Child Of Music Page 4

'Mrs. Morton is Janet's aunt, you know,' he explained. 'She wants to have a word with you about her.'

  'Yes, indeed! and a very congratulatory word.' Mrs. Morton smiled so engagingly that for a bewildered moment Felicity thought Janet's antipathy must surely be groundless and unjust. But then the other woman went on,

  'You must have worked terribly hard to bring the child to this standard, because she's really rather — what shall I say? — limited. Clever as a monkey with her finger work, but not a very accurate ear. Much more the little mechanical show-off than the true artist.'

  'I totally disagree.' Felicity did not even try to conceal the contemptuous hostility in her voice. 'Janet is an artist to her finger-tips, and more truly musical than any other child I've ever handled.'

  'Oh, really—' the other woman began, on a note of smiling protest.

  'Miss Grainger is very emphatic when it comes to praising or blaming,' put in Stephen Tarkman amusedly. 'I warn you, she'll defend any candidate of hers to the death.'

  'It's too sweet of you to feel like this about Janet.' Mrs. Morton still smiled, but she spoke as though Felicity were sentimentally allowing any judgment she might have to be clouded by her emotions. 'Of course one would like the poor chick to be something out of the ordinary, to compensate for her personal tragedy, and I do understand your feeling like that—'

  'I don't feel in the least like that,' interrupted Felicity almost rudely and, turning deliberately to Stephen Tarkman, she asked bluntly, 'What did you think of Janet?'

  'I'm not quite sure,' he said frankly. 'I heard nothing tonight which convinced me that she was outstanding, except perhaps the opening phrases. And it was disquieting, to say the least of it, that she could not even tune her instrument accurately. If she has a faulty ear—'

  'But she hasn't!' Felicity assured him. 'She was nervous—'

  'Why? Surely you didn't tell her beforehand that I was coming?'

  'No, of course not.' Felicity felt that the last-minute admission, which had left Janet completely untouched, need not be mentioned.

  'Do you mean that such a minor ordeal as a school concert can upset her sufficiently to spoil her work?' Stephen Tarkman looked sceptical.

  'No, it wasn't that. It was just — I hardly know how to say this without being offensive,' said Felicity, who would have welcomed the opportunity to be offensive to Mrs. Morton, but not in front of Stephen Tarkman. 'The fact was that Janet was put out to the point of panic at finding she was to play in front of you, Mrs. Morton. I don't know if she felt you might be over- critical, or whether it was just that, like many people, she couldn't bear to have a member of her own family there. It makes some people self-conscious, you know — inhibited—'

  'Oh, don't apologize, Miss Grainger.' Mrs. Morton gave an understanding little laugh. 'Janet just doesn't like me, I'm afraid. It's as simple as that. She was a very spoiled, over-praised little girl in her parents' lifetime and had a remarkable capacity for putting herself in the centre of the scene. I said so frankly, and was very unpopular in consequence. She is a gifted child superficially. But when you've had her a little longer under your care you'll find that there's not much staying power behind the initial good impression. Her father was the same,' she added reflectively.

  'You do dislike her, don't you?' Felicity said drily.

  'Miss Grainger, not at all!' The dark-fringed grey eyes looked shocked rather than angry. 'It's just that I know my own family rather well, and I don't want natural sympathy to cloud anyone's artistic judgment. There are so few of those precious vacancies at Tarkmans. We don't any of us want them wasted on the wrong people, do we?'

  'No,' agreed Felicity, with an irony she had not thought herself capable of. 'We really don't, do we?'

  Then she turned away to answer the tentative approaches of another eager parent. And when she had dealt adequately with that situation, Stephen Tarkman and his companion had left.

  'I muffed the whole thing,' Felicity told Mary much later that night. 'I panicked. Inside only, of course. But panic is infectious, and by the time I tackled Stephen Tarkman and that woman I felt nearly as badly about her as Janet does. And I lost my temper too. That was inexcusable.'

  'Anyone would have in the circumstances,' Mary insisted loyally.

