The Tooth Tattoo

6

An afternoon of making music?

Some chance.

Mel wasn’t treating this lightly. He was about to be put to the test. Each waking hour must be devoted to preparing the piece, learning the seven movements passage by passage in readiness to respond to the other instruments, letting the viola speak, sing, inspire, transform, in harmony with the rest. And of course the difficulty was not being able to predict how the others would interpret their parts. The preparation you can do in isolation is limited.

For encouragement he kept telling himself that this wouldn’t be a memory test like a solo performance. Quartet-playing is almost always from the sheet. They’d have the score in front of them with the composer’s markings.

Opus 131 is said to have been Beethoven’s favourite of all his string quartets. It is also said to be the ultimate in difficulty, in places almost beyond comprehension. Enough to make a nervous player take up drumming.

Yet more than once Mel had filled in for a quartet when the violist had become ill between final rehearsal and concert. He’d gone in cold and performed well enough to get through. Nobody had thrown anything.

Surely these people would make allowance.

Or would they? Ivan was the sort who expected perfection, gritting his teeth at anything less. Cat would treat any false note as hilarious. Hard to say which would be less mortifying. The great unknown was the mysterious third member, the second violin, who hadn’t shown any interest yet. Mel tried to put all three out of his mind and steep himself in the work, but he knew in his heart that the personalities in a quartet are fundamental to its performance.

By Saturday he was up with the piece, as well prepared as anyone could expect to be. Sunday morning he went through it twice without fluffing a note. He drank a large black espresso, packed the instrument in its case and started looking out of the window for the black Mercedes.

But it never arrived.

Instead, around ten past two, a red convertible with the roof down rattled the Fingis Street window frames. The driver — not the man he’d met before — got out, gave the house a long look and decided against all appearance to the contrary it must be correct.

Mel saved him the trouble of ringing the doorbell. ‘It’s me you’re picking up, I think. Mel Farran.’

‘Good man. Set to go, then?’ There was none of the deference of the previous chauffeur. This guy looked and behaved as if he owned the Aston Martin. ‘I’m Doug, of Douglas Christmas Management.’

Pause for thought. ‘You manage the quartet?’

‘Try to — on their more agreeable days. Hop in. We’re running late.’

‘I need my instrument.’

The driver flashed his whitened teeth. ‘Of course.’ He took a key from his pocket, pointed it at the car and the boot lid opened.

‘Thanks,’ Mel said, ‘but I’d rather keep it by me.’

‘You fiddle players are all the same. Treat them like newborn babies.’

They left Fingis Street behind, roaring through West London, the sound exaggerated by the roof being down. Mel kept the case containing his baby between his knees, deciding this gave more protection in case of a collision. Conversation would have been difficult anyway, and was rendered impossible by rock music at high volume. Doug wasn’t a Radio Three man.

Somewhere west of Acton they joined the North Circular and stayed with it as far as Friern Barnet, at which point Mel gave up trying to track the route. Soon they were travelling into an area lush with greenery and golf courses. A right turn, a private road, an electronic gate and they moved up a red-tiled drive and stopped outside a residence like the backdrop to a Gainsborough portrait. Mel shed all doubts about the quartet earning six-figure salaries.

‘Whose place is this?’ he asked when the engine was switched off.

‘Mine, actually. The talent, as I call them, will tell you I’m an extortionist, but that’s their little game. In my position you have to have a reasonable lifestyle or people don’t believe you’re good at what you do.’

‘Is this where we’re playing?’ All week he’d pictured four upright chairs in someone’s living room with the other furniture pushed to the walls.

‘That’s the plan.’

‘Are the others inside?’

‘And getting stroppy by now.’ Doug marched to the front door, opened it and shouted, ‘We made it, musos.’

Mel followed, his knuckles turning white around the handle of his viola case.

