Nancy Carson - Rags to Riches

In those rarer moments when she was not concentrating on Brent Shackleton, Maxine also tried to envisage herself playing in this brilliant orchestra. The thought of actually being a part of it thrilled her, especially the notion of being broadcast on the wireless, of being recorded and able to hear the performance on record forever after, knowing she would have contributed.

When it was all over and the applause had died she remained in her seat, while the rest of the audience drifted outside into the chilly May evening.

‘Shall we go?’ Stephen suggested, ‘or are we going to stay here all night?’

‘What time is it?’

He looked at his watch. ‘Ten past ten. I have to be up in the morning.’

‘But I’ve been asked back to meet some of the orchestra. Do you mind?’

‘No, course not. Who invited you? The conductor? You never said.’

‘Oh, just one of the players,’ she answered dismissively.

‘Well let’s make our way to the side of the stage. Some of them are mingling there already, look. You’d best go first – they won’t know me from Adam.’

Maxine got up hesitantly from her seat. ‘D’you reckon they’ll think I’m a bit pushy?’

‘Not if you’ve been asked.’ He felt an urge to hug her. Her reticence was typical.

‘But it was only a casual invitation. Maybe I —’

‘Come on, let’s get it over with. It’ll be good for you to make an acquaintance or two before you actually start working with them. Somebody familiar to talk to when you actually get there.’

She sighed guiltily. ‘Okay.’

Hesitantly, she led the way to the side of the stage. Some of the players were sharing a joke, accepting the plaudits of friends and relatives. A hefty middle-aged man with grey hair saw her and smiled as she approached.

‘Hello, Miss,’ he said, over the shoulder of a colleague. ‘Are you looking for somebody?’

‘Oh, nobody in particular. I’m, er…joining the orchestra next week as cellist. I was invited to meet some of the members after the concert.’

The other man turned around to look at her. ‘Joining the team, eh? Well, we could do with a pretty face among this bunch of sourpusses, that’s for sure. Cellist, did you say?’

She nodded.

‘What’s your name, by the way?’

‘Maxine Kite.’

‘Nice to meet you, Miss Kite.’ They shook hands. ‘Jim Davies, first violins. And this is Bill Roberts. Second violins.’

She shook Bill’s hand too. They seemed a friendly lot so far.

‘I was impressed with the performance tonight,’ Maxine remarked. ‘The ‘Prague’ Symphony was brilliant.’

‘Well, you can thank Mozart for that, m’dear,’ Bill suggested dryly.

She introduced Stephen and, as she did so, spotted Brent Shackleton. As he looked in her direction she involuntarily put up her hand and waved. He acknowledged her and made his way towards her.

‘Good to see you, Maxine,’ he said. ‘You made it, then.’

Unwittingly she turned away from Stephen and the others. ‘Yes, I made it.’ She was aware she sounded breathless.

‘Enjoy the concert?’

‘Yes, it was grand.’

‘We played well,’ Brent said. ‘It’s a fairly safe repertoire for the Sunday concerts.’

‘I suppose that’s what people come to hear…something they’re familiar with…something they know.’

‘I reckon so. Are you looking forward to joining?’

‘I can’t wait. You can’t imagine.’

‘Is that your young man talking to those two fiddle players?’ She resisted the urge to turn around and nodded dumbly, wishing profoundly that she could deny Stephen. ‘I think he’s trying to catch your attention. Is he a musician as well?’

‘Oh, no. He designs jewellery. He’s actually very good.’

‘Jewellery, eh? Did he design that brooch you’re wearing?’

She nodded.

‘Quality piece,’ he commented approvingly. ‘Very elegant…You look very elegant yourself, Maxine, if you don’t mind me saying so. I love your dress.’

‘Oh! Thank you.’

Her delight showed in her eyes, but Brent did not have time to notice it. His attention was suddenly drawn beyond her, beyond Stephen, and Maxine thought she saw him acknowledge someone. It was a woman, possibly in her mid-twenties; statuesque, beautiful, exquisitely dressed, her dark hair sleek in a style straight out of Vogue .

‘Sorry. I have to dash, Maxine.’

‘That’s all right.’

‘See you at rehearsals.’

As Brent walked away she turned and rejoined Stephen who was labouring over his conversation with the two violinists.

‘I see you’ve already met our Brent, then,’ Bill said.

‘Brent, yes. I’d quite forgotten his name. He introduced himself after my audition.’

‘He should’ve introduced you to Gwen. Come with me, young Maxine. Let me introduce you to Gwen. You’ll be playing alongside her. Brilliant cellist, is Gwen…’

‘Maxine, can I ask you something?’ Stephen said, breaking a silence that was disproportionately long for the short drive back to Ladywood.

‘What?’

‘Will you marry me?’

He’d sussed that she’d earlier avoided admitting that Brent Shackleton had been the one to suggest going to meet some of the orchestra after the concert, that he was the one she’d really gone to see. He’d seen her acknowledge Brent too eagerly and turn her back on everybody else. He’d witnessed her sparks of interest for Brent, sparks too bright for her own good, too bright for his own good. He must prevent them flaring into a full scale inferno, and the only way he could think of doing that was by escalating her interest in himself. He had not caught sight of Brent’s beautiful companion, so this was a radical strategy which, in all probability, would not work anyway. But desperate situations required desperate measures. And Stephen was desperate. He was also desperately celibate.

‘Did I hear you right?’ Maxine replied, surprised and disappointed that he should offer marriage.

‘You did. I’m asking you to marry me.’ He flipped the indicator switch on the hub of the steering wheel and they turned right into Reservoir Road.

‘Oh, Stephen…’ She sighed, full of sympathy for him in his foolishness. ‘In God’s name, why? What on earth for?’ She turned to look at him. The meagre light falling from the street lamps as they drove past, momentarily brightened his face so serious, so intense, as if he already knew her answer.

‘Because I love you,’ he answered straightforwardly. ‘Why else?’

Maxine felt sorry for him and his self-inflicted vulnerability, and was silent for a few seconds, stalling as she decided how best to answer him.

‘Oh, Stephen…’ she responded at last, not wishing to sound exasperated, although she imagined she did. She should, after all, be flattered. But whatever words she chose in refusing him they would hurt him. She did not want to hurt him. He was her friend; one of the most reliable friends she’d ever had. ‘I…I’ve just got this new job, Stephen…and…well, I really prefer things the way they are right now.’

‘I love you, Maxine, and it’s driving me mad the way things are.’ He slowed the car and turned left, then right into Daisy Road.

‘How do you mean, driving you mad?’

‘I would have thought it obvious.’ He looked at her but she didn’t answer. He pulled up under the gas lamp outside the house and switched off the engine and the headlights. ‘It drives me mad when I’m alone with you, when I can touch you like this…’ He stroked the silky smooth skin of her forearm under her sleeve. ‘But I’m never allowed to make love to you.’

‘But we sometimes kiss goodnight, Stephen.’

‘Occasionally you allow me a quick goodnight kiss, Maxine, but that’s all. That’s not making love. It’s never passionate, never lingering. I want more. I want to lie with you in bed, naked, and feel your warm, soft skin pressing against mine.’