Child Of Music (2 page)

'How do you propose to set about getting her into Tarkmans?' she inquired. 'Have you discussed it with Mrs. Bush?'

'Oh, no! Not yet.' Mrs. Bush was the head of the school and, although respected by both for her immensely efficient organization, not somehow quite the person with whom one discussed the early stages of an ambitious dream.

'I'll have to enlist her support at some point, of course,' Felicity admitted. 'But I have an idea that any
actual
lobbying on Janet's behalf will have to be done on my own.'

'Which means seeing Stephen Tarkman himself, I suppose?' Mary glanced up quickly. 'They say he's as tough as old boots.'

'He is,' Felicity confirmed. 'I met him once.'

'You did? My dear, what an interesting past you have.' Mary looked amused. 'I didn't know you consorted with millionaires.'

'I don't,' Felicity laughed. 'And he's not. Although he's chief administrator of the Tarkman Trust, he's only reasonably wealthy himself, I believe. Anyway, I met him only
passingly
at one of the few really thrilling dinner-parties I've ever attended. And I was there simply because in my student days I used to room in the same boarding-house as Anthea Warrender—'

'The conductor's wife?'

'Yes. Though she was Anthea Benton then, of course. She was the really outstanding one of us all, with a voice which even we knew was something extraordinary.'

'That was why Warrender married her, wasn't it?'

'Partly. Though I think he was very much in love with her too. She was an extraordinarily nice sort of girl and when success came to her it didn't spoil her at all. Frankly, none of us expected to see any more of her after she married Warrender. But in spite of the fact that she soon became so successful on her own account, quite apart from being his wife, she never forgot her student friends. She would recall us by name and circumstances whenever she ran across us. There was a sort of warm intensity about her which made you feel you were
important
to her. No wonder he adored her,' added Felicity reflectively.

'And did he really adore her? — that cold fish.'

'Oh, Warrender's not a cold fish. He's authoritative and a bit of a tyrant, of course. But I suppose in his position he's entitled to be. And underneath all that he's an unusually human person. I don't think Anthea would have fallen for him otherwise.'

'Well, back to our own little genius.' Mary went to the sink to rinse the potatoes she had peeled, but continued to speak over her shoulder. 'Having met Stephen Tarkman at the Warrender dinner-table, you feel able to tackle him on the basis of old friends?'

'Oh, I didn't say
that
!' Felicity laughed and pulled a slight face. 'As a matter of fact, we didn't hit it off at all well. But it's nearly three years ago now — not long after I qualified. He wouldn't remember an unimportant contact at a dinner-party.
If —I
mean
when —
I go to see him, I shall go as a complete stranger. And as to not minding — I do mind. But one doesn't reject a worthwhile enterprise because it has disagreeable aspects.'

'I do,' said Mary frankly. At which Felicity laughed again.

But she changed the subject after that. For not even to Mary was she prepared to admit that the recollection of her encounter with Stephen Tarkman still had the power to anger and embarrass her.

It was extraordinary how clearly she remembered the incident. She could even remember the dress she had worn. Possibly because it was the most becoming — and certainly the most expensive — dress she had ever possessed. But then when you are invited to dine with celebrities you don't wear last year's renovated model.

Felicity had felt shy but excited when she arrived at the Warrenders' luxurious penthouse overlooking St. James's Park. But Anthea — lovely in a breathtakingly simple white dress — had opened the door herself, welcomed Felicity warmly and taken her into her bedroom where she proceeded to give her a rapid
resume
of the other guests who were coming.

'Why did you include
me?'
Felicity had asked with a frank laugh. 'They sound a formidable lot.'

'They aren't really. Except perhaps
Gina Torelli,
who still makes me feel like a beginner. And I included you for the simple reason that I wanted you,' Anthea concluded endearingly. 'It was such fun running into you the other night and recalling our student days. It made me think how long it was since I'd seen any of the old crowd, and I hoped you'd like to come.'

'I
adore
coming!' Felicity had assured her. 'I feel a bit intimidated, that's all. They're all top-drawer professionals, aren't they? It makes me feel rather the minor music-teacher.'

'Don't be silly. You're probably just as well informed musically as any of them,' Anthea had declared encouragingly. 'Anyway, I've put you beside Stephen Tarkman. He doesn't sing or play anything, if that's any help.'

'What does he do, then?'

'My dear, he doesn't
do.
He just
is,'
Anthea had explained comprehensively. 'He is TARKMAN. Of the Tarkman Musical Foundation, you know.'

'I think I've heard of that,' Felicity said, delving into her memory. 'But put me in the picture.'

'His father was a millionaire several times over. He made half his fortune out of armaments during the last war, and had a sort of guilt complex about it, apparently. Which Oscar says is idiotic because where would we have been without armaments? — but that's by the way. Anyway, poor Tarkman senior, feeling badly about his millions, left nearly all his money to found a big artistic trust, mostly for music. It makes grants to deserving composers and artists, finances a home for old musicians who have fallen on bad times and, above all, supports a special school for the training of musically talented children. Oscar is a director, which is why we know Stephen. He's tough, but stimulating. You'll like him.'

But Felicity had not liked him.

From the moment he came into the room she resented his faintly arrogant air. The air of a man who wields power and enjoys the fact. And because she was already feeling nervous and a little unsure of herself she found his brusque manner both frightening and irritating.

