Alan Hollinghurst - The Line of Beauty

There was a strange rough breath from Norman Kent, who was crying steadily-making rather a thing of it perhaps, pulling off his glasses and swiping his face with his hand. Nick admired the spirit of it, the defiant sensitivity, and also felt put out, since he often cried at music himself but on this occasion hadn't managed to do so. Penny rested her hand on her father's shoulder, and braved this familiar embarrassment. Nick saw she was blushing, which she easily did. Then the music turned on a sixpence, and the light-headed rush of the finale began. The marvellous marking, Vivacissi-mamente, was a red rag to Nina, and the music flashed by in delirious chirrups and stampings. Nick seemed to see Beethoven, or rather Nina herself, striding up and down some sonorous wooden-floored room in frenzied impatience for the joyful return. Norman made a grunt of rueful amusement, and Penny twisted round, as if freed by the optimistic turn of events, and looked gently, and still blushing, at Gerald, who caught her eye, lowered his gaze and coloured slightly also. Well, there was such an old tension between the two men, on stubborn matters of principle; for years it had been only Rachel's stubbornness that could make them forget their principles enough to meet, and nod at each other, and exchange doggish banter. Of course it was painful for Penny, and now perhaps she was making her own plea for reconciliation. Typing up Gerald's diary from the tape each day she must have a useful sense of his feelings.

The sonata finished and firm applause broke out, given a new edge of enthusiasm by the fact of its being the end-the whole experience was suddenly seen in a brighter light, it was time for a drink, they'd all done rather well. Norman Kent clapped with his hands above his head when Nina came back in, Catherine called out a hectic "Bravo," and Jasper imitated her and grinned as if he'd made a joke in class. For a second or two Nina stood there stiffly, then she sat down without a word and played Rachmaninov's Prelude in C-sharp minor. It was a piece the older members of the audience tended to know well, and though they didn't specially want to hear it, they indulged it and exchanged distracted smiles. After that there was very decisive applause, the piece had gone on for quite a while, one or two people looked round at the drinks table and the exit and started talking, and Nina came back in and played Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D minor, in the famous Busoni transcription. At this Lady Kimbolton looked at her watch as if she was virtually blind, holding her arm up to the light, and a number of people started fanning themselves with their programme sheets. This caught on as a form of mutiny, with the associated jiggling of bracelets. When Nina came back the next time Gerald had stood up and was saying, "Um… aah," as if amiably bringing a meeting to order, but she sat down anyway and played the Sabre Dance by Khachaturian. It all seemed quite natural to Nick, she must have been told to have three encores ready, but there was still a possibility that she had four, so at a sign from Gerald he went out after her and congratulated her and asked her to stop. She stood on the landing and gazed down the pompous curve of the stairs as the applause pattered quickly to a close and the greedy roar of the party began.

"Hello, Judy!"

"My dear." Lady Partridge stood rigid while he kissed her rosy cheek-Nick never knew if she regarded a kiss as a homage or a liberty. He grinned at her, as if she was having as much fun as he was. "You seem very cheerful," she said.

Nick looked in the mirror where he did appear bright-eyed, sharing a rich secret with himself. "Well, a successful recital, I thought."

"Did you," said Lady Partridge; and then, merely to be agreeable, "I liked the last piece she played. I think I've heard it before."

"Oh, the Khachaturian."

She gave him a very dry look. "Got a swing to it."

"Mm, it certainly has"-Nick laughed quietly and delightedly, and after a second Lady Partridge smiled slyly too, as if she'd been cleverer than she knew.

A waitress came past and they both took new glasses of champagne. "Extraordinary people… " Lady Partridge was saying. As a rule she was happy and busy in Gerald's political world, she treated his colleagues very graciously, and felt a fierce thrill when, amongst the drab shop talk that alas made up most of their social dealings, they gave her an undiluted fix of policy, the really unanswerable need to reduce manufacturing, curb immigration, rationalize "mental health" (what abuse and waste there were there!), and get public services back into private hands. They were like rehearsals for the telly, and even more inspiring. They liquidated every doubt. Nick said,

"That's Lord Toft, isn't it… the man who builds all the roads."

"Nothing extraordinary about Bernie Toft," Lady Partridge said. Sir Jack himself of course had been in the construction business. "I don't know why Gerald has to ask that awful artist man."

"Oh, Norman, you mean? He's not very good, is he?"

"He's a red-hot socialist," said Lady Partridge.

They both looked over to where Norman Kent was standing by the piano, holding on to it symbolically, and probably conscious of his portrait of Toby hanging behind him, as if it was an element in his own portrait. Most people dodged him with a preoccupied smile and pretended to be searching for someone else, but Catherine and Jasper were talking to him. His voice rose emotionally as he said, "Of course you must, my dear girl, paint and paint and paint," and shook Catherine by the shoulder.

"Do you happen to know who that young man is with my granddaughter?" Lady Partridge said.

"Yes, it's Jasper, he's her new boyfriend."

"Ah… " Lady Partridge gave an illusionless nod or two; but said, "He looks a cut above the last one, anyway."

"Yes, he's all right…"

"He even appears to own shoes."

"I know, amazing!" Nick's main feeling about Jasper, very clear to him at the moment, was that he needed to be tied up face down on a bed for an hour or two. "He's an estate agent, actually."

"Very good-looking," said Lady Partridge, in her own odd lustful way. "I imagine he sells masses of houses."

Trudi Titchfield came past with a grimace, as if not expecting to be remembered. "Lovely party," she said. "It's such a lovely room for a party. We sadly only have the garden flat. Well, one has the garden, but the rooms are rather low."

"Yes," said Lady Partridge.

Trudi lowered her voice. "Not long of course before a very special party. The Silver Wedding…? I hear the PM's coming."

"I don't think the Queen's coming," said Lady Partridge.

"No, not the Queen- the PM" -in a radiant whisper. "The Queen! No, no…"

Lady Partridge blinked magnificently. "All rather hush-hush," she said.

Sam Zeman came past and said, "You're making me a rich man, my dear!" which was charming and funny, but he didn't stop to expand. Perhaps it was just the code of business, but Nick felt they'd used up their store of friendship in the gym and the restaurant, and that they would never be close to each other again.

In the crowd around the buffet (all chaffing courtesy and furtive ruth-lessness) little Nina was mixing with her audience, who in general were nice enough to say "Well done!" and ask her where on earth she had learnt to play like that. She had simple expressionless English, and the English people talked to her in the same way, but louder. "So your father, is in prison? You poor thingl" Just in front of Nick, Lady Kimbolton was greeting the Tippers. Lady Kimbolton's first name was Dolly, and even her close friends found ways of avoiding the natural salutation.

"Good evening, Dolly," said Sir Maurice, with a satirical little bow.