“Come in, you.”
There was no trace of nervous jitter about him at all. He looked taller and straighter and more confident than Lydia had ever seen him.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
“I have never been readier,” he said.
She bit back the immense temptation to tell him about the surprise she had arranged for after the show, knowing this was the wrong time and would upset the delicate balance of his emotions.
“You’re going to be brilliant,” she said. “Today, London, tomorrow, the world.”
He put his bow in the same hand as his violin and pulled her in for a kiss. This was his stage-fright kiss, Lydia thought. He put all his passion into it, dismissing all possibility of failure. When he broke off, his lips stretched wide over gleaming teeth.
“I’m going to kill them, Lydia,” he said. “Stone dead.”
She nodded, while in the distance a bell shrilled.
“Five-minute warning,” she said breathlessly, reaching for his hand. “I love you.”
“Miluji te,” he replied.
Lydia darted from the room and joined the throng of orchestral players milling towards the wings.
“Good luck,” she whispered, passing Leonard, who was, once again, the orchestra’s leader. This time it was to be hoped he would retain the position. Now that the string section had settled down after Milan’s departure, the job was substantially less challenging than it had once been.
Behind Leonard’s shoulder, Karl-Heinz winked down at her and she glowed, a little spring in her step as she walked on to the stage and found her chair.
There was nothing like a concert. She loved everything about it, from the static roar from the stalls as they tuned up to the anticipatory silence afterwards to the first flurry of clapping as Leonard walked on to the stage.
He took his bow and sat down beside her, fist clenched nervously around his bow. A bigger shower of applause greeted Karl-Heinz, dapper as ever in white tie and tails. When Milan walked on, there was a kind of frenzy. He had to stand at the front of stage, endlessly tossing his head and waving his hand until it died down.
Lydia felt a stab of pure anxiety. The expectations surrounding his performance were off the scale. How was he ever going to live up to them?
Karl-Heinz looked over to make sure Milan was ready to start, but he was holding a hand up to the audience, apparently about to speak into the new stillness.
Lydia and Karl-Heinz exchanged a glance. What was he going to say?
“Thank you,” he said into a pin-drop silence. “I know it is not usual to speak before a performance, but I just want to dedicate this beautiful concerto to two very special people I lost from my life this year. To Evgeny Voronov, a much-loved friend and fine musician, and to my mother, Irena Kasparova. I pray that my playing will do justice to their memories.”
Lydia bit her lip hard. Leonard put a steadying hand on her forearm, for which she was deeply grateful. The tears receded after a moment or two, and she found herself inspired by the memory of the two departed souls. Yes, it was quite right that this concert was for Evgeny and Milan’s mother. And for all the past loves now gone. This would be their elegy.
Karl-Heinz gave a brief nod and the orchestra held their instruments ready, then he beat them in.
So much beauty, Lydia always thought, almost too much to bear. She would never underestimate the enormous privilege of being able to take part in its creation.
When Milan came in, his instrument was like a messenger from the heavens, an unearthly and wonderful voice.
Yes. Lydia knew at once that this was going to be remarkable. She breathed again and kept her eyes on Karl-Heinz, her conductor in music and in life.
Between conductor and virtuoso, there was an unparalleled level of understanding, Karl-Heinz and Milan almost anticipating each other throughout with infallible accuracy. Lydia wondered how much of this could be attributed to their intimacy outside the concert hall. She had to conclude that it played its part—in the last weeks, they had become almost telepathic in the bedroom. What one wanted, the other would provide. Then they would both turn their attention to her. Oh, yes.
As she bowed away, the music took her away to the love and passion she shared with these two unique men, making something transcendent of it.
It was all she could do not to spill tears all over her strings.
But there had been enough crying this year. Now the time had come for peace and joy. It sounded like a Christmas carol, appropriately enough.
Once the last note had died away, the audience leapt to its feet, roaring and cheering as one. This was too much for Lydia and the tears began to flow as she watched Milan, his own face transformed by disbelieving wonder at the strength of his reception.