AllFreeNovel
Share Us
'Cheryl Tyson is a very good
violinist in her own right, as well as being a very experienced teacher,' she said, setting the tray on the coffee-table, trying to remain patient. They had the rest of the weekend to get through before she and Tim returned to the lodge and she'd rather spend it reasonably amicably. At least Virginia had the decency not to involve Tim directly in their 'discussions', as she called them, about his future. Except for today. Today was unforgivable.
'Tim needs more than just a good teacher, he needs the best. He's not just gifted, Clare, he's blessed. He's…he's a wunderkind. He could be another Heifetz! Did you know that Heifetz played the Mendelssohn Concerto when he was only six?'
Of course Clare knew. Virginia never passed up the opportunity to thrust another musical autobiography or book about gifted children on her daughter-in-law. Clare had long ago faced the fact that her son was exceptional, but she was a more critical reader than Virginia— she absorbed the cons as well as the pros of childhood exploitation. Her first consideration must always be Tim's health and happiness, not her own or her mother-in-law's ambitions for him.
'Let's just agree to disagree, shall we? I'm Tim's mother, and ultimately I make the decisions—about where we live and what sort of education he has. If you can't accept that, I'm sorry, but I won't have you interfering the way you did today. If you do, then I'm afraid Tim and I won't be able to come and stay any more. I won't have my parental authority undermined or disregarded, however strongly you feel you have a valid motive.'
Virginia's face was stiff with offended pride, but she didn't misjudge her daughter-in-law's quietness. It was when she was quiet that Clare was at her most serious. In fact, she was very well-named—there was a cool clarity, a stillness about Clare that misled people into thinking that she was easy to read. But, like a clear pond of water, she had an uncanny knack of reflecting one's own thoughts and feelings without revealing her own. And yet with some people—Tim for one—she possessed a passionate warmth and humour that left the onlooker feeling subtly deprived. It was an aggravating feeling, and one that Virginia had to strive not to resent. Whatever their differences of opinion, there was no arguing that Clare was a conscientious and loving mother.
'I thought that Tim would enjoy seeing Deverenko in action,' she said placatingly.
'I'm sure he did, but that's not the point. Getting tickets to attend a Master Class is one thing, participating is quite another,' Clare pointed out drily. 'It must have taken a considerable amount of manoeuvring to achieve… since the students for these things are usually selected weeks in advance, and are supposedly all from the University School of Music.'
Virginia shook her head, 'This was one of a series for all ages and levels that Deverenko has been holding around the country. It was Just a matter of auditioning.'
'But Tim didn't audition!'
'I gave Mrs Carmen that tape you sent me… of Tim doing the Fantasie Pastorale,' Virginia admittedly uncomfortably, revealing the secret she had been nursing for a month. 'She was really excited at the thought of bringing him to Deverenko's notice, and as she's a violin tutor at the School of Music, her recommendation carries a lot of weight.'
'I see.' Clare made a mental note that in future Virginia would have to keep up with Tim's progress on the violin second-hand, by letter, rather than the tape recordings that Clare had been obligingly posting off every month.
'No, you don't see, Clare. If only you had been there!' Virginia conveniently forgot that that had been the last thing she had wanted when she'd made her furtive plans. 'Deverenko was really impressed, with Tim's whole demeanour as well as his playing. You should have seen the way he watched him, the way Tim blossomed under the attention! And he talked with us…Mrs Carmen and I… for quite a long while afterwards. He thinks that he has a place for Tim at his school!'
'I told you, I'm quite satisfied with his progress—'
'But this is something else. He'd be one of the famous David Deverenko's protégés! Think of the doors that would open to Tim. His school is very select—he only has about twenty-five children there—and imagine Tim being taught by one of the world's greatest violinists!'
'I don't suppose that Deverenko does much of the actual teaching,' said Clare dampeningly. 'He has a fairly full concert schedule, performing all over the world. I don't think he's ready to retire into teaching just yet, do you?'
'But he helps shape the programme, and they regularly invite famous musicians to conduct guest classes. Oh, Clare, how could you turn down a chance like this? It might never come again!'
'If Tim is as good as you say he is, it'll come again— in a year or so, when he's better able to handle it. Besides—the Deverenko school is a boarding-school, isn't it? And there's the question of fees—'
'They waive them in special cases—Deverenko told me himself. For that matter, Clare, I'd sell this place if it meant that Tim could have his chance—'
The sobering thing was that she meant it. Any sacrifice was worth launching her grandson on the career that had been denied herself, through family obligations, and her son—through Lee's own curtailing of a promising career as a classical guitarist.
'No, Virginia.'
'At least talk to the man. He's going to get in touch—'
There's no point, Virginia. Not for another year at least. Now, the subject is closed…' Again the quiet implacability that it was unwise to ignore.
It was a pity that Clare couldn't use the same tactics on her son. When Virginia called Tim down from the small upstairs bedroom that he and Clare shared when they came to stay, he was full of his news.
'Hey, Mummy, guess what I did while you were out shopping?' He looked very pleased with himself as he helped himself to the afternoon tea that had lured him away from his quiet absorption in a book. Tim's concentration was fearful. Whether he was playing his half-sized violin, or reading, or just thinking, he displayed a deafness to distraction which was both the joy and the bane of his teachers' existences—and his mother's. Only food could penetrate his mental shell, although one would never know it from his thinness. Tim had inherited his mother's tallness and pale blonde hair, but not her build. Clare wasn't fat, but her curves could get away from her if she didn't watch herself. Lee had been inclined to plumpness, but all he seemed to have bequeathed to his son was his brown eyes, and the lightning flashes of humour that sometimes made them dance with mischief.
'Your granny has just been telling me,' Clare said, watching him devour the biscuits on his plate with ruthless efficiency.
'The maestro said I had an instinct.'
'Did he?' Damn the maestro.
'Yes, he said I could make the violin speak.'
'Did he?'
