House of Silence (21 page)

‘Tell her about the chairs!’ Hattie
exclaimed, her eyes shining.

Marek smiled at her, then turned back to me.
‘On Christmas Eve my grandparents used to blow on their chairs
before sitting down to supper.’

‘Why?’ I asked, mystified.

‘There’s a traditional belief that you might
sit on a ghost who came to join you for supper. So you blew them
away. An empty plate was also set at the table, for dead
relatives.’

Frances stirred in her corner of the sofa.
‘So morbid!’

Marek turned to her. ‘Not really. Families
tend to remember their dead at Christmas anyway. Spectres at the
feast. And despite what my grandparents believed, you can’t just
blow them away. Poles ritualise this and include the departed
formally in the celebrations.’

‘I still think it’s morbid,’ said Frances.
‘Surely if Christmas has any meaning at all, it’s about celebrating
a
birth
.’

‘Yes, but a birth which looks forward to a
very significant death. A death foretold. That’s why the Wise Men
brought myrrh.’

‘Well, I think it’s a lovely idea,’ I said,
‘to remember absent loved ones like that. Much better than trying
to be jolly, pretending you don’t miss them. Which only makes
things worse.’

Marek nodded. ‘Denial makes anything worse.
The quickest way to process grief is always
through
, but
most people go round. And it can be a long way round.’

‘Right,’ said Viv, getting to her feet. ‘The
moment of truth! Alfie, would you go upstairs and fetch Rae? Deb’s
been helping her get dressed and I think she should be ready now.
If she throws a wobbly, don’t worry too much. I can always take a
tray upstairs.’

‘Leave it to me,’ said Alfie. ‘Charming
birds from the trees is one of my specialities.’

‘I wish you luck,’ said Frances, swallowing
another mouthful of sherry. ‘That old bird fell off her perch a
long time ago...’

Rae joined us for dinner and Alfie escorted
her into the wood-panelled dining room which was sparkling with
crystal and candlelight. Viv had made a splendid arrangement of
evergreens, fruits and nuts as the centre-piece of the table. ‘All
from the garden!’ she announced proudly when I admired them. Alfie
led Rae to her seat at the head of the table. She was dressed in an
ageless (and no doubt aged) tweed suit which she wore with a fussy
lace blouse and heavy amber beads. She was as tall as Viv and her
bearing was upright, but she moved slowly, clinging to Alfie’s
arm.

She smiled vaguely at the assembled company,
looking nervous and confused. I wondered if she remembered my name,
or even who I was. Frances and Deborah sat on her left and right
and Alfie sat opposite her, at the other end of the table. I was
seated on Alfie’s right, next to Marek and opposite Hattie (who,
unless I was mistaken, blew discreetly on her chair before she sat
down.) I was relieved to find myself seated so far from Frances as
to make conversation almost impossible.

Viv brought in a tureen of chestnut soup
which was followed by a venison casserole and Mushroom Stroganoff
for Hattie. For dessert there was blackberry and apple pie
(‘Alfie’s favourite!’ Rae declared in one of her few contributions
to the conversation) and Marek’s
Strucla
with cheese and
fruit from Creake Hall’s own orchard. He identified the different
varieties of apple and pear for me and insisted I try a piece of
each. ‘And you must have some quince paste with your cheese. Viv
makes it from the Hall’s quinces.’

Viv smiled at him. ‘You’ll find a large jar
under the tree addressed to you. That should keep you going for
another year.’ Marek raised his glass of port to her in silent
thanks. Viv looked round the table at her family and I saw her
shoulders drop a little. Finally, I thought, she can relax.
Everyone is here and everyone has made it to the table. Even
Rae.

I glanced towards Rae’s end of the table and
noticed Frances toying with pieces of fruit, looking bored. Deborah
was telling Rae about her son’s exploits in Africa, which might
have accounted for Frances’ boredom. She caught my eye and made an
effort to smile. Raising her voice, she said, ‘Have they told you
yet that you’re to be subjected to Ordeal by Music? It’s a Holbrook
family tradition.’ She refilled her wine glass, spilling a little
on the cloth. ‘Other families sit back and watch DVDs, but
we
have to do home-made entertainment, as if this was some
Edwardian country house party,’ she added with a humourless
laugh.

