All the so-called “undesirable” people who had been forced to flee occupied territory had apparently found their way here, but there’d been no ships to take them back to their home countries. Marcel loved seeing the variety of skin tones and hair colors, and he’d been hoping to include some people from other countries in this orchestra.
Vichy had put their foot down on that one—no doubt a direct order from Von Eberstein. Native Frenchmen only. Aryans all. No females, either—they were to be encouraged to learn homemaking, not something that could become a career.
He had taken perhaps too much glee in making Vivi his first hire. They’d said nothing about guidelines for who would help him run things behind the scenes, after all.
He nodded toward the piano. “Begin at your leisure.”
René wiped his hands on his trouser legs and moved to the piano with a nod.
Marcel returned to his seat beside Vivi. At her lifted brows, he said quietly, “René Nicholy’s nephew. I met him in Vichy.”
“Ah.” She jotted down the name.
He passed the form down the line so the others could write down pertinent information too. His other two judges were local musicians he knew and respected, Messieurs Allard and Simon.
René had adjusted the distance of the bench, taken a momentto play a few chords to get a feel for the keys, and now put his fingers into position.
Please let him be good.A selfish prayer, he could grant it. He didn’t want to have to tell his boss that his nephew didn’t make the cut—though he was prepared to, if it came down to it.
Within a few notes, he recognized the Scarbo section of Ravel’s “Gaspard de la Nuit”—nearly as challenging as the Rachmaninoff that Zelie had been playing. An ambitious audition piece, to be sure. If he performed it well, it would all but guarantee him a spot.
If nerves got the better of him and he didn’t...
Within a minute, Marcel relaxed. René navigated the quick-paced beginning with ease, fingers dancing up and down the keys. He obviously wouldn’t do the entire twenty-plus-minute section, but the five minutes he played were superb—notquiteflawless, but on a piece that complicated, two missed notes weren’t egregious.
Marcel didn’t have to prompt the others to clap at the end of this one. In fact, Vivi let out a whistle that had him laughing. He stood. “I ought to accuse you of lying, Monsieur Faye.Just for funindeed.”
René blushed. And grinned. And shrugged. “Itisfor fun. I’ve never auditioned for anything before.”
“Good—if you had, someone else would have snapped you up already.” Marcel motioned to the sheet music sitting face down on the piano. “That is to test your sight-reading abilities, but I daresay you won’t find it too much of a challenge, given the Ravel.” He hoped not, anyway. If it turned out that the boy could only play so well by ear and couldn’t read a note... but Nicholy never would have let that happen.
And indeed, René set the music on the stand, gave it a glance, and launched directly into it. Marcel had chosen an obscure piece on purpose, to all but guarantee no one would know it.
René clearly hadn’t looked at the note on tempo—he was playing it far too quickly—but he had no trouble with the notes orrhythms, even so. And it was only a single sheet, so he finished it in no time.
“Well.” Marcel glanced down the line at the others, but they were all nodding. “Looks like we have ourselves a lead pianist. Welcome to the orchestra, Monsieur Faye.”
“Really?” René stood, a dazed look on his face. “I’m in? Don’t you need to... to deliberate or something?”
Marcel moved toward the stage as he had before, leaning on the edge. “In most cases, yes. But you’re the last audition, and this particular decision was easy. And not,” he added, noting the doubt in the boy’s eyes, “because of your uncle. I was fully prepared to explain to him why I had to turn you down—before you played Ravel’s Scarbo section so beautifully. You are by far the best pianist we’ve seen.”
Vivi stood too. “We’re arranging lodging for all the boys, and there will be a few days of appointments as we get everyone’s travel passes. Are you staying somewhere in town for a few days, I hope?”
“Yes,madam... oiselle?” In the dim lights in the auditorium, the boy clearly couldn’t get a gauge on Vivi’s age. Her voice said one thing, her clothes and hair another.
She gave a full-throated laugh that bespoke more years smoking than René had been alive. For that matter, probably more than Marcel had been. “Sweetheart, I’m old enough to be yourgrand-maman. But you’re sweet and polite, so you can call me whatever you like.” She held out her clipboard. “Write down your hotel here,mon chou. We’ll be in touch with details on when to report and where and all the other things yourmèrewill want to know before she lets you go. In fact, is she here? I’ll talk to her.” Vivi started for the stairs.
“Oh, she’s... at the hotel,” René admitted on a sigh. “I convinced her to let me comehereon my own, but not all the way to Marseille alone.”
Marcel rememberedthattoo. “Only a few of the musicianshave come by themselves—the older ones. Most are underage, so we’ll need to speak with your parents anyway. It’s good your mother is here.”
Emile’s door opened again, snagging Marcel’s attention. Had Vivi gone out it? No, she was still climbing the stairs. The clack of wooden-soled shoes was too light to be his cousin though. Perhaps René’s mother had come after all.
Or perhaps not. Zelie stepped out of the curtains with a little wave that really shouldn’t have made his heart stutter in his chest. He nodded a hello.
René turned, smiled. “Bonjour, Madame Bellerose. I didn’t know you were in Marseille.” He turned back to Marcel. “She and Monsieur Loustaunau-Lacau ran a rehabilitation center until recently in Vichy, the Pension Welcome. They helped my brother. Gave him purpose again.”
Marcel’s gaze flew to Zelie. He’d already learned that the “rehabilitation center” was what they’dclaimedto be running in the old manor house they’d just abandoned. They had had some activities meant to help soldiers adapt to life in a country that had surrendered, but it had mostly been a cover for recruitment for Alliance. Was René’s brother one of her agents?
