Madame Sousatzka (15 page)

‘As long as you don't leave me alone with her,' said Jenny.

‘Don't worry. You stick with me,' Marcus told her. ‘I'll do all the talking.' He suddenly felt a proprietary right in Jenny. He sensed that she was depending on him. She put her injured arm round him.

‘Not that one,' Cordle said, ‘you're not supposed to be able to lift it. I think you'd better put it in a sling to remind you.' Suddenly Jenny remembered that she had a client at four o'clock. ‘You'll have to take the bandage off, Cordle, and do
it again before we go. Otherwise it's going to get disarranged.'

Cordle undid the bandage with the long-suffering patience of his profession. ‘I'll never make as good a job of it the second time.' But secretly he was happy to find an excuse to do it again. He loved bandaging. It was a clean, neat and tidy job, especially when there was no wound to sicken you. He found it very satisfying to unroll a virgin bandage, crossing it this way and that to get a neat little fit. He often regretted that his special skill did not call for more bandaging, and he fleetingly considered how he could justly incorporate it into his profession. He unwound Jenny's bandage lovingly, trying to roll it back into its original shape. But once deflowered, it had lost its pristine symmetry. He threw it away into Uncle's wastepaper basket, gleefully anticipating a fresh roll.

Jenny left them for her meeting: Marcus decided to practise, and Madame Sousatzka announced that she would start dressing. She ran after Jenny to borrow the magazine. Uncle and Cordle settled down to a game of draughts. Uncle was gently rocking in her chair, and from above them in the studio they could hear Marcus practising.

‘What do you think of Beethoven, Uncle?' Cordle said.

‘I think he's great, he's moving, he's prophetic,' she laughed.

When they arrived at Manders's house they found a number of cars parked outside. Marcus pressed the bell and a series of vulgar nursery chimes answered him. The door was opened by a man they assumed was a butler. He wore a new white coat, and looked unnervingly like Cordle. He practically forced the two women into the cloakroom, while Marcus waited outside.

Sousatzka and Jenny let a decent interval elapse before they came out again. The butler was looking at his watch, as if he was timing them. He was sniffing all the time, and they weren't too sure whether it was a sniff of better breeding, or whether Jenny's ointment was too overpowering. He asked for their card.

Jenny smiled at him. ‘We haven't got cards,' she whispered confidentially, as if to say that socially they were really on his level. ‘Just say Madame Sousatzka and party.'

He raised his eyebrows, convinced that they were gatecrashers.

‘We are expected,' said Madame Sousatzka, on her dignity.

‘What did you say the name was?' he asked haughtily. He obviously didn't wish to be one of them.

‘Sousatzka,' Marcus said in a clear voice, wondering how a man could be so ignorant, never to have heard the name before. ‘Madame Sousatzka.'

The butler sniffed again, took a deep breath, opened the lounge door and stood against the post. ‘Sousatzka,' he threw off contemptuously, as if he were announcing the arrival of a greyhound, ‘and party,' he finished, stressing the anonymity.

He was astonished at the welcome Mr Manders accorded them. He came forward and took their hands. He winked at Jenny. ‘My dear,' he said, ‘what's happened to you?'

‘She burnt it,' Marcus said. He felt, since he was the author of the play, he had a right to launch it.

‘How was that?' Manders asked with concern.

‘Nothing very exciting,' Jenny said. ‘Just steam from the kettle.' Both Marcus and Madame Sousatzka nodded.

‘You can certainly smell it,' Manders whispered.

‘Oh my dears,' Mrs Manders swept towards them. ‘How nice of you to come. We've been waiting hours for you.' She flung her arm in the direction of her sundry guests. She started to sniff and then noticed Jenny's bandage. She put her hand on Jenny's thumb. Jenny shrieked with the pain. Manders thought she was overdoing it.

‘It only happened yesterday, and it still hurts.' Marcus smiled at Jenny, silently congratulating her on her script embellishments.

‘I'm so sorry, my dear,' Mrs Manders sympathized. ‘You won't be able to play for us. But our little Marcus is all right, I notice. I hope you're ready, my dear. We're all just dying to hear you.' She indicated her guests again. They all looked perfectly healthy and quite happy as they were, drinking, talking, not even noticing the new arrivals. Mrs
Manders's greeting to Madame Sousatzka was an afterthought. ‘You must be quite nervous, Madame,' she said. ‘Do sit down.'

