A shiver of fear ran through Joe Channing at the full implications of the appalling task that his beloved but impetuous daughter was foisting on him. The situation was intolerable and the compulsion gripped him to put some distance between him and the situation as soon as possible.
"I want to think this over, George, and reflect over a cigarette outside. Personally I would prefer a large glass of port in civilised surroundings but the local church hall only runs to weak tea and rich tea biscuits."
"You haven't any thoughts, Daddy, of sneaking off?" George's determined tones had that
steely edge. "You know that I will take complete control of the situation and do it my way if you do. I shall not shrink from expressing my feelings till that ghastly woman is packed off to where she belongs."
George glanced at poor daddy as he looked as if he were about to have a heart attack and added more kindly,
"You know we can't carry on as we are. It's not just me. Even Sir James Valentine, that loathsome specimin of sub humanity is in agreement with me judging by that pained expression on his face."
Joe nodded and smiled gratefully at the way George lightened up.
"Only a few minutes, my dear, for a quick cigarette. Tell John where I am and to deal with anything in my absence till I get back."
Joe promptly beat a hasty exit out of the double swing doors with more agility than was thought possible.
As he lit a cigarette and took the first puff, he reflected upon the way he used to stretch his weary limbs in the autumn years of his life. complete with a glass of the finest malt whisky. That seemed a long time ago and, in truth, he had liked the lifestyle of his alternative calling. It was a far different task to cajole and coax the warring ensemble of barristers into a collective ensemble but it was surely working. As for the extra additions to the gathering, he could not fault them on their quiet professionalism. They just got on with what they were supposed to be doing. This realised one of his dreams of being a conductor and giving rein to the theatrically artistic side of his personality. The mere actorish demonstration of his facility with the law was quite on a different level. All this put fire into his veins and propelled him through the day and late on into the evening. He had fondly believed that everything was coming together and had deceived himself long enough until George dropped this bombshell on him.
Of course, George was right about Vera. That infernal woman had drowned out the beauties of the orchestra and of the soloists who performed nobly, even Monty.He asked himself why his hearing had been distorted so that he had somehow tuned out Vera's voice and had diminished the ugliness of the noise that poured forth from her throat. The occasions when the chorus was not present had only served to remind him of what he had shrunk from facing. So why had he not acted before when the brutal truth had stared him in the face or, more accurately, scratched its way across his hearing. He was afraid of her, pure and simple.
Vera Everard was one of those large, dominant women who had always put the fear of God into him. All they had to do was to fix him with that stare with the precision of a laser beam and freeze his bowels when she spoke in that precise, haughty booming voice. It had always crippled his efforts to assert himself as much as he liked despite his elevated profession in the legal profession. When he was at prep school and later at Marlborough, that eagle eyed woman with a fierce voice was there to police the unruly horde of boys and keep them in order. She, the powerful one, was there to ensure that he washed himself behind his ears, that he had cleaned his teeth properly and would not take no for any skimped efforts. She had taken over the mothering that he had received from more gentle ministrations when he was at home. A succession of nannies, all the same no matter how different their names were, had combined to put the fear of god into him. Such memories had lingered through his liftoff course, it was different when he had mingled with his schoolfellows who had followed him on to Oxford and to bar school. That was something that he was familiar as it graduated into the inward looking languid affected clubbable man's club atmosphere of the brethren. As he found his way in the world, the world found its place in him and impressed him with the standards to which he was expected to conform. In such an atmosphere, his self-confidence was boundless and his application and drive was endless as it varied him to the heights of his profession. All was well till the first time he was introduced to Monty's wife and he was lost.
He pushed this image away from him and the more welcome image of George took its place. He loved his daughter dearly and had done his best to make up for the death of his dear wife. Unfortunately, she had been blessed with a mercurial quicksilver temperament from when she was small. He knew how determined she was and that to procrastinate his way out of the situation was fatal. In his heart of hearts, he knew that if Vera were relegated to the sidelines, his problems would be cut drastically down to size. An inspiration dropped into his mind. Surely, a woman with her talents to browbeat and blow her trumpet could be more usefully channeled into the valuable side of advertising for the performance. He hoped that sweet reason would prevail to make her see the sense of the idea. Unfortunately, he had the sneaking feeling that she would not see it the same way.
There was nothing for it. Memory saved him that he had slipped a slim hip flask into his inside jacket pocket. He reached for it and took a swig. A random memory told him that all the best Parliamentary speeches of old were performed with a generous helping of the blessed elixir of life. As Dutch courage flowed through his veins, he smoked the last of his cigarette, entered the door. Smiling vaguely at George who smiled encouragingly, he headed for the brightly dressed woman who was gassing away to a very bored Neumann Mason-Alan.
"Ah, Vera, I wanted to have a quiet word with you," Joe boomed in his heartiest voice.
As the alcohol flush faded, his heart sank to his boots with a built in feeling of defeat but he hoped that Vera didn't sense that. It was as well that he did not realise that he was deluding himself. She sensed his lack of backbone in precisely half a millisecond. Neumann Mason-Alan grabbed that split second chance offered to him and slid off discreetly.
