The Cleverness Of Ladies Part 4

'We might play some Chopin again,' La said. 'We played a piece by him at the last concert.'

'That would be very nice.'

She noticed that he shifted his weight from foot to foot, as if in discomfort. Poor man.

Then he said, 'I play the flute, or I used to. I have not played for a year now. No, it's longer than that.'

This interested La. She said, 'You must tell me your name.'

5.

La went to Cambridge by train one morning, leaving shortly after ten. It was summer but the day, which had started with sun and warmth, had become rainy. Great grey clouds had built up to the west, and she could see the rain in the distance, over the fields of Suffolk and Cambridgeshire, falling in shifting veils, like curtains. From the window of her train, through drops of rain on the gla.s.s, she watched an aeroplane flying in circles, lazily. A woman seated opposite her saw her watching and said: 'They'll be training. Just boys, you know. Mere boys. Eighteen, if that.' She shook her head in what could have been disapproval, or regret; La could not tell.

La said: 'Thank heavens for them.'

The train continued on its journey. Now Cambridge came into sight familiar spires; well-worked allotments, every inch given over to growing food; a forest of bicycles at the train station. She had to walk to the shop, and it took her over forty minutes; the rain held off, but it was there, she felt, in the air, not far away.

'You telephoned me,' the man said. 'You're the person who telephoned?'

She nodded. 'That was me.'

He was standing behind the counter. He looked past her, through the window. 'Rain,' he said.

'Yes.'

'Well then,' he said. 'The flute.'

He turned round and opened a cabinet behind him. He reached in and took out a narrow, leather-covered box, which he opened. 'Here it is,' he said. 'It's a very nice instrument. Would you like to try it?'

He handed her the flute. The metal was cold to the touch. For a moment, she saw herself, fragmented, in the silver. 'Try it? No, I don't play, I'm afraid. I'd like to, but I don't.'

'So it's for someone else? A child?'

She shook her head. 'It's for a man a man who used to play but doesn't have a flute at present.'

'Then he'll be very happy with this instrument,' he said.

She left the shop, carrying the flute in an old shopping bag that the man had given her. It had not taken long to make the purchase much less time than she had imagined and this would give her the chance to do more of the things that she had on her list. But first, she wanted to shelter from the light shower which had started. There was a tearoom at the end of the street that would do.

She took the last free table in the tearoom and ordered tea and a scone. Then she took the flute out of its box and examined it, holding it delicately. He would be surprised, of course, but it would make such a difference to him. She knew the cottage he lived in because she used to drive that way often. It was rather a dark place, she thought, and the farmhouse itself looked a terrible mess, even from the outside. Not a cheerful place to be, even in summer. Having a flute would make it easier for him, much easier.

6.

La decided not to warn Feliks that she was bringing him the flute. The evening after she returned from Cambridge, she rode her bicycle out to his cottage. The rain had played itself out, or moved on, and the air was filled with warmth. In the field next to his cottage, cows were standing close to the gate, chewing, gazing vacantly at the road. Flies buzzed at their eyes. They watched as she walked up the narrow path that led to his front door. He could be working, she thought, as there were still hours of light left, in which case she could leave the flute on his doorstep, with a note perhaps. Even if she were not to leave a note, he would know that the flute was destined for him, although he might not guess who had left it there as a gift.

But Feliks was in, and he answered the door almost immediately after her knock. He seemed surprised to see her, and for a moment he stood there, blinking, as if trying to remember who she was.

'This is for you,' she said, handing him the leather case.

He took it from her, gingerly. He stared at it, turning the case over in his hands. He looked up at her, somewhat puzzled.

'Open it,' she said. 'Go on. Just open it.'

When he saw the flute, he gasped. 'This is for me?'

She gave him an encouraging smile. 'You told me that you played. You said that you didn't have a flute. Well, now you do.'

He lifted the flute from its case and examined it carefully. 'It is very fine. Very fine.' He paused. 'But I cannot pay. Not yet. Maybe later.'

'Nonsense. This is a present. Consider it ... consider it to be a thank-you present for all the work that you're doing here. Otherwise this place would be lying fallow.'

