm, which means that you're not taking in as much air as you can." "That's probably because I'm not very relaxed," She said, knowing he was right. "Okay, so this time, instead of actually singing, just breathe very slowly, but in time to the music, breathing in once every two bars, but try doing it with your diaphragm." He started the same track again, and whilst keeping one hand in its original position, he placed his other one below her breasts, where he would normally have expected to find a little spare flesh covering the ribs, but not in George. "If you don't like me touching you like this," He said to her. "Just say so." But it didn't bother her, not in the slightest. His touch was sensual, yet clinical, giving her the slightly naughty feeling of becoming excited by the touch of one's physician. She did as he asked, and felt the increased pressure of his upper hand, every time she failed to breathe in the correct manner. Once he felt that she'd relaxed enough to master the breathing properly, he began the song again, and this time told her to sing. The slow, regular breathing she'd done had relaxed her, put her muscles into the right frame of mind for opening up her throat as wide as it would go. Neil gradually removed his hands from her torso, not wanting to startle her, but laid them again on her shoulders, gently encouraging her to lean against him, as he eased some of the muscles in the back of her neck. He was extremely careful not to allow his fingers to come into contact with her larynx, as the merest of touches can alter the pitch by as much as a whole tone. When she began the approach to her Waterloo, he felt her slight hesitation, and began running his thumbs over the rising goosebumps on her arms. George didn't know if he knew that what he was doing was incredibly sexy, but it was. The pads of his thumbs were so soft, the flesh so warm and firm, that it didn't take much of her imagination to place them somewhere else. Focussing on the thought of his thumbs caressing her nipples, instead of the thoroughly unexciting skin of her forearms, she almost forgot about what was coming. The words and the notes came to her from long practice, rising from her relaxed and open throat, to soar into the air as birds that were destined for the heavens. She had no difficulty singing the word 'Vaults', rising to the top, sixth octave C, as if she'd been doing it every day of her life. Neil felt the note resonate through her entire body, and had it not been for his hands on her, he briefly wondered if it may have lifted her off her feet. The note was pure, bright, and perfect.
When the piece came to an end, Neil flicked it off with the remote control. As he turned George to face him, he was shocked to see the tears coursing down her cheeks. "Hey, that was the best thing I've ever heard out of you," He told her, meaning every word of it. "I know," She said, feeling stupid at her weakness. "I really didn't think I would ever do it." "Well, you've proved that you can do it," He said gently, enfolding her in his arms. "And on matters of one's art, rather than one's heart, I am never wrong." George laughed through her tears. She couldn't believe it. This man, this man whom she'd only recently got to know, had just released her from a temporary psychological block. He'd made it possible for her not just to sing those pieces she liked, but to really put her all into the thing she'd once failed at. He'd made it possible for her to make her father, and John, proud of her. "Thank you," She said, detaching herself from his arms and reaching for the box of tissues on the coffee table, knowing that even with Vera Everard driving her to distraction at the next rehearsal, she would sing her heart out and prove every one of the Ian Rochester's well and truly wrong.