Silent, The Masterclass

Two Years Earlier,  Gavin

After breakfast, one of the guys offered us a lift to the classes, so I travelled with Philippa and Dawn in a bumpy, second hand car.  A rough journey. The car park near the pier looked grey and bland, matching the tone of the sky. We walked across the path and climbed the promenade steps, stepping over broken glass. Closer to the sea, I detected a scent, a mixture of pickled onions and diesel that seemed to get stronger - and once more, I wondered why a wealthy family like the Harlesdens had chosen to host their piano masterclasses in a town like this one.

The Grand Theatre. Dusty, high ceiling, raised seating. There were about twenty spectators, seated around the auditorium, making it appear even emptier. Agnes Harlesden had arrived. The whole thing seemed strange, considering she was terminally ill but acting like she wasn't. She was toying with a huge manual metronome and she had on a sort of tweed jacket on that made her look more like a riding instructor than an ancient former concert pianist.  

'Good morning, everyone,' she said. 'And of course a warm welcome to our guests.' The accent?  A mixture of BBC English with traces of northern vowels. 'I'd like my students to sit in the front row, right by the stage, where I can see them clearly. Today, our resident pianist Brendon Harlesden has had to go to London at short notice, and he's asked me to conduct the auditions for the public master classes. However, since you were all accepted on the Summer School program on the basis of the recordings you submitted, I see little need for anyone to audition again. I think we should begin now. But before we do, I would like each student to switch off their phone, please.'

So that's what we did. Scary woman, Agnes, according to the rumours.  She liked to shout during lessons to emphasise her point.  

'Good, let's begin,' she said. 'Now who would like to go first? Any volunteers?' Her eyes came to rest on me, of all people. 'You're new, aren't you?  You haven't taken part in these masterclasses before, have you?'  

'No. I mean, yes.'

A faint ripple of laughter.

'I haven't taken part in the classes, is the correct answer, I believe,' Agnes said. 'You look rather tired this morning. Late night, yes? Maybe a few glasses of wine? A little vodka?'

'Sorry,' I muttered. Oh, not, this can't be happening.  Got the worst hangover in history and I'm going to get hauled up first and seriously yelled at in front of everyone.  In front of Philippa.  

'Where are you from?'

'London.'

'Okay,' she said. 'I would like you to begin. And from memory, please.'

Making my way to the grand piano on stage, I handed Agnes Harlesden the score. I played a difficult work: Chopin's Second Scherzo. It lasts about eight minutes and ends with an avalanche of notes, all thundery and loud. Pretty much big sound...hands flying everywhere (brilliant for showing off)...but in other sections, you have to play quietly, slowly, and capture this driving sense of sadness and aloneness, which I really love. When I finished playing, everyone clapped, and I could see Philippa eyes dancing with delight.

'Not bad at all,' Agnes said. 'However, I could point out many instances where you weren't playing as Chopin intended. Your style is very good but not always authentic. A little laziness here and there, I suspect.  We are going to have to do something about this laziness and these late nights, aren't we?'

***
First coffee break in the theatre lounge, café style. The former mayor's son Terence Harlesden was there in his dark suit. The Bouncer-Man, as I thought of him.  

During the coffee break, he took me to one side. 'Very, very good. I was at the back watching you play. Excellent. Let me give you my card. I know about your little run in with the police in London, but we're all entitled to make a few mistakes, aren't we now?  If you decide you want to take your performing career further, give me a shout and I'll find the right people to look after you. You could go far, but you need to decide about it now and not leave it any longer. See you around, okay?  Need to be in two places at once. Take care.'  A conspiratorial wink. 'Be good.' And with that, he slapped me on the back and left.