He nodded, showing that he understood. Then he lifted the flute to his lips, and without blowing, his fingers moved to a succession of positions. He was quick, light in his touch.

She looked past him through the door, into the room behind. It was spa.r.s.ely furnished a table, a single chair, a wireless that Feliks must have got from somewhere. The farmer was mean or so everybody said and he did not provide any comfort for this man who worked for him. She frowned.

'May I play it?' He tapped the flute. 'It is so beautiful.'

'Of course. It's yours now. Yours to play.'

She listened as he played a tune she did not recognise. His playing was deft; he knew his instrument. She would invite him to join the orchestra; he was clearly good enough. When he had finished playing, she asked him whether he would care to join.

'Now that you have given me this,' he said, 'how could I refuse?'

'You could not,' she said. 'Or rather, you could, but it would be very rude.'

'In that case,' he said, smiling, 'in that case, yes.'

7.

The following week, Feliks came for his first orchestral practice. La introduced him to the conductor and to the other flautist, and then went to the back of the hall where she sat during practice. 'Just ignore me,' she said, and they usually did. But she watched and listened, and knew the strengths and weaknesses of each player. The ba.s.soonist had a weak sense of timing and occasionally came in too late, or too early, or sometimes not at all. The cellos were good; they never made any mistakes. The bra.s.s section had a tendency to be noisy and from time to time had to be asked to keep quiet while the conductor was explaining something. One or two of the violinists were hesitant in their playing, and the conductor would lean towards them in an exaggerated way, a hand cupped to his ear.

During the break, when the players were milling about at the end of the hall, she saw that Feliks was standing by himself, awkwardly alone. She had been talking to one of the bra.s.s players, but excused herself and walked over to her protege. But just before she reached him, one of the violinists, a young woman whom she knew very little about one of the transient, floating population of wartime went up to him. La stood quite still. She saw this young woman smiling, sharing a joke with him, and the sight filled her with anxiety.

She pretended to be consulting her notebook, but she was watching. The young woman reached forward and laid a hand on his forearm in a gesture of rea.s.surance, it seemed, or in the way in which one will emphasise a point. He was smiling, she noticed, responding to the young woman; smiling and nodding his head.

La turned away. She felt confused. Why should she be jealous of his conversation with this young woman? He was nothing to her; and yet she had gone to Cambridge to buy him a flute, an expensive present by any standards, and she had found herself strangely excited by the thought of giving the instrument to him. It was as if the gift bound them together in some way, which it should not because she did not want to be bound to anybody, not now.

At the end of the practice, La busied herself with administrative tasks: consulting the conductor about his diary, noting down dates, handing out a musical score. Then suddenly she was aware that Feliks was there, standing close to her, the flute case tucked under his arm. His clothing, she noticed, was poor. He had changed out of his working clothes for the practice, but the collar of his shirt was ill fitting and had been turned inside out to hide its age, she thought.

He looked at her, his gaze fixed on her, serious, almost reproachful.

'You are cross with me for some reason,' he said. 'You pretend not to notice me.'

She looked at him with what was meant to be astonishment. 'Of course I'm not cross with you.'

He went on. 'It's because I was talking to that woman, isn't it?'

La wanted to turn away. By what right does he imagine that I'm interested in him? she asked herself. Then he said: 'I was talking about the music we were playing. That's all.'

She stared at him.

8.

He came to her house. It was in the evening, a few days after the practice at which they had had that unsettling conversation. She was in her sitting room, at the back of the house. There were still the last rays of the sun on the trees and the light had that faded, soft quality that one sees, almost feels, on a summer evening. Drowsy she felt drowsy. The wireless was on, bringing the news from those far-off places, now so familiar, that some people marked on little maps pinned to their walls.

She suddenly became aware that there was somebody in the garden, coming round the side of the house. She heard him first, his footfall on the gravel, a crunching sound, and she stopped dozing. n.o.body came that way, at least not in the evening. Sometimes the butcher's boy would come round and leave his parcel at the kitchen door if there was no reply to the bell, but otherwise n.o.body.