"I hope you appreciate the work of the chorus line. I can hardly hear some of them but thank heaven I was gifted with a pair of lungs so that I can project my voice. All of us girls were trained that way at school."
The music teacher must have been tone deaf and has much to answer for, George thought as she hung discreetly in the background.
"There is a slight problem that way. Nothing very serious that we can't resolve." Joe was sweating visibly and had that sickening feeling that he was debasing himself as much as he feebly tried to assert himself.
"I have absolutely no idea of what you're babbling about. I've never had any complaints about my singing. My friends say that I have that naturally regal manner."
"Appearance and manner does not necessarily make for a chorus singer," Joe muttered in subdued tones.
Vera hesitated a second as anger gradually filled in her like a hot air balloon gradually inflating and taking to the air. She didn't like what she heard.
"Are you trying to tell me, of all people, that I can't sing? I've been married to Monty for years and he hasn't complained. You obviously don't know a thing about music."
That remark stung Joe to the quick. This pompous bombastic woman was throwing in his teeth his years spent in the cultivation of music, a part of his life which had never been for sale and which he had never compromised. Everything about her was hot air with nothing behind it. He suddenly wondered why he had never noticed this before.
"As conductor of the orchestra, I regret to tell you that you are no longer in the chorus. You may have abilities but not in this capacity. I cannot let the others in the orchestra be held back by you, not with less than a month to go to the performance."
He spoke quietly with the restraint of a gentleman trying not to cause any unpleasantness but all the more boilingly determined to have his way. He was, after all, the conductor and leader of the orchestra and, so thoroughly had they got into their roles, that all the others accepted that assertion of authority, not as an appeal court judge.
Vera stared open mouthed. This quivering jelly of a man was being unexpectedly obstinate. She had not come across this before but didn't back down, being stupid and having got her way through all her life.
"I was one of the driving forces of the orchestra when it was first started .I should have taken the part of Eve only I was maneuvered out of it."
A crowd started to assemble like onlookers round an accident but there was a reluctance for any one of them to intervene for fear of making a bad situation worse. Karen, Roisin and Babs, all used to authority in their different ways, hung back as they sensed that this was an ancient conflict within the judiciary which had at last burst out into the open. John noted dispassionately that the row was for Joe to deal with on his own and that he stood or fell at this moment.
"It's not my place to interfere being a relative outsider but if you had the part of Eve, Vera, you would make it impossible for me to play the part of Adam," Grayling quietly stepped in. "I volunteered for this part for the sheer love of music, the wish to be part of a selfless undertaking. I don't want to be cruel but you simply haven't the talent as a singer even in the chorus. There is a role you could play, like in drumming up attendance and advertising. This comes to my mind from observing your undoubted force of character."
A murmur of approval ran round the crowd as someone had decisively stepped in and said what needed saying.
"Well, it's pretty obvious why your daughter got her part."
That spiteful crack finally got to Joe. He wanted this abominable woman out of the church hall as soon as possible. More than ever, he conveyed the tremendous bottled up force of Mount Vesuvius close to the point of eruption if it weren't that obstinate plug in the crater which let only clouds of smoke to waft round the peak.
"I will thank you not to insult my daughter, Vera. She could have been a professional classical singer if she hadn't been called to the bar. My mind is made up. You are entirely free to take up the role of advertising for which you have a free hand and as much clerical support as the brethren can provide you with. My will on this is inflexible."
"Come on. Vera. I don't want us to make a scene. You ought to withdraw from this performance tonight. I'll talk to you, Joe, on Monday."
Everyone made space for Monty. He was not the most popular of men but everyone felt for the tight embarrassment that his facial muscles displayed and the sting to his self-esteem by connection to Vera. He stiffly escorted his wife through the parted crowd and out of the door.
Silence ruled them all as everyone searched their thoughts and to come to terms with a decisive shift in direction in the rehearsals. There was a sense of enormity in the recent exchanges and the battle for power.
"Well said, Neil," John broke the silence and spontaneously stepped forward and shook his hand warmly. "I congratulate you for handling a tricky situation."
"It was no pleasure to say what I said, John.Someone had to say it. It might as well be me."
George stood limply on her legs, a heartfelt smile on her face for that unlikely looking knight in shining armour that was Daddy. Her face was shining with admiration and that he had summoned up the force of character that she didn't know he possessed. She said a few quiet words to thank Grayling also as he came close to her.
"Never let me hear any talk about you being an outsider, Neil," Joe said in gruff emotional tones. He had proved his manhood and was a stout fellow in nobly standing in the breach and coming up trumps in a sticky situation.
Suddenly, George and Joe were talking while everyone else circulated, talking in an animated fashion as the atmosphere had lightened.
"I never knew you could do it, daddy."
"Yes well, I owe a bit of it to my handy hipflask of finest brandy. I got it as a present from my father. 'Never leave your hipflask behind. You never know when you might need it.' He told me. I always took his advice." Joe had a crooked half smile on his face that was strangely innocent.
"Oh, Daddy," George called out in mock reproach at her very wicked father. This from George who had flouted convention in her untamed way for over forty years.