Broken Harmony by Roz Southey Page B

he was in such good humour that
he submitted to his lesson upon the harpsichord with at least tolerable willingness. I felt giddy; my head was full of Esther Jerdoun’s figure, still most shapely for a woman of forty. But
after all, a man may admire where he chooses, provided he keeps his admiration a secret to all but himself.
    Our rehearsal with Mr Parry the following day went well. He was a large man, fair in his colouring though I had imagined all Welsh quite dark. He was also blind, or very nearly so, but a casual
observer would not know it, for he found his way about easily by keeping very near to the wall and running his fingertips lightly along it. Those hands were huge yet very delicate, and to see such
large fingers plucking the finest of harp strings and producing soft tender tunes was disconcerting. He had adapted some violin airs of Handel and Purcell to his instrument and required us to
provide the accompaniment; he himself played all by heart, and was very clear in what he wanted and very complimentary when we provided it. All in all, we had a merry time of it, playing happily
for several hours.
    But, alas, when it came to the concert itself, Parry’s better judgment deserted him. We played two pieces by Handel which went very well, and the first solo airs Parry performed were
Scotch and very pleasant. But an entire concert filled with airs and jigs, and reels and strathspeys, and strange Welsh tunes the like of which I had never heard before and never wish to hear again
(and which I suspected Parry of fabricating himself, though he claimed they were so old that their origins were lost in the mists of time) – well, there are limits to how much one wishes to
hear of such short pieces.
    The audience, which was happily large, applauded enthusiastically; many hurried forward at the end of the concert to chat to Parry who towered over them all. I saw Nichols hanging about with a
request that Parry might play for his class the following day. And Mr Jenison was also there, hands in pockets, frowning.
    “That boy of yours, Patterson,” he said suddenly. “Very tolerable player. I warrant it was you who taught him to play an adagio like that. That French fellow just rushes at
adagios – I’ve always said foreigners can’t play them well. Haven’t the sensibility for it.”
    He did not meet my eye. That French fellow – hardly the way to refer to a favoured employee. (I prevented myself just in time from murmuring ‘Swiss’.) Had Le Sac
offended Jenison in some way? I caught Claudius Heron’s gaze instead as he walked past; “Very good,” he said, and walked on.
    Esther Jerdoun came up to me with a smile as Jenison turned away. The lady was dressed in grey but the light caught the shiny fabric and turned it to shimmering silver; sapphires glittered in
her ears and around her throat.
    “I enjoyed the Handel greatly, Mr Patterson,” she said in a tone of voice I thought rather loud. “Tell me, what opera was that overture from? I had not a handbill – they
were all gone before I arrived.”
    But she did not allow me to answer; she lowered her voice and spoke swiftly. “You need not concern yourself about the violin. It is recovered.” She raised her voice to its former
pitch. “I have always thought Handel’s instrumental music much under-rated. Do you not agree?”
    I answered mechanically, hardly knowing what I said. Her mouth smiled; her head nodded, her elegant hand drifted across the decorated lid of the harpsichord. And her eyes were sharp and
warning.
    “Now it’s to the bottle!” Parry said suddenly and swept his arm round George. The contrast between the giant and the child was ludicrous. “Shall we introduce this lad to
the pleasures of fine wine, Mr Patterson? Oh, I beg your pardon, madam.”
    Perhaps he had caught the soft sound of the lady’s dress sweeping the floor as she turned. Mrs Jerdoun inclined her head. “I merely lingered to express my pleasure at your