In her slightly confused state, she thought: this is something to do with what's happening; this is something to do with the war. But then she realised that was ridiculous. She rose to her feet as she heard the footsteps again, closer now. When she saw him through the French windows, it took a moment for her to recognise who he was, he was so unexpected. Her first thought was: how does he know that this is where I live? She had not told him.

Feliks's eyes met hers through the gla.s.s, and then he smiled and made a gesture. He was wearing a cap, a grey cap, which he took off. There was something in his other hand.

She moved towards the door and opened it to him. The evening air flooded past her, warm on the skin.

'I hope I didn't frighten you.' His voice was quiet.

'No. Not really. Surprised me, though. The front door ...' She trailed off. She saw that what he was carrying was the flute in its leather case.

'I knocked at the front door. But then I heard the wireless inside and I knew that you must be in.'

She gestured for him to enter the room, and he did so, wiping his boots on the mat carefully, taking his time. He looked at her with an expression that she did not know how to interpret, though it seemed to her like apology. He handed the flute to her.

'I've brought this back,' he said. 'I can't accept it. I can't take it from you, and I cannot pay for it. I ask you to understand.'

The flute was in her hands now, and she stared down at it, uncertain what to do. Of course he had his pride; that was it she had heard people say that the Poles were proud. She could understand. When your country was taken over, invaded by another, you must hold on to your pride, or the small sc.r.a.ps of it which remain.

She thought quickly. She wanted him to have the flute. She wanted him to play in the orchestra. Suddenly that seemed so important.

An idea occurred. He could work in her garden for her. He could earn the flute; it would be a fair exchange.

9.

She became used to seeing him. He came three days a week, in the evenings, and set about his work in the garden. He knew what he was doing, she discovered; he knew the botanical names of the plants, which was far more than she did, and he seemed to have an understanding of their needs. He harvested lavender her namesake for her, and tied it in bundles, upside down, to dry. At the end of the path, where there had been weeds, it was now neat and well tended. He planted new things, moved others to better spots. 'You must be careful what you plant in the shade,' he said.

Afterwards, when he had finished, she watched him walk down the road with that halting gait of his, and felt lonely. But I can never allow myself to fall in love with him, she said to herself. I'm finished with that.

The orchestra was going through a period of particular energy and enthusiasm. They were working on a programme for a concert they were going to give in December which was ambitious and some of the members found difficult. La attended every rehearsal, and watched Feliks playing his flute. He smiled at her, almost in conspiracy.

'You get on well with your Polish flautist,' said one of the cellists. 'A good discovery, from every point of view.'

La said nothing, but smiled. Orchestras always liked to gossip; people always liked to gossip.

The conductor said to her, privately, at the end of a session: 'It was a good idea, La, getting that man along. He has a lovely playing style, doesn't he? The flutes are a joy now.'

She felt proud of her discovery. When December came, after the concert, which proved so popular that two performances were arranged, she invited Feliks back to the house for a meal. He accepted, and they sat in the dining room, Feliks somewhat uncomfortable in a suit that she had not seen before, a grey affair with wide lapels.

'When this is all over,' she said, 'what are you going to do, Feliks? When you have Poland back?'

'If we have Poland back,' he said. 'There are many people who might not want that.'

She was silent. 'But it's going our way. It really is. Look at Sicily. Look at Italy.'

He looked thoughtful. 'We can play Italian music again,' he said, 'and not feel uncomfortable about it.'

She laughed. 'I never felt uncomfortable. Mussolini and his gang don't belong there. This is not what Italy is about.'

He smiled. 'You are British,' he said. 'You believe that everybody is good. I'm Polish. We look at things differently.'

She inclined her head. She was not sure whether he had paid her a compliment, or otherwise. But he had not answered her question, and so she posed it again.

He shrugged. 'I shall see how things are. I'm comfortable here, in this country. I like not being frightened of people in uniform. I like warm beer that tastes like ...' he made a face. 'I like your little orchestra.'

La listened.

10.