The audience would listen in bored silence punctuated only by the “scrooping” of chairs. She would probably tie her hands up in some of the arpeggios. There would be desultory, unenthusiastic clapping of hands at the finish. She would be asked for no encore. Somebody might say: “I fancy I’ve seen that girl at the theatre. She leads the orchestra.” And the Bockley and District Advertiser would say with frigid politeness: “Miss Catherine Weston gave a tasteful rendering of Liszt’s Concert Study in A flat....” Or, if they had used the word “tasteful” previously, they would say “excellent” or “spirited” or “vivid.”
“I suppose I’m getting cynical,” she thought, as she mercilessly tore to pieces her ideal imaginations.
Yet she was very joyous that morning.
Life was going to begin for her. If events didn’t carry her with them she was just going to stand in their way and make them. If not followed, she would pursue. Life, life, her soul cried, and life was mightily interesting. There came a silver April shower, and in her ecstasy she took off her hat and braved both the slanting rain and the conventional respectability of Upton Rising. Then came the sun, warm and drying, and her hair shone like a halo of pure flame.... She made herself rather foolishly conspicuous....
CHAPTER VI
CRESCENDO
§ 1
LONG hours she practised on the Chappell grand in the room over Burlington’s Music Emporium. The Concert Study in A flat began to take shape and cohesion. April swept out of its teens into its twenties, and posters appeared on the hoardings outside the Upton Rising Public Hall announcing a “Grand Evening Concert.” Her name was in small blue type immediately above the ticket prices. The rest of the programme was not quite the same as the rough draft that George had sent her. It was curious, but the best-known people had been cut out.... Bernard Hollins, for instance, who had sung at the Queen’s Hall. Those who remained to fill the caste were all people of merely local repute, and Catherine ceased to have misgivings that her performance would be mediocre compared with theirs.
One unfortunate coincidence seemed likely to disturb the success of the evening. In the very afternoon of the same day Razounov, the famous Russian pianist, was playing at the Hippodrome. Razounov did not often come to Bockley, and when he did he drew a large audience. It seemed probable that many who went to hear him in the afternoon would not care for a Grand Evening Concert on top of it....
Already the bills outside the Hippodrome were advertising Razounov in letters two feet high.