Hattie had heard and looked uncomfortable,
shifting in her seat. I noticed her eyes search for Marek’s but he
was talking to Deborah about African wildlife.

‘I’m really looking forward to the concert,’
I said, then smiled at Hattie in what I hoped was a reassuring way.
‘I heard some of the rehearsal and it sounded very good.’

Hattie stood up, shaking out the voluminous
skirts of her dress and leaned across the table. ‘Come on, Tyler. I
think we need to go and set up.’

‘Yes, off you go, musicians!’ said Deborah,
her colour high now after several glasses of red wine. ‘Fanny and I
will clear away, won’t we, Fan?’

Frances’ reply was affirmative but
unenthusiastic.

‘Can I give you a hand?’ I asked.

Viv stood up and started to clear plates.
‘No, you go and see to the fire, Gwen. Chuck another log on if you
think it needs it.’

I followed Hattie, Marek and Alfie to the
sitting room, where Marek unpacked his cello and began to tune it.
Hattie and Alfie discussed the running order and Alfie made a note
on a scrap of paper which he placed in his jacket pocket. Rae, Viv,
Deborah and Frances joined us eventually in the sitting room. With
Harris and Lewis stretched out on the hearthrug, the large room
seemed almost full.

I realised I was excited. I hadn’t heard
classical music played live since I’d been in the school choir and
suffered the accompaniment of the school orchestra. But I realised
I was also excited at the thought of hearing Marek play, pleased to
have an excuse to watch him, unabashed, for the duration of the
musical interlude. Why this prospect should seem exciting, I didn’t
venture to ask myself.

~~~

Seated at the piano, Hattie regarded her audience.
Her mother and sisters sat comfortably ensconced in armchairs and
on the sofa, drinking coffee and brandy. Alfie was seated to one
side of the room, awaiting his turn. Gwen sat at one end of the
sofa, in front of Marek. Waiting for him to look up, indicating he
was ready, Hattie felt an attack of the jitters coming on, so she
cast her eyes down and stared at the keyboard.

‘Don’t worry about playing the music.’
Marek’s voice was scarcely more than a whisper. ‘Let the music play
you.’ She looked up but he’d already turned away and was standing,
facing their audience.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to begin
this evening with a piece by Mendelssohn, one of his
Songs
without Words
, opus. 109. After that we’ll play a movement from
a sonata by Rachmaninov, the
andante
from his G minor
sonata, opus 19.’ He sat down again and after a moment Hattie
started to play.

The piece was slow and stately and the cello
had a soaring, song-like melody that showed off its higher
register. Gwen had expected to be transfixed by the intricate
movements of Marek’s long fingers and the sweeping movements of his
bowing arm, but instead she found herself watching his face. It was
not a face she’d seen before. Marek, whose expression was usually
calm, occasionally guarded, had dropped the mask he wore to keep
the world at a distance. As he played, his eyes were often closed,
but when open, they seemed brighter and more alert than Gwen had
ever seen them. She’d not seen him so animated, nor seen the
muscles in his face working, pulling the skin taut across his wide,
Slavic cheekbones. Clearly, here was a man in whom lay depths of
passion - for music, at least - and that passion was normally
suppressed.
Watch
Tyler playing Bach,
Hattie had
said.
He bares his soul...
Gwen could believe it. It seemed
to her almost unseemly to watch while he appeared exposed, almost
vulnerable. She shifted her eyes reluctantly to Hattie, who frowned
in concentration. There was no sign now of any nervousness. She
didn’t look at Marek and he didn’t look at her, but they kept
perfect time, linked by some form of musical telepathy.

The Mendelssohn came to an end and the
family applauded. On the sofa Frances stirred. She’d kicked off her
high heels and curled her legs beneath her before the performance
began and Gwen suspected the applause had woken her. Deborah leaned
across to Rae, made some remark and Rae nodded, clapping her large
hands together.

As the applause died down, Hattie started to
play again. Immediately, the hairs on the back of Gwen’s neck stood
up as Hattie played a tune of such languid sensuousness and melodic
beauty, Gwen feared she might start to cry. As Hattie settled into
the tune, her face serene, a little smile playing at the corners of
her mouth, Marek launched into the cello part, deep in its low
register and there began a dialogue between male and female as each
instrument answered the other and their voices intertwined. When