She shepherded Marcus and Jenny to the other side of the room. Manders followed them. Madame Sousatzka turned around and found a chair that had been discreetly placed behind her while her back was turned. Another white-coated flunkey appeared with a single glass of sherry on a large silver tray. She sipped it quietly. She suddenly felt very hot, and realized that her chair had been placed against a radiator. She surreptitiously turned the knob to ‘Off, and noted happily that it was the only form of heating in the room. A little black dachshund suddenly appeared on her floor area. In her embarrassing isolation, Madame Sousatzka could have kissed it with gratitude. It was a godsend. There is nothing quite like a dog for a nervous wallflower. It was someone to talk to, so that if others looked her way they would see that she was occupied. She began to talk to the dog, cunningly putting out her foot so that it couldn't get away. ‘Hullo darrlink,' she said. ‘You come also to hear the music?' Not surprisingly, the dog gave no answer. Madame Sousatzka tried again. ‘Oh, such a beautiful face you have,' she said. She hated the sight of dogs, and this one was particularly hideous. ‘Are you hungry?' she asked, as the dog made to get away. At that moment she would have given her right arm for the dog to eat, if only he would stay in her area, but he slid off and Sousatzka just managed to kick him for rejecting her. She was left once again in public isolation. She got up with the intention of going. ‘Manders,' she shouted.

‘Why, my dear Madame Sousatzka, what are you doing over there? Do meet Mr Phillips,' and he grasped the person nearest his grasp. ‘Come and join us.' He brought her forward, calling Jenny and Marcus into their circle, effecting as many introductions as he could, talking all the time for fear Madame Sousatzka would interrupt him. She had decided meanwhile to stay. She had plenty on Manders and he knew it. It would keep.

‘Madame Sousatzka,' an old gentleman croaked nearby. ‘The teacher. My dear, I've heard of you, but I thought you
dead,' he said chattily. He began to sniff audibly, as though he were still suspicious that Madame Sousatzka was in a state of
rigor mortis
, but it was only because Jenny was standing nearby.

‘It's my ointment,' she explained to him. ‘I've burnt my hand.'

‘Oh dear, I am sorry,' he said. ‘What did your doctor put on it? I'm a doctor you know,' he went on to explain. ‘I'm always interested in other doctors' opinions.' Jenny rose to the unexpected occasion. ‘What would
you
have put on it, doctor?'

‘Why, aureomycin of course.'

‘Well, my doctor must be very clever,' said Jenny. ‘That's exactly what he gave me.'

The old man laughed. ‘Yes, I thought so. Smells like it,' he said. ‘The treatment of a simple burn doesn't call for much imagination, alas. Now, you keep it well covered. Well, well, well,' he turned to Madame Sousatzka again, ‘so it's your pupil we're going to have the pleasure of hearing tonight. And what do you hope from this lad here?' He put his professional hand on Marcus's head. Marcus had the kind of head that invited people to fondle or shelter it. In fact, when no one's hand was there, he felt unfinished. The old man's hand was comfortable and fitted nicely, and Marcus was sorry when he took it away.

‘Marcus will be the great pianist,' said Madame Sousatzka. ‘You will hear him. You will see.' She looked away from the old man and was horrified to see that Mrs Manders had got hold of Jenny. She nudged Marcus. ‘I think Jenny wants you, my darrlink,' she said, and Marcus, knowing his cue, rushed over to Jenny's side.

‘I think it's very becoming,' Jenny was saying, very much at home. ‘I was getting rather tired of those very long dresses.'

Marcus felt he wasn't needed and he returned to Madame Sousatzka. Again he felt a hand on his head, an ill-fitting one this time, and he turned to find Mr Manders.

‘Well, young man,' he said, ‘are we ready? If we go on talking much longer, we'll forget what we came for, won't we? Come and have a look at the piano. Do sit down,' he
said to those in his vicinity, pointing at the gilt chairs that lined the walls of the room.

The old doctor took Madame Sousatzka's arm and guided her over to a chair. ‘May I sit next to you, Madame Sousatzka?' he asked. ‘I should be most honoured.'

