Milan, no longer attached to the first violinists, sat in his own chair a little apart from the others, while Lydia was party to a long stream of nervous chatter from Leonard, who expected to be hauled over the coals for the state the orchestra was in.
Lydia did her best to reassure him—nothing had slid so far that it was irrecoverable, after all—but he wouldn’t hear it.
Ben and Vanessa were not so much nervous as excited, and their excitement wasn’t entirely connected to the arrival of the new conductor. Other considerations drove and heightened it, most specifically their plan to take a weekend mini-break in the Cotswolds for the Bank Holiday.
Vanessa couldn’t help but feel her natural caution and reserve melt, molecule by molecule, in the sunshine of Ben’s frank regard for her. Much as she regretted Lydia’s new accommodation arrangements, she couldn’t regret the Saturday night and Sunday morning of uninterrupted, rampant sex they had led to.
She had thought that, at forty-two, her days of being able to do it morning, noon and night might be over. Apparently not.
Her toes curled in memory of one particularly hot episode on the dining room table. What a lot of polishing that had needed afterwards…
Her reverie was interrupted by the brisk swinging open of the double doors behind them, heralding the entrance of Lord Davenport and a tall, dark and distinguished man of around forty. His bearing was proud and his manner somewhat imperious, with no hint of an ingratiating smile or even acknowledgement of the orchestra’s presence to be seen.
“Well, good afternoon, one and all,” said Lord Davenport. “And it’s a momentous day in the long and illustrious history of our orchestra, as we have the honour of welcoming Karl-Heinz von Ritter, whose reputation I’m sure you’re aware of. I know that our association is going to be long and fruitful. Now I’ll hand you over and let him speak for himself.”
With a nod, Lord Davenport retired to the sidelines. Lydia noted that he picked the particular sideline that gave the best view of Milan and his reactions. She wondered if Mary-Ann McKenzie had ever said anything about her treatment at Milan’s hands before she’d resigned. If so, it had never been mentioned.
The orchestra gave von Ritter politely enthusiastic applause, at which he held up a hand and smiled modestly.
“Thank you, thank you,” he said, with the refined trace of a German accent. “You are very kind. I don’t know what you might have heard about me, but I can assure you that I am very familiar with you and your works and have held an ambition to conduct you for a long, long time. I am delighted to have this opportunity to work with one of the world’s best orchestras. I know, from my conversations with the trustees, that you have had a slightly rough patch lately.”
Lydia prayed he wouldn’t look at Milan. He didn’t.
“But I have always enjoyed the challenge of steering an orchestra through the most dangerous waters to safety and triumph. Perhaps it’s because I am a sailor!”
There were some coughs of disbelief and a ripple of laughter. As far as anyone knew, von Ritter was not a sailor.
“Oh yes, I served my German national service in the Navy,” he said. “Perhaps it was a long time ago now, but I have never forgotten what I learnt there.”
“And what was that?” Milan’s voice, dark irony underlying the politeness.
“Self-discipline, the importance of teamwork, everything polished to the last detail. You will, I am sure, agree with me on these.”
Several hands went to mouths, hiding smiles at ‘the importance of teamwork’.
“Natürlich,” said Milan in a bored tone.
“That’s good to hear. Now, which of you is Leonard Prentiss?”
Leonard raised a hand, somewhat half-heartedly.
“I must thank you for keeping the ship afloat between conductors. And, without further ado, let’s get to work. The Elgar Violin Concerto, yes?”
Milan stood with a flourish while the others shambled to their feet. Lydia observed that he was not best pleased at not being thanked alongside Leonard. But, then, why would he be? Why must Milan be such a diva about these things?
The rehearsal went well, Milan enjoying his spotlight while the orchestra responded thankfully to von Ritter’s competent hand with the baton.
Afterwards, a group gathered in the Delius Arms garden for a debrief.
“What do you think?” Leonard opened, once drinks—lime and soda for Milan—were on the table.
“Brilliant,” said Lydia. “I think the Prom is going to be amazing.”
“Yeah, he’s cool,” contributed Sarah the harpist.
Milan shrugged, seemingly unwilling to give due praise.
“Early days,” he said. “Time will tell.”