the tempo changed and the music became more dramatic, Gwen felt her
heart begin to pound. She realised she was forgetting to
breathe.

The piece lasted six minutes. Gwen was in
tears after four, no longer able to hold back the flood of emotions
she felt. As the piece came to an end, culminating in a deceptively
simple, almost casual little tune, she reached into a pocket for a
tissue and, head bowed in shame, dabbed at her eyes while the
others applauded. Oblivious to Gwen’s distress, Alfie approached
the piano. Marek acknowledged the applause with a nod, then laid
his cello down on its side, and went to sit beside Gwen.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I’m so sorry! I don’t know what came over
me! I hope I didn’t distract you too much with my stupid blubbing.
It’s just that I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything so beautiful
- let alone
seen
anything so beautiful being played in front
of me! I promise I’ll behave for the rest of the concert. How on
earth do you play something like that and not fall apart at the
seams?’

Marek laid his hand briefly on hers and
said, ‘We do fall apart. But the music puts us back together
again.’

Alfie was leaning on the piano now, talking
to Hattie who was re-arranging her music. At a sign from her, he
turned to his audience and said, ‘And now for something completely
different, as the Python boys used to say. I’m about to lower the
tone of our elegant proceedings by singing a song made famous by
that immortal duo, Flanders and Swann. It’s Hattie’s favourite and
I’m singing it at her specific request, so
don’t
,’ said
Alfie pointedly, ‘blame
me
. Ladies and gentlemen, we give
you...
The Warthog
.’

Relaxed, assured, with one hand laid
casually on the piano, the other in his jacket pocket, Alfie sailed
through the comic song, ad-libbing skilfully when Hattie lost her
place in the music. He was applauded warmly, especially by Gwen who
cheered. She turned round to look at a beaming Rae who was nodding
at something Deborah had said. Catching sight of Gwen, Rae waved
and Gwen waved back.

As Marek got up from the sofa to resume his
position with the cello, Alfie took his place beside Gwen,
muttering, ‘Thank Christ that’s over for another year. Do you think
there’s an interval now? I need another drink.’

‘You were wonderful, Alfie! Quite hilarious.
Why have you never told me you can sing?’

‘Oh, there are lots of things you don’t know
about me, Gwen. I like to maintain a certain mystique.’

‘You should definitely do a musical. You
really know how to put a song across.’

‘The art that conceals art, my dear. It
takes hours rehearsing in front of the bathroom mirror to look that
natural. Sshh! Hattie wants to speak...’

Standing beside the piano, Hattie said,
‘Tyler and I are now going to play two more pieces: an arrangement
he’s made of a Polish Christmas carol and finally, a Serenade in A
major by Josef Suk.’

Gwen managed to maintain her composure for
the final items in the concert: a simple but poignant folk tune
followed by a jaunty piece which showcased Hattie’s playing. Gwen
noticed as they played the final piece that Hattie now looked
relaxed and happy and she remembered what Hattie had said about
looking forward to the concert being over.

The serenade finished with a witty musical
flourish from Hattie and, as the applause started, she jumped up
from the piano and moved across to Marek, now standing. They took a
bow together, then Marek bent to kiss her on the cheek. The
applause was long. Viv and Deborah took it in turns to shout
‘Bravo!’ Frances sat up and applauded respectably until Hattie,
giggling, announced, ‘That was so much fun, I wish we could do it
all over again!’ whereupon Frances said, ‘Well, count me out,
darling. I need my bed. It’s been a long day. Night night.’ Picking
up her shoes and empty glass, Frances left the room, pausing to
give her mother a perfunctory kiss on the cheek.

‘Off to bed via the drinks tray,’ Hattie
murmured as she closed the lid of the grand piano. She turned and
caught Gwen’s eye. ‘Does Fanny think I’m blind? She slept through
the whole thing, right under our noses! I suppose we’re lucky she
didn’t
snore
this year.’

‘Don’t let her spoil it,’ said Gwen. ‘You
were marvellous! I adored every item, but you really shone in that
last piece.’

‘The Suk? Yes, it’s fun isn’t it? I enjoy
myself with that. Tyler chose all the pieces. He’s really good at
programme planning and his musical knowledge is encyclopaedic. We
do different pieces every year. Sometimes Alfie does Noël Coward.
He’s a scream.’ Gwen looked round for Alfie who had evidently left
the room - she assumed in search of alcohol.