  'No.' Felicity shook her head. 'Losing one's temper is an indulgence — an indulgence one can't afford when the cards are stacked against one. He hasn't absolutely pronounced against Janet yet, of course. But Mrs. Morton means to spoil the child's chances if she can. I can't really think why I Why does she dislike her so much? She isn't an objectionable child. Dreamy and irritating at times perhaps, so that quite reasonable people — you, for instance — might not particularly like her, but—'

  'I?' Mary looked startled and rather indignant. 'I've nothing against the kid and I wish her well. It's just that so far as my particular subject is concerned she's plain ivory from the neck upwards.'

  'Well, that's it! That's what I mean. As you say, you have nothing against the kid. But she has. Mrs. Morton, I mean.'

  'Perhaps,' Mary said drily, 'it's enough that Stephen Tarkman is interested in her. I sat near them and naturally kept them under what is called close observation. She isn't a lady who would like any sort of competition, even from a child. Particularly a child she had brushed off anyway. Incidentally, I think she's out to handle the Tarkman millions, if you ask me.'

  'Most of them are in trust,' Felicity reminded her, in the interests of strict accuracy.

  'But there must be a nice picking left for whoever hooks Stephen,' retorted Mary with a grin. 'She means to be the one if I'm not much mistaken.'

  'Funny you should say that.' Felicity looked at her friend with amused respect. 'Janet told me that was what her father once said.'

  'It has been an evening for exchanging interesting information, hasn't it?' Mary laughed. 'So Janet found time between the gusts of panic to tell you that, did she?'

  'Yes.'

  'Well, it looks to me as though that dreamy innocent has come to the surface on more than one occasion and shown Aunt Morton that she knows quite well what she's up to. There is nothing — and I mean nothing — more infuriating and disturbing than to have an innocent creature you've underestimated suddenly look you in the eye and see to the bottom of your least admirable thought and project.'

  'You could be right.'

  'I quite often am,' said Mary modestly. 'I have a sort of horse-sense which serves me better than any book on psychology. Well, don't let this disappointment spoil your holiday. It isn't absolutely the end of the world even if Janet Morton doesn't get into Tarkmans.'

  'It would always represent a bitter failure to me, though,' Felicity replied with a sigh. 'I know that child has it in her to be a fine, possibly a great, musician. It's like being given the responsibility of polishing a diamond. And I made a mess of the first vital process ! I find it hard to forgive myself and can't wait to retrieve the position in some way. I could almost wish the holidays away,' she finished gloomily.

  'Oh, come,' protested Mary. 'Easter holidays are all too short in any case. Enjoy them while you can. That fortnight you planned in Brittany will make you feel quite different. And by the time we come back who's to say that Stephen Tarkman won't have decided after all to take Janet?'

  'Miracles don't happen,' replied Felicity with conviction.

  But in this she was wrong. For the very first evening after she returned from her holiday, refreshed and invigorated, she was called to the telephone to hear Stephen Tarkman's abrupt but well-modulated voice at the other end.

  'Miss Grainger? Stephen Tarkman. I got your telephone number from the school office—'

  'Is it about Janet?' she breathed, suddenly quite sick with excitement.

  'No. At least, it's not about any firm decision relating to her. There was only one vacancy this term and it went to a boy who was, beyond question, the most promising candidate we've had in years. We'll consider her perhaps at a later date. But what I'm phoning about at the
moment is something different. Are you by any chance free on Thursday evening?'

  'Why — why, yes, I think so.' Almost inarticulate with astonishment, Felicity hastily jettisoned a half- made plan to go with Mary to the local repertory theatre on Thursday evening.

  'Good. The Warrenders are coming down here. He has to attend a meeting of the Trust. I'm giving a small dinner party for them and I thought you might like to come. You know Anthea Warrender quite well, I believe?'

  'Yes, I do. At least,' Felicity amended, 'I knew her well when we were students together. I haven't seen her for some years now. But I'd welcome the chance of meeting her again.'

  'On Thursday, then, at my house. You know it, do you? The grey stone house just inside the north gate.'

  'Yes, I know it. Thank you very much.' She tried not to sound too much like a child being given the fairy off the Christmas tree, but she could not quite control the lilt of astonished delight in her voice. 'What time, Mr. Tarkman?'

