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'Not usually, no. He's very shy as a rule,' said Clare slowly. 'I've never seen him cling like that to anyone else.' She frowned. That sounded like sour grapes. Was she jealous? Did she want Tim to cling only to her?
'I told you. It's music. All musicians are the same.'
'Are you? Do you play an instrument?'
'Should I?' Tamara countered, her eyes shiny with dislike, and Clare realised she had made another mistake.
'I don't either,' she tried to redeem herself. 'It's funny, I love music, I love dancing to music, but I never had the slightest urge to learn to play it. Until now, until I realised that I couldn't help Tim with his music problems because I didn't understand them! In every other way he needs me, but not when he has his violin in his hand. I suppose I'm afraid of it, in a way, afraid of his talent because it's not something I can share in… ever, except second-hand. Sometimes I feel it's like a wall between us…' She suddenly realised who she was talking to and turned her head and grimaced. 'I suppose you're going to accuse me of being a neurotic mother, as your father has.'
'Dad said that?'
'Well, not those exact words, but that's what he thinks.' She glared down at the figure in the pale windbreaker.
'You…you really don't like him, do you?' Tamara realised incredulously.
Clare's mouth curved wryly. Although Tamara had attempted to put her off her father, it had obviously never occurred to her that anyone could not be impressed by him, awed by him as she was. 'Should I? Your father waltzes into our lives and calmly assures that he can turn them upside-down without so much as a by your leave, as if everything is subservient to his talent and will. Well, I'm not, and no amount of pressure from your father or Tim is going to convince me that his needs are going to be best served by shipping him off to a boarding-school. Tim worships your father, but he doesn't realise that the kind of attention being lavished on him now is only a means to an end. Once Tim's at the school, how often will he see your father?'
'More than I saw him at my school,' said Tamara.
'Is that why you left? Because you missed him?'
'I didn't leave, I was asked to leave,' Tamara confirmed Clare's suspicion with a dull defiance. 'They said I was too disruptive. I ran away three times.'
'Where did you go?' Clare was aghast at the idea.
'To friends. Once I got as far as Rome, on my way to America where Dad was performing,' she said with pride.
'By yourself!' It was pointless to hide her shock.
'Sure by myself. I can look after myself. I can look after Dad, too, if he'd let me. He needs someone with him on tour. He gets wound up
, you know. Mum used to be great at smoothing things out for him. Now he only has Efrem, and Efrem likes to panic.'
'Efrem?'
'Daddy's manager. He manages some of the top musicians in the world. He's OK, I guess, but he's very American, you know? He fusses and likes rowing… he calls it being full of temperament. He drives Daddy mad sometimes.'
'Then why does he employ him?'
Tamara looked shocked. 'Because he's the best, of course. You don't employ Efrem…he invites you to work with him. And he's been with Daddy since he first started the concert circuit.. They'll never get divorced!'
'You make me feel very plain and ordinary and ignorant,' said Clare ruefully, 'and I can do without another Deverenko who makes me feel inferior.'
'I didn't mean to,' offered Tamara, with a dark-eyed sincerity that was touching, considering her earlier hostility. Perhaps it was the realisation that Clare wasn't 'drooling' over her father that prompted the change. Whatever it was, Clare knew better than to trust it would last, but she would take advantage of it while it existed.
'Nor does your father, most of the time; it just comes naturally.'
Tamara laughed, and the difference in her appearance was quite startling, illuminating her features, rounding out the contours of her square, spare face. 'He is rather bossy, but everyone forgives him because he's special.'
'Everyone is special in their own way, Tamara, even those of us who seem destined to live under the shadow of greatness. I refuse to be intimidated. I can be bossy, too, you know.'
'You don't look very tough.'
'Toughness is on the inside. You look as if a puff of wind could blow you away, but you're a pretty tough cookie yourself.'
Tamara grinned, but Clare saw the flicker in her eyes. Tamara wasn't half as tough as she acted, and she knew it and it frightened her. Clare stood up. It was about time David Deverenko spent some time with his daughter, even if it meant that she, Clare, had to provide the diversion from her son.
The things she did for others!
