of quest equipment straight to the rehearsal.
The only building on the estate big enough for a full rehearsal was the barn. Some students made faces at the dusty floor and Tommy had to be dissuaded from using the boar’s back as a drum, but perhaps Dr Lermontov had been right yesterday. Perhaps it really didn’t matter where they performed , because in that barn the twenty students played together so perfectly that it sounded to Helen like they’d played together all their lives.
They were soaring to the end of the last movement when the Professor bounced in, applauding and telling them they were the greatest young musicians she’d ever heard.
She went into a huddle with Dr Lermontov, then they called out two cellists. One was Alice, from Helen’s wing, the other was Stewart, a large boy from Galloway. They were both asked to play part of the last movement. Alice was clearly nervous and, at the slowest part of the andante section, her bow quivered on the D string and the cello let out a short screeching howl. Alice recovered and kept on playing, but the shock of the howl echoed round the barn.
Juliet caught Helen’s eye and mouthed, “Wolf note?” Helen grimaced and nodded.
It didn’t take a very long huddle for Professor Greenhill to announce that Stewart would play a solo on midsummer night.
Helen was suddenly worried. She hadn’t realizedProfessor Greenhill would consult Dr Lermontov about soloists. But why wouldn’t she? He was her deputy. Helen was kicking herself for not behaving better in the Russian’s lesson yesterday. Why had she been thinking about faery mounds, rather than concentrating on her music?
Dr Lermontov thought she was strange, for goodness sake. He would never want her as a soloist.
She held her breath as he said, “Now we will hear a few of our violinists.
“Zoe Quarrier, step to the front.”
Helen bit her lip.
“Calum McIvor, you too.”
Helen went cold with disappointment and anger. They weren’t even going to consider her! Then she heard:
“And Helen Strang-ah.
“Let’s hear you all. Play the violin solo from the second movement.”
Helen nodded. At least she was getting to audition. She stood nervously as the older players got ready, wondering if their extra years of experience would help them perform better.
Zoe began to play.
Helen knew her rival was a good violinist, but now she heard how great Zoe could be on her own. Freed from the compromises of playing with others, Zoe got amazing speed and volume out of her bow. But at the end of the section, when the music became subtler and dreamier, Zoe simply slowed and quietened, without finding any depth. Helen relaxed a little. The great Zoe was only noise and passion, not understanding.
Then Calum played. He hit each note with perfection , but also played each note with exactly the same weight as the one before and the one after. Soon, though the music was wonderful, his playing sounded dull and mechanical.
Then it was Helen’s turn.
She was sure if she played at her best, she could play better than either Zoe or Calum, but her fingers and shoulders were stiff with tension. Helen took her time. She rolled her shoulders, shook out her hands one at a time and balanced carefully on her feet.
Then she rested her fiddle on her shoulder, held her bow gently in her right hand, and breathed in time to the music she could already hear in her head.
She played to the Professor who had created this music, to the musicians in the past who had inspired it, to the audiences in the future who would lose their hearts to it. She played with light and dark, with love and fear, with notes dancing around her hands.
She played brilliantly. She allowed herself one small smile as she lowered her bow at the end.
The Professor and the Doctor went into a long huddle in the far corner of the barn, with lots of muttering and head shaking.
Then the Professor smiled kindly at all three nervous violinists. “You were all so wonderful
The only building on the estate big enough for a full rehearsal was the barn. Some students made faces at the dusty floor and Tommy had to be dissuaded from using the boar’s back as a drum, but perhaps Dr Lermontov had been right yesterday. Perhaps it really didn’t matter where they performed , because in that barn the twenty students played together so perfectly that it sounded to Helen like they’d played together all their lives.
They were soaring to the end of the last movement when the Professor bounced in, applauding and telling them they were the greatest young musicians she’d ever heard.
She went into a huddle with Dr Lermontov, then they called out two cellists. One was Alice, from Helen’s wing, the other was Stewart, a large boy from Galloway. They were both asked to play part of the last movement. Alice was clearly nervous and, at the slowest part of the andante section, her bow quivered on the D string and the cello let out a short screeching howl. Alice recovered and kept on playing, but the shock of the howl echoed round the barn.
Juliet caught Helen’s eye and mouthed, “Wolf note?” Helen grimaced and nodded.
It didn’t take a very long huddle for Professor Greenhill to announce that Stewart would play a solo on midsummer night.
Helen was suddenly worried. She hadn’t realizedProfessor Greenhill would consult Dr Lermontov about soloists. But why wouldn’t she? He was her deputy. Helen was kicking herself for not behaving better in the Russian’s lesson yesterday. Why had she been thinking about faery mounds, rather than concentrating on her music?
Dr Lermontov thought she was strange, for goodness sake. He would never want her as a soloist.
She held her breath as he said, “Now we will hear a few of our violinists.
“Zoe Quarrier, step to the front.”
Helen bit her lip.
“Calum McIvor, you too.”
Helen went cold with disappointment and anger. They weren’t even going to consider her! Then she heard:
“And Helen Strang-ah.
“Let’s hear you all. Play the violin solo from the second movement.”
Helen nodded. At least she was getting to audition. She stood nervously as the older players got ready, wondering if their extra years of experience would help them perform better.
Zoe began to play.
Helen knew her rival was a good violinist, but now she heard how great Zoe could be on her own. Freed from the compromises of playing with others, Zoe got amazing speed and volume out of her bow. But at the end of the section, when the music became subtler and dreamier, Zoe simply slowed and quietened, without finding any depth. Helen relaxed a little. The great Zoe was only noise and passion, not understanding.
Then Calum played. He hit each note with perfection , but also played each note with exactly the same weight as the one before and the one after. Soon, though the music was wonderful, his playing sounded dull and mechanical.
Then it was Helen’s turn.
She was sure if she played at her best, she could play better than either Zoe or Calum, but her fingers and shoulders were stiff with tension. Helen took her time. She rolled her shoulders, shook out her hands one at a time and balanced carefully on her feet.
Then she rested her fiddle on her shoulder, held her bow gently in her right hand, and breathed in time to the music she could already hear in her head.
She played to the Professor who had created this music, to the musicians in the past who had inspired it, to the audiences in the future who would lose their hearts to it. She played with light and dark, with love and fear, with notes dancing around her hands.
She played brilliantly. She allowed herself one small smile as she lowered her bow at the end.
The Professor and the Doctor went into a long huddle in the far corner of the barn, with lots of muttering and head shaking.
Then the Professor smiled kindly at all three nervous violinists. “You were all so wonderful
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