“Sorry,” he said, more gently. “But we have to talk, no? Coffee after the rehearsal?”
“Oh.” She dithered, looking here and there as if for escape, but when it came down to it she couldn’t turn him down flat. “All right. But I need to go and talk to Vanessa. I’ll see you later.”
In the protective company of Vanessa and Ben, she was able to deflect Milan until the rehearsal began.
Von Ritter had news of a series of London concerts, as well as an appearance at a music festival in Germany in December.
“We will be visiting my home town of Leipzig,” he told them. “The Christmas Market will be on and there will be performance of Bach’s Christmas Oratorio in many of the churches. As you all know, of course, Johann Sebastian Bach worked and composed in Leipzig for a number of years and the city has a strong association with him. But we will not be playing any Bach ourselves. No, we have on our programme a selection of Christmas favourites, from Prokofiev’s Troika to Peter Warlock’s Capriol Suite.”
“Are we doing anything non-Christmassy?” Ben wanted to know.
“When we return from Germany, there is a concert at the Barbican, I believe, in which we will play a selection of music that bridges the Classical and Romantic eras—some Beethoven, some Schumann and the Brahms Violin Concerto.”
Mention of the Barbican made Lydia’s eyes turn to Milan, who looked bored, running a finger up and down his A-string.
“And now,” said von Ritter, “I must hand you over to our esteemed colleague and orchestra leader, Milan Kaspar, who has some news for you.”
Lydia’s stomach lurched. The last thing she felt able to process at that moment was more Milan-news. It was bound to affect her life in some far-reaching and inescapable way.
“Yes,” he said, rising to his feet and doing his trademark hair-toss. “I have news. And in a way it is sad, and in another way, it is not.” He looked at Lydia and her toes curled.
“You’re pregnant,” shouted someone in the violas and everyone laughed.
“No, I am not pregnant,” he said with a grin. “But this is my last rehearsal as leader of the orchestra. You will find that the vacancy will be advertised internally this week.”
Every violinist looked around the section, eyes wide.
“You’re leaving?” several voices piped up.
“I am no longer on the WSO pa
yroll,” said Milan. “But I will be with you for your season of concerts, because I am playing the Brahms Violin Concerto as soloist. In the summer I got a good agent and I have many offers for solo work. So I am concentrating on a virtuoso career now.”
Leonard and some of the other violinists who had always been in Milan’s inner circle leapt to their feet and applauded wildly. Slowly but surely, the rest of the orchestra joined them.
“Don’t worry,” said Milan, beaming. “I want to continue my association with this orchestra. I hope that, whenever you play work featuring solo violin, it will be me. But the world is my, uh, a shellfish…?”
“Oyster!” came the delighted shout.
“Okay, yes, it is my oyster. I am making the most of it, right?”
Amid the general congratulations, Lydia heard her own voice ask a question.
“Will you be based in London?”
Milan looked down at her, dropped to a crouch and whispered his answer.
It seemed as if the whole audience fell into a sudden and immediate silence to catch it, because it was the loudest and most clearly enunciated whisper Lydia had ever heard.
“Do you care?”
“Of course,” she said. Her glance flickered over to von Ritter, who stood with his lips pursed and eyes fixed on a distant point.
Milan followed her gaze then snagged it with his again.
“Good,” he said, then he rose to his full height. “So that’s my news. I’ll stay for this rehearsal, and then I’ll only see you now and again. But those of you who are my friends will see more of me, of course.”
Hmm, thought Lydia, most of your friends have seen all of you at one time or other. The idea made her lips quirk up and she had to suppress the wicked smile before it broke into a broad grin.