  'Can you come about seven? The others will be a little later. But I would like to talk to you first.'

  'About Janet?' she asked, still hopeful.

  'No, about you,' he replied. And then he rang off.

  'About me!' She stood there, still holding the receiver in her hand. 'What can he have to say about me?' Then she rushed to Mary's room, radiant and breathless, and announced, 'I can't come to the theatre on Thursday, after all!'

  'Your jubilation isn't exactly flattering,' Mary said. 'But what's happened?'

  'Just imagine! Stephen Tarkman has invited me to his place. He's giving a party for the Warrenders. And he's asking me too. I must have my hair done. And what on earth shall I wear? I never thought to ask if—'

  'Did he mention Janet Morton?' interrupted Mary.

  'Oh, yes—' With sudden remorse Felicity realized how completely she had forgotten Janet's interests for the moment. 'He said they had only one vacancy this term and that it had gone to some specially gifted boy. I gather he would have got it anyway. But he did add that perhaps Janet might be reconsidered at a later date.'

  'Hence your radiant expression?' suggested Mary mischievously. 'All on account of Janet's renewed chances.'

  'Well—' Felicity flushed and laughed. 'A bit that it's thrilling to meet the Warrenders again, of course. This isn't the kind of invitation that often comes the way of a mere music-teacher.'

  'And nothing at all on account of poor Stephen Tarkman himself? I call that ungrateful.'

  'Idiot !' said Felicity. 'Very well then — just a little because of Stephen Tarkman himself. I don't really like him, as you know, but he's tremendously stimulating and — and—'

  'You don't have to explain yourself, my love,' Mary assured her amusedly. 'If you weren't rather thrilled at the idea of dining with Stephen Tarkman in his own house there would be something seriously wrong with you. Even if you're only there to balance up the numbers,' she added as a sobering afterthought.

  'I don't think,' Felicity said slowly, 'that's it. He said he wanted me to come a little before the others because he wanted to talk to me about something.'

  'About Janet?' asked Mary in her turn.

  'No. That's the odd thing. He said it was about me.'

  'About you? How intriguing.'

  'I thought so too. But it must surely have something to do with Janet as well. I think I'd better make it my business to see her before Thursday evening. I haven't had a chance to speak to her since the night of the concert and I'd better have some idea of her later reactions.'

  It was still a day or two before the new term opened, but when she was out in the town the following morning, Felicity made a slight detour so that she could pass the neat, conventional house which Janet now called home. And here she found Mrs. Emlyn in the front garden, tying up some early gladioli.

  In answer to Felicity's inquiries Mrs. Emlyn declared that Janet was very well and had enjoyed her holidays, for she was always one to assume the best unless full proof to the contrary could be given.

  'She's scraping away on that fiddle of hers in the back room now, if you like to go in and have a word with her,' she offered. 'Works really hard, I must say. But it seems to keep her happy, poor little soul, which is the important thing, isn't it?'

  Felicity said that no doubt it was, and then inquired curiously, 'Do you like music yourself, Mrs. Emlyn?'

  'I don't mind it,' replied Mrs. Emlyn broad-mindedly. And on that Felicity went into the house, through the bright, cheerful, highly-polished hall to the back room, where she found Janet 'scraping away' with an absorbed and contented air which she found decidedly reassuring.

  When the little girl saw Felicity, however, she stopped immediately, looked faintly guilty and said, 'Oh, Miss Grainger, are you angry with me for running away from the school concert?'

  'No, of course not.' Smiling, Felicity shook her head. 'I was sorry you didn't stay to meet Mr. Tarkman. I'd have liked him to get some impression of you as a person. But if you were feeling miserable I expect it was best for you to go home. How do you feel about it all now?'

  'I just don't think about it.' Janet suddenly became remote and composed. 'I don't like thinking about my aunt, so I don't think about the concert.' Then she paused and said, 'Did you speak to Mr. Tarkman afterwards?'

  'Yes. And again on the phone yesterday evening.'

  'I suppose—' Janet's composure cracked, and naked anxiety peeped through - 'I suppose Aunt Julia made sure that he didn't even consider me any further?'