The Georgian front of the house was no preparation for the interior, an open-plan conversion, a monument to the possibilities of the rolled steel joist, with several stone pillars where solid walls once stood. The spaces were defined in a conventional way, dining area, kitchen, office, library and a couple of lounges. At the far end three people waited, already seated with stands in front of them in what was evidently the music space. A fourth chair had been put out for the newcomer. Mel spotted Cat first, not unlike Britannia on an old penny coin, her cello leaning against her thigh. She raised her bow.

‘Glad you made it, kiddo.’

Ivan was opposite her, checking his watch. His weekend casuals were a three-piece suit and striped tie.

‘My fault we’re a trifle late,’ Doug said. ‘Couldn’t find the street and ended up on the Hammersmith Flyover.’

Mel was looking at the one musician he hadn’t already met, a guy more his own age, with brown hair to his shoulders and dressed in a black shirt and red corduroy trousers, but unwilling, it seemed, to make eye contact.

Doug made the introduction.

‘Good to meet you,’ Mel said to Anthony and could have saved his breath. The second violin showed no intention of shaking hands or offering any kind of greeting.

Now Doug took a step back. ‘I’m going to make myself scarce, people. I’m an unrewarding audience, as you know. Take the hot seat, Mel. They’re on pins to know if you’ll fit in.’

Thanks for that boost to my confidence, Mel thought.

Cat called out as Doug was leaving, ‘Keep your thieving hands off the sandwiches, boyo. I’ve counted them.’

Heart pumping faster at the ordeal to come, Mel removed his viola and bow from the case and joined the quartet.

‘You did tell him on the phone it’s Beethoven’s Opus 133?’ Cat said to Ivan.

Mel’s jaw dropped. ‘I heard 131.’

‘Joke,’ she said. ‘You’ll get used to me, sunshine. We may be tough nuts, but we’re not asking you to tangle with the Grosse Fuge, not before the first break.’

‘Can we be serious?’ Ivan said. ‘Mr. Farran is our guest for the afternoon. Let’s treat him with respect.’

‘No need for that,’ Mel was quick to tell them. ‘I’d rather be informal.’

‘Me, too,’ Cat said. ‘What do you have in mind?’

‘I meant —’

‘Relax, my pet. You’re one of us.’

Ivan gave her a sharp glance. ‘Don’t be premature. Nothing is decided.’ To Mel, he said with a twitch of the lips that was the nearest he would get to cordiality, ‘Ready?’

‘Of course.’

‘We won’t treat this as a rehearsal, because it isn’t. We’ll play the whole quartet as we would if you were our regular violist. No one is expecting a miracle. You’ll be adjusting to our tempo and voicing just as we will respond to yours. When infelicities occur—’

‘Don’t you love that?’ Cat broke in. ‘ “When infelicities occur.” He means when someone plays a bum note.’

‘We’ll make allowance,’ Ivan said. ‘After all, we’re human.’

‘Some of us,’ Cat murmured. She was doing her best to take the stress out of the situation, even if Ivan didn’t care for it.

As for Anthony, he remained expressionless, as if he’d heard all this before.

‘Shall we tune the instruments?’ Ivan said. ‘And by the way, because of the length of the piece and the room temperature it’s to be expected that they’ll go out of tune before the end. No matter.’

‘We’ll wing it, bossy boots,’ Cat said. ‘We always do.’

Ivan lifted the violin to his chin and played a note that acted on Mel’s nerves like a thousand volts.

Get a grip, he told himself. You prepared for this all week.

He raised his viola, waited for a lead from the cello, tried the note several times, gave a small twist to the fine tuner, was satisfied, nodded, took a deep breath and waited.

Anthony had come to life and looked a different man tuning his violin. Cat drew her bow several times more across the cello strings and winked. They tried a few chords in the C sharp minor key.

Then it got serious.

The opening movement of Opus 131 is majestic, yet with a sense of foreboding. Beethoven’s first mark says ‘Adagio ma non troppo e molto espressivo’ and presents an immediate test for the first violin. Ivan sounded the first dramatic bars expressing the anguish that mirrored Mel’s state of mind. And as Anthony took up the fugal theme on a single up-bow it was apparent how seamlessly the two blended. This was playing of rare quality. The second violin might be a social misfit, but he was a fine musician.

