The Concert Pianist (29 page)

He had made himself known to her of course, biblically, and in other respects.

‘I thought you were going to play the piano,' she said softly.

He smiled. ‘That was the plan.'

‘Gateau, white wine, a little Chopin.'

‘The offer of cake stands.'

Ursula seemed less familiar now.

‘Drop of Chablis?'

She
bit her finger.

‘Yes, please.'

She sat up a little as he poured the wine.

‘Philip!' She almost laughed. This was nervousness, self-consciousness.

‘I surprised you?'

Ursula looked to one side.

He took her hand, clasping it as he kissed it.

She regarded him with wary admiration. ‘I think you were inspired.'

‘I was!'

‘It's quite interesting to be . . . surprised.'

‘You weren't . . .'

She put her hand on his knee, gave him an even glance. ‘Not really. I mean, it was maybe in the air.'

He smiled at her.

She pulled him towards her and kissed him on the mouth.

Her eyes were about two inches away. The pupils seemed enormous. Bits of light were reflected in the irises.

He was pulling in his stomach a little, but generally he felt comfortable with his nakedness. What Ursula saw in him was never any kind of physical beauty, he knew that, but the calibre of an older man's appreciation. She had wanted him to be stirred, to be forced into the open from behind the shield of his experience, where she could manage him as an equal. Now, as he looked at her, he felt her maturity and innocence so oddly mixed and entwined. She was young, all right, the far side of that mid-life hilltop that he had rolled over, but her poise was incredible. He had absolutely surprised her. She still was at the dress-rehearsal stage of ideas about him when he struck; and here she was, regarding him half humorously, half in shock, because Ursula had no idea what to expect from this pianist character.

‘I fancy some of that gateau,' he remarked.

‘Cake and Chablis. Do I just lie here?'

‘You're on odalisque duty.'

‘The Sultan has spoken.'

‘Here.' He cast his shirt over her.

‘Perhaps I should get dressed.'

‘
Don't do that! Madness!'

‘Really?'

‘I'll flick on the central heating.'

Ursula laughed. ‘Romantic.'

He stood tall and naked. ‘I'm doing my best.'

‘You're doing wonderfully.'

‘I could light a fire. There are candles somewhere.'

‘Get the cake first.'

In the kitchen he was merry and fleet of foot. Out came the gateau, plates and spoons, a tray. Doubtless the neighbours could see him through the conservatory glass, bollock-naked. Bully for them. All in all, a very smart kitchen. Good old Laura, he thought. She had given him a bloody hard time, and a first-class kitchen. He was longing to be back in the living room at the scene of a miracle. He zoomed back, tray on high, like a Grand Hotel waiter in the buff.

‘What's so funny?'

She was laughing.

‘No half measures.'

‘I don't believe this is happening.' She covered her face with her hand. Her smile was lovely.

Philip got the cake on the coffee table and was soon sectioning it and serving it up on side plates.

Ursula munched and licked fingers, making a mouthy meal of the creamy treat. ‘Hmmm. Heavenly.'

She put a plate down and sipped at her Chablis and basked in luxury.

Rich creamy foods were not recommended at the moment. Nor was wine. He ate with a reckless sense of triumph.

‘Tea at Philip's,' she declared.

‘Only for very special people.'

‘The gateau, or the sex?'

He cleared his throat. ‘Well, I know I'm not really supposed to have sex with my agent.'

‘Oh don't!' She frowned. ‘God, what would . . .'

What would John think, but this begged too many questions. She was silent for a moment, calculating something, consequences, how things would look.

Philip was concerned. The setting had plenty of charm, but
Ursula
was at the beginning of complications if this went any further, and as he came across and sat next to her he was determined that it should go further.

‘Ay-yi-yi! Talk about unprofessional!'

‘You are hardly to blame,' he said.

‘It's all your fault, Philip.'

‘Tell John I ravished you.'

She was nearly pained by this, then horribly amused.