‘Natural,' she said, though she would have preferred to stay at Marcus's side. She watched Manders lead Marcus away, his hand on the boy's shoulder. The old man held the back of her chair while she sat down. Other guests were drifting towards the chairs, keeping their groups and conversations intact. Soon all were seated. The flunkey was clearing away the glasses, otherwise there was no sound or movement in the room.

‘A most obliging audience,' Manders said, ‘but we're not quite ready yet. We have to adjust the pedal for our little man here.' He got down on his knees and tried to fit the elevation on to the sustaining pedal of the piano. Marcus was handing him the screws. Everyone watched them in silence. Manders pushed the pedal this way and that, but it wouldn't fit exactly. ‘It'll take a little while,' he said underneath his arm to the audience. ‘Go on with your conversations.' Another silence. The guests were fascinated by these extra preparations.

Madame Sousatzka looked across the room and shuddered to see Jenny planted right next to Mrs Manders, out of shelter, completely on her own. Jenny threw a nervous glance at Sousatzka, and a still, small prayer. It was this moment of piercing silence, broken only by a whispered oath from Manders under the piano, that Mrs Manders chose to begin her cross-examination. And it was going to be a public one.

‘And who is your favourite composer, Jenny?' Mrs Manders asked. Her voice was low and alone, and it rang through the room like a drum roll. Everybody looked at Jenny. Marcus dropped a screw and joined Manders on the floor to look for it. He no longer wanted to be in at the kill. Madame Sousatzka clenched her fists and prayed silently. But Jenny recognized her cue.

‘Bach,' she said with confidence. She looked at Mrs Manders, hoping to see the impressed look on her face that
Cordle had promised her. But Mrs Manders's face was blank. ‘What especially do you like of Bach?' It was as if Mrs Manders had been eavesdropping at the dress rehearsal.

Jenny hesitated professionally, as if she were weighing up in her mind the comparative virtues of all of Bach's output; with her knowledge of Bach, it didn't take very long. She heard strains of the old school choir. It was a lovely tune. It made everything right in the world. All those little scrubbed pig-tailed girls with steel-rimmed spectacles loving Jesus. It was tempting. But with Cordle's warning in mind, she reluctantly cast it aside. ‘Brandenburg Five,' she said, as if it were a momentous decision.

A few guests gasped, and Mrs Manders raised her plucked eyebrows. ‘I prefer number four, myself,' she said.

Jenny was flabbergasted. She suddenly realized that if there was a Brandenburg Five, there must, by the law of nature and chronology, be a number four. What's more, numbers one, two and three. She would be there for a week. Jenny raised her eyebrows in her turn. There was nothing else she could do.

‘I thought, being a pianist,' Mrs Manders went on, ‘your preference would have been for a piano composition. And after all,' she turned to her audience by way of explanation, ‘the Brandenburgs are hardly for piano.'

They had all underestimated Mrs Manders. Her knowledge of Bach obviously went further than ‘Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring'. Jenny looked at Madame Sousatzka helplessly.

‘They are all arranged for piano,' Madame Sousatzka rallied.

‘Of course,' said Mrs Manders, as a victor generously conceding on a small point. ‘But I find that number four is far more interesting.'

It was Jenny's turn, and there was no getting out of it. ‘Do you?' she said, as if the woman were mad. ‘Well, I prefer number five,' she said, sticking to her guns.

‘Why?'

Madame Sousatzka prayed vigorously, her heart palpitating. Manders and Marcus were in communal prayer
under the piano. But Jenny didn't let them down. She hadn't yet been called upon to express her views on Beethoven. If it arose later on it was a problem that could be dealt with at the time.

‘Why?' she repeated, incredulous that Mrs Manders should be so ignorant as not to know the answer, ‘it's great, it's prophetic, it's moving.' Jenny fervently hoped to God it was apt.

‘Moving?' Mrs Manders repeated, equally incredulous. ‘Hardly an adjective I would apply to Bach.'

‘Wouldn't you?' said Jenny, full of pity. ‘I would.'

‘Would you, my dear? Why?'

Dammit, Jenny thought. She could see that the only way to get the upper hand in this conversation was to become the questioner. If there were any more ‘why's', she was going to say them. But at the moment she had to cope with Mrs Manders's last question. Why indeed, she thought. She desperately tried to think of something that had moved her. ‘It reminds me of my childhood,' she said. Damn the dress rehearsal. She was on her own.

‘Why?' Mrs Manders was nothing if not persevering.