Poised for his entrance in bar nine, Mel knew it had to be spot on. The score called for him to join the playing of the others at precisely the same bow speed. There was no hiding.

His timing was right. He conquered his nerves, launched into the piece and played the crescendo in bar eleven in the knowledge that he needed to top the two violins with the complete fugue subject, a theme that is heard in various guises throughout. A lift of Ivan’s right eyebrow signalled satisfaction. Under way and making music as requested.

Now was the moment for the fourth voice, Cat’s cello, and she supplied a strong, sonorous note in no danger of being drowned by the others. With all four instruments in play, the harmonics came under scrutiny and to Mel’s ear blended well. Even while straining to concentrate he felt lifted by the company he was in. They were spectacularly good. Ivan was a skilful leader, setting the tempo, making way when necessary, yet filling in the harmony with precisely the right strength when required.

Towards the middle of the first movement the violins speak to each other with the last six notes of the fugue motif and then viola and cello take up the dialogue in one of the loveliest passages in the entire quartet repertoire. An immense test, and Mel was equal to it, removing everything from his mind except the purity of the sound. His eyes didn’t meet Cat’s, yet he felt an emotional affinity with her that only musicians could appreciate.

It was a seminal moment. Performing with such gifted artists was uplifting, however mismatched they were as personalities. I want to be part of this, he thought. I want it more than I ever suspected.

So as movement succeeded movement, he felt buoyed up by the quality of the playing, growing in belief, inspired to new heights. In the jarring transition from the breakneck speed of the scherzo to the poignant adagio of the sixth movement, the viola takes centre stage. All those hours of practice gave him the confidence to play this heart-rending passage from memory, his bowing prolonging the intensity at slow tempo without sacrificing the sense of motion.

The fireworks of Beethoven’s seventh and final movement have a huge impact after this. Four instruments in unison from the jolt of the first note on a downward stroke into a rapid pounding rhythm played right at the frog of the bow will startle any audience. With no one else present, not even Douglas, there were only the four musicians to thrill to the vitality of the music, the culmination of all that had gone before. Spells of ferocious playing were separated by those gorgeous lyrical oases. Excited, energised, the quartet performed the finale relentlessly until its sudden, challenging stop.

No one spoke.

After a piece of such range and power, mere words seem crass.

Some seconds passed before Ivan tapped his stand several times with the bow, a gesture of satisfaction. Cat nodded her agreement. Anthony had slumped again, a puppet with slack strings.

At a loss as to how to behave with these people he’d joined intimately through the music but hardly at all as companions, Mel propped the viola in the angle of his lap and waited. He’d raised his level of playing beyond anything he’d achieved before. He was emotionally drained.

Finally, Cat spoke. ‘Don’t know about you dudes, but that was good enough for me.’ She turned to Anthony. ‘What do you say?’

‘I’m easy.’

‘We know that, honey, but what about the playing?’

‘I said — I’m easy.’

Cat turned to Ivan. ‘We can take that as affirmative — I think. What’s your opinion?’

‘Of what?’

‘Of the combo.’

‘I wish you wouldn’t use that expression.’

‘Here we go again,’ she said. ‘Forty minutes of bliss with Beethoven and it doesn’t take ten seconds to start another spat.’

‘It’s unseemly.’

‘Give me strength. What do you want us to be known as — the Ivan Bogdanov Players?’

‘Now you’re being offensive.’

‘It would be, stuck with a name like yours.’ She raised a hand. ‘All right, that was out of order. Sometimes you drive me to it. Back to my question: do we have a future together? I think we do, and Anthony is easy — which coming from him is as good as a twenty-one-gun salute. Are you up for it?’

Ivan sniffed. ‘Allowing that Mr. Farran was my suggestion in the first place, I give my consent, but with reservations.’

‘What’s your problem?’ Cat said.

Mel was increasingly uncomfortable. ‘Should I go outside while you discuss this?’

‘For the love of Mike, no,’ Cat said. ‘We’re talking about reviving the quartet and everyone deserves a say.’

