Madame Sousatzka (14 page)

‘I tell everything you must say,' said Madame Sousatzka, who wanted a hand in the game, too. ‘I will ask you certain questions, and I will tell you how the answer is.'

‘But supposing
she
asks me, Mrs Manders I mean?'

‘We'll all answer for you,' Manders said in a fatherly way. ‘We'll manage. It can't be helped. It was a mistake, but we'll have to make the best of it. And now let's get down to business.'

‘Where's the piano?' Marcus asked.

Manders laughed. ‘No piano here, my boy. I've heard you anyway. The audition,' he turned to Madame Sousatzka, ‘is a mere formality. I have no doubts that the boy can play,' he said with some authority, ‘and if
I
have no doubts, then there's no question of the boy's ability.'

Madame Sousatzka was irritated by his arrogance and she wanted to protect Marcus from his unjustified assumption of authority. ‘Is it absolute necessary that Marcus will stay?' she asked. ‘He can wait for us downstairs. This is just a business, darrlink. For you it is boring. Go down and talk to that nice lady at the machine in the hall. She will let you play with it, perhaps.'

‘That's an idea,' said Manders. ‘Wait for us downstairs. I want to take you all out to lunch,' he said expansively. ‘Not a business lunch, Madame Sousatzka. We will talk of other things.'

Marcus put his hands in his pockets as they would not be needed, and he left the room.

Madame Sousatzka, who had been standing all the time, looked around for a chair. Manders drew up a couch to his desk and motioned her to sit down. He moved to the chair that his wife had just vacated and placed it behind Jenny. He returned to his swivel chair at the desk and fumbled with irrelevant papers, scrutinizing them and sorting them with a professional air. ‘We'll launch him with a splash, I've decided,' he said enthusiastically. ‘The Festival Hall. Nothing less.' Jenny gasped. Manders waited for Madame Sousatzka's reaction and her gratitude. But Sousatzka, whatever she felt, was determined not to show it. ‘A recital?' she asked casually.

‘Oh no,' said Manders, realizing the reason for her lack of immediate enthusiasm. ‘An orchestral concert. I will launch him in a big way. A big conductor, a big orchestra, in the Festival Hall.' Madame Sousatzka noted that suddenly
he was undertaking the launching alone. She said nothing, and Jenny was surprised at her lack of reaction.

‘He will play the Beethoven Fourth,' Madame Sousatzka announced.

‘Never mind what he'll play,' said Manders. ‘What will he wear? That's more to the point. I suggest,' he went on, determined to ignore Sousatzka's dumbfounded expression, ‘a black velvet suit and an Eton collar. His hair should not be too neat, and preferably longer than is usual. I have tentatively scheduled a date in February. It's one of my boy's concerts, but he's had to cancel it. I'll put Marcus in his place. That gives us two months; he can grow his hair by then. Black patent shoes,' he went on, ‘with perhaps a silver buckle. But my wife will see to that. She's rather good at that sort of thing.'

Madame Sousatzka stood up. She had had enough. ‘My Marcus is not a male model,' she shouted, desperately reclaiming him. ‘What he should wear is not important. That is not my business. My business is the piano, Mr Manders. I will see he gives such a concert, you never heard anything like it. That is all that matters to me.'

‘Well, of course, we all know he'll play well,' Manders soothed her, ‘but in this business, we take that for granted. There are so many pianists, Madame Sousatzka,' he confided to her sadly. ‘They all play well. They all have talent. But these days, with such competition,' he raised his voice as if he were addressing a board meeting, ‘they have to have something more. Our Marcus is a child' – Madame Sousatzka noted their joint account – ‘I intend to sell him as a child, as a child prodigy, but first and foremost as a child. As for the Beethoven Fourth, and I know it well,' he added quickly, forestalling Madame Sousatzka's disbelief, ‘almost all pianists on my books play that one – I don't think somehow that Marcus is, well, mature enough. I think a little Mozart would sell better. The double image of child prodigies,' he said. ‘And after all, Mozart is a lot easier for a youngster.'