At dinner she talked as much as possible to the partner on her other side and when she had to speak to Stephen Tarkman she confined herself to harmless generalities. Until the conversation suddenly turned on Rodney Eskith, a young pianist who had just made a sensational debut in London. It happened that Felicity had heard him and been greatly impressed, so that she was incensed beyond discretion when she heard Stephen Tarkman say, as though there could be no second opinion,

'Just a flash in the pan. He won't last. No really outstanding talent. Without that clever build-up he wouldn't have made more than a ripple on the surface of the musical world.'

'What makes you so sure of that?' Felicity asked quietly beside him. And he turned in surprise to glance at the girl who had challenged his opinion.

'Considerable experience and a good natural judgment,' he told her drily.

'You don't think you might be — could possibly be — wrong?' The note of sarcasm in her tone was so delicate that she thought he was too insensitive to notice it.

But he got it all right and, turning on her the full force of a mockingly amused smile, he said flatly, 'No, I don't. You beg to differ, I gather?'

'No, I don't beg anything,' she retorted, her colour flaring suddenly. 'In my view, he has a great future. And possibly if you played yourself you might be able to see that too. You don't play any instrument, do you?'

'Not professionally.' The smile had become almost lazy, but there was the strangest hint of danger about it. 'Do you?'

'I'm not a — a public performer. I teach. Piano and violin.'

'A teacher? I see.'

He did not permit himself the quotation, "Those who can — do. Those who can't —- teach.' But she saw it passing through his mind as clearly as if he had said it. She also knew in that moment how it was that some men occasionally had their faces slapped.

But not, of course, at the Warrenders' dinner- table.

The rest of the evening she managed to enjoy, so long as she avoided his company and resolutely banished him from her mind. But when the party was breaking up and Anthea kissed her good-bye and said, 'Darling, I'm sure Stephen will give you a lift. He's going your way,' she could not bite back the words—

'I'd rather go on hands and knees than accept a lift from Mr. Tarkman!'

'Really?' Anthea looked astonished. 'Why, I thought—' Then she stopped, glanced beyond Felicity and said hastily, 'Well — perhaps—'

At the same moment
Gina Torelli
came up, cast a kindly look on Felicity, who had managed during the evening to express her genuine and overwhelming admiration rather tellingly, and said graciously, 'Does this dear child go my way?'

The dear child said breathlessly that she did, and found herself swept off in the wake of the famous soprano — past Stephen Tarkman, whose slightly raised eyebrows and mocking smile left her convinced that he had overheard the strictures on himself.

Momentarily discomfort was almost obliterated by the thrill of driving home in company with the famous
Torelli.
But the recollection of Stephen Tarkman returned again and again over the years to annoy and embarrass her. If he had ultimately been proved wrong in that argument she might have forgiven him and forgotten the incident. But within a couple of years Rodney Eskith had been more or less sunk without trace. It is almost unforgivable when the people we dislike are proved right.

Felicity had had an exceptionally happy childhood and girlhood. The only child of affectionate parents, she had been allowed to develop her very real musical talent to the full, without being given too wildly inflated ideas about her gifts. Her father, with kindly but astringent realism, had pointed out from the beginning that few people reached the heights of the public performer and that if she ended as a good and successful teacher, she could still regard herself as having a certain value in the musical world.

At that stage she was still inclined to see herself as sweeping on and off platforms, with the world more or less waiting on tiptoe to hear her, so she took these words of wisdom rather scornfully. But their basic good sense remained somewhere at the back of her mind and, as she gradually found her feet in a competitive world, she also found the true measure of her gifts.

She was a born teacher, with a splendid capacity for arousing interest in her pupils and opening new and glorious vistas for them. No child ever looked bored in her classes, and no individual pupil ever felt of less than supreme interest and importance in her musical scheme of things.

Faced with her very first class of almost uniformly blank pupils, she had asked if they had heard of this composer or that work. One and all shook discouraged heads and waited for the criticism. But instead she cried,

'You lucky children! You've got it all before you. We're going to have a wonderful time. Just listen to this for a start.' And she went to the piano and played a simple, tripping, heart-warming little tune. 'Do you like it?'

One or two said tentatively that they did. Several still looked blank. And the trouble-maker in the class giggled.

'You've got the right idea.' Felicity picked him out at once. 'It's funny — it's gay — it's something to laugh at. Come here. — Yes, you. The boy who knew when to laugh.'

He came slowly, not at all sure that she was not going to hold him up to ridicule.

'How old are you?' Felicity asked.

'Twelve,' he admitted reluctantly.

'Twelve? Just two years younger than the chap who wrote this. His name was Mozart. Listen again.' She played it once more. 'He was fourteen when he wrote that, and he meant it for boys and girls like you, so that you could laugh and enjoy something easy but of quality. There are lots of tunes like this. They make you feel good and they're fun to sing, even if you only la-la the tune.'

'I could sing it now,' he asserted suddenly.

'Sing it, then.'

So he piped his way through it with a certain degree of accuracy. Then the others wanted to join in. They sang it twice. Then someone said in a way it was prettier than pop. And Felicity knew the class was hers.

By the time she came to Carmalton her methods were a trifle less
naïve,
but she never had the slightest trouble in holding the interest of a class. She loved her subject. And in a warm, unsentimental way she loved her pupils too. She knew that in a commercially corrupted world they were constantly assailed by the ugly, the puerile and the insidiously damaging. And she tried with all her heart and skill to make beauty and artistic truth as easily available to them as the trash with which they were perpetually bombarded.

Only a small proportion in her classes really assimilated much of what she was trying to put over to them, she knew. But few remained untouched by it and some even developed a musical enjoyment and curiosity which made every effort worthwhile.