‘Then we’d better bring in Douglas,’ Ivan said.

‘He can go bark at the moon. He’ll take his twenty percent whatever we decide. And if we’re down to a trio he’ll want twenty-five. What’s eating you, Ivan?’

‘I’m going to propose we agree to a trial period of, say, three months. If, for some reason, it doesn’t work as well as we hope, we can review it then.’

‘Why? When you and I started there was no trial period or the rest of us would have kicked you out for sure.’

‘You don’t mean that.’

‘I mean the first bit — no trial period. I like equality. If Mel is joining us, he won’t want second-class status.’

‘Perhaps we should ask him.’

And that was how Mel found himself in the hot seat. He cleared his throat and said, ‘If you’re serious about inviting me in, I’d like to know more about you.’

This silenced them for a beat or two.

Cat said, ‘Such as?’

‘What’s the name of your quartet?’

Even more hesitation.

Ivan said, ‘One matter we must discuss at an early stage is whether to adopt a new name.’

Mel gained in confidence. ‘What’s wrong with the old one?’

‘We had a quartet, a successful one, but it no longer exists.’

‘What happened?’

‘Our violist left.’

No one added to the bald statement. Mel could hear them breathing.

‘Over a disagreement?’

‘Not that I’m aware of.’

Finally Cat said, ‘You don’t have to be so mysterious, Ivan. Harry went missing in Budapest four years ago when we were playing there. Nobody has seen him since. He’s a missing person. We’ve been marking time ever since in the hope he’ll walk in one day. It hasn’t happened so we faced reality and started looking for a replacement.’

Mel turned to Ivan. ‘And you want to buy more time in case he does turn up?’

Ivan reddened.

‘He won’t,’ Cat said. ‘We would have heard by now. Something final must have happened.’

‘Was he acting strangely?’

‘We’re all strange, ducky, as you must have worked out for yourself by now. If you want my opinion, Harry was the closest to normal.’

‘Was there a disagreement?’

‘Disagreements are the stock-in-trade of string quartets. We’re strong-minded people, even Anthony, as you’ll discover. But there was nothing more than the usual to and fro over the score of whichever piece we were playing. We all bring something to the party and it makes for a more exciting performance.’

‘Then you haven’t played together for how long?’

‘A couple of years, give or take. We tried, but for one reason and another — most of them crap viola players — it hasn’t worked out, so we’ve had to do our own thing — teaching and orchestral work and stuff we wouldn’t want anyone else to know.’

Ivan said, ‘We haven’t made it public that the quartet stopped appearing. We’ve been fading away.’

‘Faded,’ Cat said.

‘I’d still like to know the name.’

‘The Staccati.’

Mel’s skin prickled. The Staccati had been an international name. He owned some of their recordings. The only reason he’d overlooked them when he’d racked his brain for likely quartets was that nothing had been heard of them recently. Their great period was five or six years back. They’d been in demand at all the great music festivals across the world. ‘I know about you, of course, but never had the pleasure of hearing you in concert.’

‘We do most of our playing abroad,’ Ivan said. ‘You’re able to travel, are you?’

‘I enjoy it.’

‘You won’t when it seems never-ending, one hotel after the next.’

‘The best deal is a residency,’ Cat said. ‘A few paid months in one place. Time to chill out, go shopping, get your hair done and find the hottest clubs in town. Heaven.’

‘We give a fixed number of concerts and do some teaching,’ Ivan said. ‘It isn’t all about self-indulgence.’

‘Listen to him talking,’ Cat said. ‘Who was always in the park playing chess with the old men?’

Mel said, ‘How soon would you want me to make a decision?’

‘Yesterday isn’t soon enough,’ Cat said. ‘We need to be concert-ready when Doug swings into action and gets us some gigs. Let’s talk about repertoire. Any obvious blind spots?’

‘I wish I knew more contemporary music.’

‘Put it there, buddy. We stop at Schoenberg.’

‘I haven’t specialised in quartet music. I had to work hard at this.’

