Mel played two pieces by Fritz Kreisler. Once under way, he became calmer and so did the audience. Difficult for Diamond to tell whether he was playing well. More out of relief than anything else the audience gave him a generous reception, after which he was joined by Ivan Bogdanov for an arrangement for viola and violin of Handel’s Harpsichord Suite No. 7 in G minor. The two blended well.
While the piece was being played, Diamond’s concentration wasn’t total, or even partial. He’d heard almost as much of this stuff as a man could take in one evening — a man whose musical education hadn’t up to now stretched beyond Freddie Mercury and Montserrat Caballé singing ‘Barcelona’. His attention wandered to the huge painting over the mantelpiece, a particularly gruesome hunting scene. People mostly on horseback were slaughtering wolves and foxes with clubs and spears. Dead and dying animals testified to the success of the day’s sport. A strange backdrop for a musical soirée. How ironic if one of the quartet turned out to be a killer.
All four returned to play the last piece on the programme, Andante Festivo, by Sibelius. At this stage of the evening the term ‘strung out’ summed up Diamond’s condition in more senses than one. But the piece was mercifully over in about five minutes. Then to his despair the audience demanded an encore. They wouldn’t stop clapping.
Ivan led the musicians off.
‘Thank God,’ Diamond said to Ingeborg.
She said, ‘Hang about, guv. They’re coming back.’
Diamond’s buttocks flexed. Amazing any life was left in them.
Ivan stepped forward to speak. ‘We would like to offer you a piece neglected by many ensembles: the Sibelius String Quartet in D minor, Opus 56.’
Huge applause.
The buttocks went into spasm. Another entire quartet.
As if he was a mind-reader, Ivan continued, ‘But it’s late and unfortunately we don’t have time for the entire composition, so with apologies to Sibelius we’ll pick it up at the start of the fifth and final movement. Thank you for being such a splendid audience.’
The quartet knew what they were doing. Whatever it was that made the Sibelius a neglected quartet, its climax was a sure-fire audience-pleaser, the Allegro, dynamic, demanding and impassioned. When the bows were lifted from the instruments a standing ovation followed. Diamond was among the first to rise. He needed no prompting.
‘I’ve become a fan,’ Ingeborg told him. ‘Wasn’t that awesome?’
‘Yes, but don’t overdo the clapping.’
‘Such talent. It’s almost impossible to believe one of them could be...’
‘I can believe it, no problem,’ he said.
20
‘What’s the matter with you?’ Ivan asked.
‘My hand, you mean?’ Mel said. ‘It’s not serious.’
‘Your whole performance. You were pathetic. Timing, intonation. And don’t blame the new instrument. You were perfectly good in rehearsal.’
The quartet were using the gothic library in the West Wing at Corsham Court as a base. Their manager Douglas had joined them. Tired and drained from the performance, they were supposed to be unwinding before travelling home. This wasn’t unwinding; it was winding up.
Cat came to Mel’s defence as if she was shaping a passage with her cello, a stabilising counterpoint. ‘Ivan, that’s way over the top. He wasn’t that bad. He was a damn sight better than most of the so-called violists we’ve played with, and I never heard you slag one of them off.’
‘Because we know he can do better.’ Ivan turned on Mel again. ‘Are you a drinker? If you are, we have a right to be told.’
With the musicians almost squaring up to each other, Douglas tried his old-school best to calm the situation. ‘Steady on, old man.’
Mel decided the others deserved an explanation. More than anyone, he knew his playing hadn’t been up to standard. ‘Ivan is right. I was rubbish. I had a fall today. Well, to be honest, I was knocked down by a car.’
Douglas said, ‘Stone the crows!’
‘And it wasn’t due to drink, not on my part, anyway.’
‘Where did this happen?’ Cat asked.
‘In the street outside my lodgings. My landlady spotted this stationary car with someone seated inside staring at the house. He’d been there a long time and she thought we had a stalker. She has a rather attractive daughter. I went over to speak to the guy. When he saw me coming he drove off fast. I don’t think he meant to hit me. He just wanted to be away, but the side of the car brushed against me and sent me flying.’
‘So he was a stalker?’ Cat said.
‘He wasn’t staying to talk about it, whoever he was.’
‘That’s how you did your hand?’
‘It was grazed and bled a bit. My arm is the problem. It’s stiff today and I bashed my head on the road as well.’
‘And still turned up tonight and gave a performance?’
Cat said. ‘Played your solo pieces and the duet as well as the Beethoven and the Sibelius? That’s heroic.’ To Ivan, she said, ‘I hope you’re about to apologise for the snide remarks you made.’
‘I do.’
‘In all humility?’ Cat said with a stare worthy of a headmistress.
Humility was an alien concept to Ivan, but he mumbled something that wasn’t a denial.
‘Your left hand is the one you use for fingering, isn’t it?’ Douglas said to Mel. ‘I don’t know how you got through the evening.’
‘All those vibratos,’ Cat said, her face creasing in sympathy.
‘The fingers weren’t damaged, I’m glad to say. I’d have let you know if I thought I was going to mess up. More than anything, my state of mind was the problem.’
‘Listen, darling, you weren’t pathetic, as Joe Stalin over there so unkindly put it. I don’t suppose any of the audience noticed.’
Douglas said, ‘I certainly didn’t. And from the reception you were given there’s no doubt Cat is right. Nobody was any the wiser.’
‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ Mel said.
‘Get a grip, people,’ Cat said. ‘This was one evening in front of twenty or thirty rich punters who think the only good note is a banknote. The bigger picture is that Mel’s playing has raised our game. We’re better now than at any time since we formed. Isn’t that a fact, Anthony?’
The laconic second violin gave a nod.
‘He says bang on, back of the net, hole in one,’ Cat said.
Douglas shifted the focus back to the accident. ‘Didn’t the driver stop?’
Mel shook his head.
‘Hit and run, the bastard,’ Cat said.
‘Did you get a look at him?’ Douglas asked.
‘My landlady did. She said he was in his forties, going grey and quite good looking. Not much of a description, I know, but she’d probably know him if she saw him again.’
‘Did you call the police?’
Mel shook his head. ‘Didn’t get the number. And I don’t think he meant to knock me over.’
‘It was dangerous driving, whatever you may think.’
‘Aside from the fact that the man’s a menace to women,’ Cat said.
‘We can’t be certain he was a stalker,’ Douglas went on. ‘Has it occurred to you, Mel, that this may have nothing to do with your landlady’s daughter — that he was spying on you?’