  'Oh, no, my dear! Of course not. Responsible people don't make decisions that way,' declared Felicity, with a confidence she was far from feeling. But she knew she must firmly underestimate Julia Morton's powers of mischief-making if she were ever to do anything about Janet's obsession. 'Mr. Tarkman told me last night that there was only one vacancy this term and that it went to a boy who apparently outclassed everyone else. But he spoke as though there would be another chance of hearing you, and I mean to keep him to that.'

  'Oh, Miss Grainger, thank you!' Janet's face glowed, as though a lamp had suddenly been lit inside her. 'I won't be stupid next time. Not,' she added, 'if my aunt isn't there.'

  'Well, I don't see why she should be,' Felicity said reassuringly. 'Though really, my dear, if you ever come to the standard of a public performer, you won't be able to choose your own audience, you know.'

  'If I'm important enough to play in public, I'll be important enough to say she can't come in. And I shall!' asserted Janet, unexpectedly thrusting out her lower lip, like a four-year-old saying someone shouldn't play with her toys.

  'Poor little one!' thought Felicity with a great wave of compassion and yet amusement. 'She's such a child, really. I must remember.'

  And aloud she said, 'Janet, can't we lay this bogey somehow? Why does your aunt—? I mean what makes you so certain that she dislikes you and wishes you ill?'

  'I just know it,' Janet asserted, not very helpfully. 'Here,' she added, pressing an expressive hand to her thin little chest.

  'But it's quite absurd and illogical ! Why should she? You're an inoffensive sort of child—'

  'Oh, not to her,' said Janet, and a slow, oddly disturbing smile spread over her features, making her look this time so much older than her age that Felicity felt it was almost uncanny how the child could change personality from minute to minute. 'She knows I see through her,' explained Janet coolly. 'And anyway, there's something to do with money too, I think.'

  'With money?' Felicity was surprised.

  'Yes. I think my uncle left quite a lot of money to me and not much to her. She didn't like that, you know. She's very fond of money.'

  'Well—' Felicity cleared her throat and slid tactfully away from that subject — 'try not to bother about the situation any more. As you get older and feel more confidence in yourself you'll find that the thought of your aunt doesn't worry you much.'

  'Yes, Miss Grainger,' said Janet politely. And, not for the first time, Felicity felt that Janet preferred her own inner core o
f knowledge to anything that a grownup could tell her.

  It aggravated and yet intrigued her. But there was obviously no point in discussing things further. She said good-bye and went on her way, pausing only to make an appointment to have her hair done on Thursday afternoon.

  By the time Felicity was ready on the all-important evening she felt both nervous and elated. The social life of a small-town music-teacher is neither rich nor varied, and to be going among distinguished strangers on her own was something of an ordeal as well as a pleasure. It was true that Anthea Warrender was no stranger and that in the past she had been invariably friendly. But time had gone on and it might have changed even Anthea, who by now was an international star.

  'You wouldn't have been asked if you hadn't been wanted,' Mary reminded her bracingly. 'Stephen Tarkman doesn't consult anything but his own wishes in this as in anything else, I feel sure. Go and enjoy yourself, my child, secure in the fact that Julia Morton at any rate could never wear that gorgeous shade of red. It's for ash-blondes only — and ash-blondes of quality, at that.'

  So Felicity lifted her chin a little higher and went out to the waiting taxi, in which she was to drive to what Mary insisted on referring to as the Tarkman mansion.

  Mansion it was not, exactly. But it was certainly a very distinguished and luxurious house to which Felicity was admitted by a respectful manservant. Having taken her fur jacket from her, he led her across the wide panelled hall and through an archway into the most delightful room she had ever seen.

  It was large and beautifully proportioned, with a pale amber carpet and darker amber curtains and furniture, all of which lent a faint honey-coloured cast to the cream walls. There were few flowers, but incredibly beautiful climbing plants in each corner of the room, and on the walls were some exquisite water-colours which, even at a glance, Felicity judged to be something very special indeed.

  She had little time to take in more than a general impression before Stephen Tarkman came in from the garden by way of the French windows, but she was already so utterly charmed with the place that she greeted him with, 'What a perfectly beautiful room!'