‘You think we were playing off the cuff? I haven’t watched TV all week. You can play. You should have heard some of the others.’

‘Your standard is very high.’

‘Bollocks.’ She pointed her bow at Ivan. ‘What do you say, Rasputin? Do we give it a whirl with Mel on full membership?’

A sigh. ‘Very well.’

‘Anthony?’

Anthony managed a nod.

‘He’s easy,’ Cat said. ‘Why don’t we call in Doug and start on the salmon sandwiches?’

The deal was sealed. A verbal agreement would do, Doug said. And, just as Ivan had promised, Mel would earn one-fifth of the profits. The only undertaking he had to give was that the quartet’s engagements had priority over everything short of acute appendicitis.

‘And what if the original violist turns up?’

‘I wouldn’t worry about Harry,’ Doug said in his nonchalant way. ‘He’s history. Nice man, wonderful musician, but out of the picture now.’

Years of working in an insecure profession had toughened Mel. ‘Sorry. If I’m going to give up all my freelance work I need more of a guarantee.’

‘I’ll speak to the talent.’

‘They said full membership. Can I take that as permanent?’

‘If they already agreed, yes.’

‘Then it has your approval?’

‘Let’s shake on it.’ His grip reinforced the pact.

Mel still felt he had a right to know more. ‘Has Harry ever gone missing before this?’

‘Missing? No. They all go their own ways in free time on tour. They don’t live in each other’s pockets. The embassy kept asking us where he was supposed to have gone that evening and nobody knew. Ghastly time. We had to bring in a local musician to play the viola part in the last three concerts and he wasn’t terribly good. I was forced to cancel the rest of the tour. Endless wrangling with the Hungarians over breach of contract and compensation claims. Made my life hell. If Harry had turned up at that point I’d cheerfully have shot him. Have another sandwich.’

‘So will you make it clear to the others that I’m the permanent replacement?’

‘Absolutely.’

Mel raised another concern. ‘Won’t it be difficult getting engagements after so long?’

A shake of the head. ‘The name still has plenty of currency.’

‘They want to change the name.’

Doug almost dropped the plate. ‘Who does?’

Some inner censor stopped Mel from naming anyone. ‘You’d better ask them. Personally, I’d be proud to join the Staccati.’

But Doug wasn’t there to hear the last words. He was striding across the room to speak to Ivan.

The clash of wills was won by Doug. They would continue to be known as the Staccati Quartet. Once again, Cat waded in with a wisecrack: ‘Staccato is all about sharp, disconnected notes and no four people are more disconnected than we are.’ The dynamics of the group were becoming clearer. Ivan was not so dominant as he had first appeared. Cat could undermine him with her streetwise humour. Anthony allowed the others to make all the running, but might yet pounce. For the time being, Doug was the decision-maker.

‘How soon will you be up to concert pitch?’

‘We need to prepare,’ Ivan said with all the earnestness of Noah before the rains came. ‘Weeks, maybe months.’

‘Why don’t you fix up some gigs and tell us?’ Cat said to Doug. ‘Give some focus to the preparation.’

‘I have a few ideas already,’ Doug said, and any half-decent manager would have said as much. ‘I was thinking of letting you in gently. There are various festivals coming up in this country — Cheltenham, Cambridge, York. Their programmes will already be arranged, but I can’t see any of them turning down a chance to slot in the Staccati at short notice.’

Ivan was shaking his head. ‘Too soon.’

‘Tucson, Arizona? That’s an awful long way for a single performance,’ Cat said. ‘Doug, I think you’ve got it. Better still, how about trying for a residency? Would you care for that, Anthony?’

Anthony said, ‘Cool.’

‘That’s two of us, then. Mel, are you on board?’

‘If there’s half a chance, yes.’

‘Three.’ She turned to Ivan. ‘We’d get paid to rehearse in a practice room. Isn’t that better than weeks and months squatting in Doug’s house?’

He still looked doubtful. ‘I suppose if it could be arranged...’