‘Don't think so.'

‘Listen, I . . .'

‘It will be a mess.'

‘Don't . . .' He wanted to give her a way out, just as a matter of chivalry. He touched her to dispel John, the office. ‘Don't let it be a mess. This is all a bit crazy.'

‘It is crazy.'

‘I'm ancient.'

‘Yes, I know.'

He smiled at her emphatic tone. ‘You're so ridiculously young.'

‘It's a scandal, all right!'

‘It
is
a scandal.'

‘Oh, shut up!'

‘You don't mind?'

‘Have I shown much sign of minding?'

‘I wouldn't blame you if you did.'

‘I don't care about all that.'

He stared at her seriously.

‘Honestly, Philip.' She was half-teasing. ‘I like mature men.'

‘Who said anything about mature?'

She laughed.

‘I'm just a child prodigy with grey hair and wrinkles.'

‘This wasn't exactly an accident.'

‘You think we're a pair?'

‘Who knows! I like you.'

‘Well, I like you.'

‘Of course.'

He felt himself glowing with unfamiliar happiness. ‘Well, in that case I'm going to fall in love with you right away.'

She liked the way he just tossed it out.

‘Which would hardly be convenient.'

She
touched his face very sympathetically. ‘We can put up with some inconvenience.'

‘You're indescribably beautiful, Ursula.'

She drew deep breath as he passed his hand across her shoulder. He was cherishing her skin, the soft side of her bosom.

‘The great pianist,' she exhaled.

The great pianist's hands were otherwise engaged.

‘By now we should have been in your bed.'

‘This is all so flattering,' he said.

‘I'm flattered.'

‘You're flattered?'

‘Well, of course!'

He smiled at her.

‘Of course,' she said again.

In some respects and at certain times life could be so felicitous. He gazed at her in marvel. He would certainly fall in love with her if things went on like this. There was something in the air: the old romantic feeling, an unfamiliar excitement. None of it was quite deserved or earned or very sensible, and Ursula was both easy and mysterious. Whatever duty of care he owed her, they were launched now, on some basis or other, and it was impossible not to abandon oneself. Intimacy was a forgotten bliss. She flowed into all the empty spaces in a bachelor's heart. Before that shag he was only half human. Sex stood for so much more than he had remembered.

He felt the shadow of anguish pass over him.

‘Operation next week,' he said abruptly.

She leaned forward, caught his eye.

‘National Health have come up with the goods.' He nodded. ‘Surgeon called me this morning.'

She seemed to absorb this.

‘I have to go in on the Thursday. The knives come out on Friday.'

He relaxed back into the cushions.

‘If there's one thing more nerve-racking than going on stage it must be opening up some poor bastard's insides and messing with his vital organs. How do these people do it?'

She reached over to stroke the back of his hand. ‘Good to get the job done.'

‘Yeah, good to get the job done.'

‘Is it hurting?'

He
shrugged. ‘There are sensations.'

Her silence was supportive. This was territory they had to cover somehow or other.

He stared at the fireplace. He felt at ease with her, which made it easier to be candid.

‘About the concert.'

She stirred, getting herself into a position of readiness. She had not expected this subject.

‘Obviously mission impossible.'

‘Well . .

‘It was the expression of a desire. I'm sorry if you and John have been phoning around, wasting time.'

This pained her.

‘It's all too late in the day. Nothing'll be free.'

‘There are private venues,' she said.

‘Oh sure.'

‘People would come.'

‘I want my audience.' He looked at her directly.

‘It would be your audience.'

‘My public.'

‘But Philip . .

‘It's for them I want to play. I owe it to them. They've already bought tickets.'

‘Yes, but . .

‘So there can only be one solution.'

She was fraught. This had come from nowhere.

‘Don't you guys do anything. Leave it to me. I'll talk to Vadim. He'll understand.'

‘Understand what?'