Madame Sousatzka exploded at his abysmal ignorance. ‘Mature you want him to be? I also want him mature. And when he is mature, he will play Mozart. Not before that.
You think that to play the piano is only the technique. So he can play Mozart, you think. Simple. There is more to the business, Mr Manders, than black and white notes. For Mozart, you must be the great musician, you must have lived and suffered, tried and failed. You must know the joy, the hatred, the betrayal.' Madame Sousatzka obviously felt herself a more suitable candidate for the Festival Hall. ‘My Marcus is a little boy. He is not ready for Mozart. And I don't care how many of your boys play the Beethoven. Marcus will play it better.'

‘Oh, what's the difference for Heaven's sake,' said Jenny. ‘Let's not argue. Felix,' she said gently, ‘let Madame Sousatzka have her way with what Marcus plays. What does it matter as long as he plays well?'

Because it was Jenny's request, Manders was willing to make the concession. ‘All right, Madame Sousatzka,' he said, ‘have your own way. But as an impresario, I give you my opinion, gained from long experience, that a child playing Mozart is an infallible best-seller.'

Madame Sousatzka sat down again. She was not interested in Manders's opinions and she let it pass.

‘Now there is the question of contract,' Manders said, picking up a blue folder from the desk. ‘We needn't go into details. They're rather boring.' Madame Sousatzka opened her mouth in the shape of a contradiction, but pressing on Manders said, ‘You can take a copy home with you and study it at your leisure.'

‘How much you pay Marcus for the concert?' Sousatzka asked innocently.

‘How much do
I
pay?' Manders gasped. He hadn't realized Madame Sousatzka was so naïve. ‘D'you understand, Madame Sousatzka,' he said gently, ‘that the general procedure in our business, especially with a new, unknown artist, is that the artist pays
me
to launch him under my aegis, and that he will receive a percentage of the profits, that is, if there are any. Now in Marcus's case,' he hurried on, dreading her interruptions, ‘I am making an exception.'

‘He
is
the exception,' Sousatzka said. ‘How much you pay him?'

‘I don't know,' Manders said, slightly irritated. ‘He is an
exception because I ask nothing of him in the beginning. I undertake all expenses; the Hall, the orchestra, the conductor, the advertisements, the publicity; I risk it all. And Marcus will be paid out of the profits after I have got my money back.'

‘So you lose nothing,' Madame Sousatzka said.

‘Madame Sousatzka,' Manders was angry now, and a soothing look from Jenny calmed him a little. ‘I stand to lose everything,' he said. ‘Without an audience, there is no profit. And you must have a big audience even to cover expenses. You never know. He is unknown. He plays the Beethoven Fourth. Not so popular as a Mozart.' He was beginning to regret letting Sousatzka have her say regarding the programme. ‘But suppose they want to come. Suppose even, they like the Beethoven Fourth. Then that night, it's raining, or foggy, maybe.'

‘In February, no fog,' Madame Sousatzka sneered with the confidence of a weather forecaster.

‘But we can have rain. Anything can happen.' Then realizing that his argument was weakening, he shouted, ‘Madame Sousatzka, if you think that you can get a better deal elsewhere, you are obviously at liberty to take it. But I doubt it. I doubt it very much. It's a cut-throat profession, Madame Sousatzka. You won't find many as generous as I.'

‘He's right, Sousatzka,' Jenny said, who had had personal experience of Manders's generosity. ‘In any case, Marcus isn't only playing for money.'

‘That I know, Jenny. That I know very well,' Sousatzka said. ‘I know what Mr Manders wants to do. I appreciate it. I take home the contract and I will look at it.'

‘Can I then go ahead with my arrangements?' Manders asked.

‘Yes, you can go ahead,' Sousatzka permitted him. ‘For a concert in February, in the Festival Hall, to play the Beethoven Fourth.'

The reminder depressed him. Jenny put her arm round his neck and he smiled weakly.

‘What about that lunch you promised us?' she said.

They picked up Marcus in the hall. There was a
lunch-hour let-up on the switchboard, and as they passed by the desk the woman hid her face in her knitting. She watched them disappear out of the front doors, and when they'd gone, she furtively took out a cheese sandwich and nibbled at one corner, like a little old mouse who knows the coast is clear.

On the following Friday, as they were getting ready to go to Vauxhall Mansions, Marcus tried to hide his nervousness, his excitement and also his guilt. No one had told his mother about the salon. He knew that she had a right to be there. But if she came there would be so many complications, not the least being the Jenny affair. In any case, he couldn't see her fitting in with those kind of people; he would have been ashamed of her. And it was this that worried him more than anything.