‘Sponsors, endowments. There’s money out there. That’s why we employ the best manager in the business.’

Doug almost purred. ‘No promises. I’ll do my best.’

With that settled, and the sandwiches all but gone, Ivan suggested they should rehearse another quartet while Doug went off to make phone calls.

Another quartet? Mel’s heart sank and it must have been obvious.

‘No sweat, kiddo,’ Cat told him. ‘When we rehearse, we take the thing apart, bar by bar, as if we never played it before. We’re all learning together.’

‘I didn’t bring any other music.’

‘You see that printer over there on Doug’s computer desk? It’s also a photocopier.’

Not long after, they were back with their instruments. They worked on a Schubert quartet familiar to most chamber musicians. Cat’s reassuring words on a first rehearsal were borne out. The playing was in fragments, every phrase open to analysis. Strong views were voiced, but the arguing was of a different order from the debates on how the group was managed. These were points of interpretation and nuance, each player speaking with the authority of the score. Anthony found his voice and made clear that the term ‘second violin’ is misleading. He was not subordinate to Ivan or anyone else. And Mel, for his part, made sure that the viola was given its due.

Quite when Doug returned wasn’t clear. By then the concentration was pretty intense. He must have been standing nearby for some minutes waiting for a break. He wasn’t fussed. He was like the cat with the cream.

‘Sorry to interrupt. Breaking news, as they say. You asked for a residency and I may have got one, a university with a substantial endowment for a series of masterclasses and concerts. They are willing to engage us for six months when the new term starts.’

‘Who are?’ Ivan said.

‘Bath Spa University.’

‘Bath.’ Ivan spoke the word as if it were Lubianka Prison.

Cat overrode him. ‘Not a bad place to spend half a year. Is there enough for us to live on?’

‘Approved lodgings, all meals found and twenty grand each plus concert fees.’

‘I could survive on that. When do they need to know?’

‘I said I’d give them an answer today. It’s a fantastic deal. To sugar the pill I said you’d also make a recording in aid of university funds.’

Cat looked at the others. ‘Any objections?’

Anthony said, ‘How many concerts?’

‘You’re going to like this,’ Doug said. ‘What they suggest is a series of soirées, fortnightly musical evenings in private houses, chamber music as it was originally performed. The audiences will be limited to the size of the venue and in most cases this will mean twenty-five to thirty at most. There are some beautiful houses around Bath. I can picture you by candlelight in gracious rooms of the sort the composers themselves must have known.’

‘By Jesus, you’re a wicked salesman,’ Cat said.

‘That’s what you pay me for.’

‘I’m in. How about the rest of you?’

Ivan was straight to where the shoe pinched. ‘Fortnightly, I think I heard you say. With a new programme each time? That’s a tall order.’

‘What I’m suggesting is no more than one string quartet per evening, followed by a champagne interval and then some solo pieces. How does that seem?’

‘I could endure that,’ Cat said.

‘If you like, you can repeat the programmes,’ Doug said. ‘Your audiences will be different each time, I expect.’

‘Presumably they pay for the privilege?’ Ivan said.

‘The sale of tickets and all profits are handled by the university. They intend to put it towards the sponsorship — which I may say is very generous.’

‘So we perform for nothing?’

‘It’s all part of the deal, Ivan, as I’ve tried to explain. Personally, I’d be thrilled to play in such surroundings if I had your talent.’

‘You think Ivan plays the fiddle well?’ Cat said. ‘His main instrument is the cash register. He’s a virtuoso.’ She turned to Mel. ‘Are you up for it, new boy?’

Mel was still in a spin from being admitted to the quartet. Right now, he would have agreed to anything.

Doug asked for a show of hands.

Nobody objected. Ivan seemed to have changed his mind about Bath.

‘I’ll confirm, then,’ Doug said. ‘That was a good sound, by the way. What’s the piece?’

‘That’s our manager talking,’ Cat said, ‘and he doesn’t know what we were playing.’

‘Schubert,’ Ivan said. ‘Quartet Number 14 in D minor, better known as “Death and the Maiden”.’