‘That I've got to play and that we can share the concert next Wednesday. There's no need for him to stand down. He can take the first half, I'll take the second. We can dedicate the concert to Konstantine Serebriakov. The public will get the pianist they paid to see and his bloody protégé!' He looked at her firmly.

She smiled uneasily. ‘Sounds fine. But Vadim would have to agree.'

‘To be blunt, he can hardly say no.'

She was a little desperate now.

‘You look worried.'

‘
He
has
said no.'

Philip bit his lip. He could feel the tension rising. He could not bear to be obstructed in this matter.

‘What?'

‘We asked him and he said no.'

‘You asked him?'

‘Philip, it was always the only option!'

He stared at her blankly.

‘That was exactly the suggestion we made. Half and half.'

He was thunderstruck. ‘He said no!'

‘Well, John isn't going to put that much pressure on him because of all the changes.'

He shook his head and clasped his hands. It never occurred to him that Vadim would deny him his own concert.

‘Did you explain about my . . . condition?'

She shook her head. ‘Have you two had some kind of falling-out?'

‘Well, yes, but even so. Christ!'

‘I don't know what's been going on.'

‘I'll have to deal with it. We'll have to talk. He's got to see sense. I'll just have to bite the bullet. Oh, Vadim!'

She shook her head and blinked. ‘Actually . . .'

Philip glanced up.

‘We did tell him.'

‘You did!'

‘Sorry, Philip.'

‘Ursula!' He felt a limitless chagrin. ‘I didn't want you to do that.'

‘I know, and I understand why, and I respect that, but he was completely intransigent and it was our only hope.'

He looked up, horribly pained. He could not bear this news about his health to be in the wrong hands. Once people knew, he would cease to count in some way. Vadim would tell everyone, consigning him to the departure lounge in people's minds.

‘I can't believe it.'

She was crestfallen. There was nothing she could say.

He covered his face in his hands and sagged on the sofa. He had so little strength for these upsets, for the vast reserves of emotional opposition they required. Vadim's cruel reaction called out for patience, understanding, tactical presence of mind. He was
inflicting
revenge, of course, and refusing to be drawn into Philip's drama, and was doubtless waiting for some sort of apology or retraction or backing down before he was prepared to consider Philip a human being; and this was so tiresome and stressful because he could not bear the idea of losing the concert. His last concert. This notion was too bleak to be real, but he was prey now to washes of melodramatic despair.

He clenched his brow, secretly mopping away flecks of moisture from the corner of his eye.

She sat there on the edge of the recamier, watching him anxiously.

Philip was ruined inside, the wine and cake doing him no favours. He was almost fluey with emotional exhaustion. She held him by the wrist and ran her fingers over his forearm.

‘God, what a shambles. Ursula, I'm a wreck.'

She saw his eyes were red.

‘Philip.'

He was finished off, bereft with this news. He had pinned so much hope on the concert.

‘Let it go,' she said.

He gasped, head hanging.

‘Wait till later. After the operation sometime.'

His eyes were streaming, an unexpected release. How funny to be crying in front of her like this. It was copious, drenching. His cheeks were slick. The back of his throat stung, catarrh everywhere.

‘Sorry about this.'

‘To hell with Vadim. To hell with the bloody concert.'

‘I'm beginning to agree.'

‘It's too close to your op. You need to wind down. Give yourself a break. You can play to me. I'll be your audience.'

He grasped her hand.

‘You have nothing to prove.'

‘It's not about proof,' he said.

‘I know.'

‘It's not about me, or my playing, or my reputation, or my career, or anything like that.'

‘Philip, you're going to get better.'

‘It's not about that, even.'

He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. He stared at the
gateau.
The day was losing light outside, a bank of cloud overhead. They sat in the frail light, their skin cooling. He drew a cushion over his lap. The ache was bad now, an acid heat that flared up and then diffused, and then flared up again. Disease in progress.

Taking on Vadim was going to require more wit and courage than he could summon. He would track him down, nonetheless. He had to prevail.