She was straightening her hat in the mirror. ‘Today, such a nice hat I saw, Marcus,' she said. ‘I thought for the concert I'd buy it.'

‘What colour is it?'

‘Brown.'

‘Oh Momma, I hate brown. Why don't you have a change?'

‘It
is
a change. Only in colour is the same.'

‘Let me choose a colour for you,' he said. He felt suddenly that the whole future of their relationship depended on the colour of her hat.

‘I like brown,' she said. ‘Is my colour. Anyway, I already bought it,' she smiled.

‘Let me see.' Marcus wanted to know the worst right away.

‘No. Is a surprise for you,' she chuckled like a child. ‘At the concert you will see it. You will be proud.'

Marcus doubted it. His mother had last bought a hat for his ninth birthday pantomime treat. That was almost three years ago. He looked forward dismally to yet another three brown years.

He picked up her shopping bag. Marcus wondered fleetingly whether she would bring it to the concert. He
would have to hide it somewhere.

‘Let's go,' he said helplessly. He felt less guilty about the salon now. It was all her fault. If she insisted on buying a brown hat, what chance was she giving him?

But on the journey to Vauxhall Mansions the guilt came flooding back. As she took out her black purse to pay their fares on the bus, carefully counting out the brown pennies, he moved closer to her; as she took the tickets and stuffed them into her bag, where they no doubt joined the tickets from their first journey to Vauxhall Mansions almost a year ago, he said suddenly under his breath, hoping and fearing that she would hear, ‘I love you, Momma.' And when he left her at Vauxhall Mansions, he kissed her. He watched her out of the Square and was disturbed that he didn't feel any easier.

He pushed the door open with his shoulder, and even before stepping into the hall he called out, ‘Madame Sousatzka,' like a password.

‘We're downstairs,' Cordle's voice came from the basement. Marcus ran down to Uncle's room. Everyone had collected there for the dress rehearsal. A strong smell of antiseptics filled the room. Marcus noticed that Jenny's raised right hand was covered with a sticky yellow ointment. Cordle was bandaging it with meticulous care, gently avoiding pressure on the imagined burns.

‘You like Beethoven?' Sousatzka was saying.

‘Oh, I think it's lovely,' said Jenny.

‘That won't do at all,' said Cordle. ‘Beethoven isn't lovely. It's great, it's moving, it's prophetic, but it isn't lovely. Try again.'

‘Do you like the Beethoven?' Madame Sousatzka asked gently.

‘I think it's great, it's moving, it's prophetic.' Jenny was putting her heart and soul into the part. She even managed a squeal of pain as Cordle tightened the bandage.

‘Very good,' said Uncle, who had elected herself examiner. ‘Now what about something more specific? about the concerto itself.'

‘Yes,' said Madame Sousatzka. ‘Already we practised that. What, my dear,' she said, turning to Jenny, ‘do you
think of the opening bars?'

Jenny bounded in on her cue. ‘I think it is the greatest opening ever written, it is pleading, it is lonely.'

‘Bravo,' shouted Uncle, ‘You should be a music critic, Jenny.'

Marcus sat on the floor near the Countess. ‘Who are your favourite composers, my dear?' he asked in a treble voice, flinging out a limp hand.

‘We haven't done that one,' said Jenny. ‘You'd better give me a few names.'

‘Just say Bach,' Cordle advised her. ‘She won't know a thing about Bach.'

‘I know something by Bach,' Jenny exclaimed. ‘It's a song. “Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring.” I used to sing it in the school choir.'

‘Everybody sings that in school choirs. Don't mention it,' said Cordle. ‘If she asks you what is your favourite piece of Bach, say Brandenburg Five, as casually as you can. That'll impress her. D'you get it? Brandenburg Five. Let's practise.'

‘What's your favourite piece of Bach?' Marcus squeaked again.

Jenny twisted round in her chair. ‘Brandenburg Five,' she threw off casually, flinging her bandaged arm in his direction.

‘Bravo,' said Uncle again, awarding an extra mark.

‘I hope everything is all right,' said Madame Sousatzka.

‘Everything'll be fine,' said Cordle. ‘As long as Jenny doesn't speak unless she's spoken to. Anyhow, she can always change the subject or one of you can interrupt.'