Jilly Cooper - Appassionata

‘How close, one wonders,’ said Mrs Parker sourly, ‘I gather Sir Rodney left her his home on Lake Lucerne.’

‘That’s out of order,’ snapped George.

Mrs Parker went puce.

‘And who’s going to foot the bill for the jacuzzi flooding the Don Hoo-an Suite?’ she spluttered.

‘I am,’ said George.

‘And what about Flora Seymour pulling the communication cord on the train to Madrid?’ chuntered Lady Chisleden.

‘Over the defenestration of some cuddly toy,’ said Canon Airlie. George started to laugh. ‘Perhaps some latterday Zola will leap to our defence in the Rootminster Echo,’ he suggested, ‘and start his letter, “J’acuzzi”.’

Everyone looked at him as though he’d gone off his head.

‘Oh forget it,’ said George, then added grimly, ‘you’ve been sneaking, Miles. The reviews were bloody good. Abby’s emerging as a first class conductor. Rachel’s Requiem’s Number Ten in the charts. We’ve got a big hit on our hands.’

‘What news of the merger?’ asked Canon Airlie earnestly. ‘What was the outcome of your discussions with the Arts Council on Wednesday? Did they provide any guidance?’

‘That lot are about as capable of guidance as a droonken guide-dog.’

Canon Airlie pursed his lips.

‘Lousy for morale,’ said a banker, ‘with so many conflicting rumours flying around.’

‘The RSO need a strong leader who can set a good example,’ Mrs Parker glared at George.

‘Why did the jacuzzi flood?’ asked Lady Chisleden.

‘Not really a matter for ladies,’ said Lord Leatherhead hastily, casting an eye at Miss Priddock who was stolidly taking the minutes.

Abandoning his cat-nip matador, John Drummond jumped onto the window-ledge to chatter angrily at two pigeons copulating on the roof. Cat’s television was much better in the summer, when the house martins and swallows flew in and out of the eaves.

They’ve all gone to warmer climes In the South, thought George. That was the tune Flora had played so beautifully at her audition. He looked at his watch. Her plane would be taking off any minute. If he hurried he could meet her at Heathrow. It had been the longest twelve hours of his life.

‘I agree that leadership must come from the top,’ Miles was saying. ‘If there were a merger, I think Rannaldini is the only man who could pull the orchestra together and save us from financial disaster.’

‘Where is Rannaldini?’ enquired Peggy Parker reverently.

‘Recording in Prague with some brilliant young Czech pianist. He always noses out the talent.’

George stubbed out his cigar and rose to his feet. Flora must have told Abby by now.

‘I’m afraid the only merger I’m remotely interested in at the moment is my own,’ he announced. ‘I’d like the board’s permission to take a three-month sabbatical.’

‘But you never take holidays,’ said Miss Priddock aghast. ‘Even durin’ that week’s skiing you worked in the evenings.’

‘Not this time,’ said George proudly. ‘I’m going to take Miss Flora Seymour, the most wonderful young lady round the world, and as soon as I get a divorce, she’s going to marry me.’

There was an absolutely appalled silence.

‘But she’s a member of the orchestra, and about half your age,’ exploded Mrs Parker.

‘And a baggage,’ chuntered Miles.

‘Well, I certainly didn’t put her outside my door at six o’clock,’ said George with a broad grin.

‘I hope you didn’t abuse your position, Hungerford,’ snorted Canon Airlie.

‘Ooterly,’ said George happily. ‘So would you if you’d been me, you old goat.’

‘But who is going to do your job?’ protested Lord Leatherhead. ‘Have left us in rather a hole yer know.’

‘As Miles is so frantic to run the orchestra, let him have a go. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a plane to meet.’

After he’d left and the uproar had subsided, Miles moved into George’s chair at the head of the table.

‘It was hard to talk when George was here, but I think it’s important that you all hear exactly how bad things were on tour and why we ought to replace Abigail as soon as possible.’

Flora’s happiness faded like a conker out of its husk as she struggled off the plane weighed down with presents for George, Trevor and Marcus. Having been briefed about the afternoon in the hot air balloon by Hilary and Juno, the orchestra had been mobbing her up about George all the way home. Some of the remarks had been very bitchy, until Flora had lost her temper and snapped that George loved her and was taking her round the world.

Guffaws greeted this.

As they all shuffled through Customs, Nellie turned to Carmine, who had been behaving in a very smug proprietorial way after two nights on the trot, and said: ‘D’you mind if we don’t walk out into the airport together, Carmine, because my husband’s meeting me,’ which caused even louder guffaws.

Carmine was incensed. As the orchestra mothers charged the barrier to hug their children, and Julian fell into Luisa’s arms, Flora’s eyes filled with tears.

‘I see your grand friend hasn’t come to meet you,’ said Carmine nastily, as they made their way out to the coaches. ‘The only reason he’d want to take you round the world would be to have a bit of free crumpet while he was avoiding tax.’

‘I must not cry,’ said Flora through gritted teeth. But her eyes had misted over so much that when the airport doors opened automatically for Viking and Dixie, who were walking out in front of her, and she caught a glimpse of Trevor the mongrel outside, she knew she was imagining things.

All the same, she ran forward. Then the doors opened again and stayed open like her mouth, for there holding an ecstatically wriggling Trevor, blushing like an autumn sunset, stood George.

Dropping her luggage, and her presents, Flora rushed towards them, and George took his rank-and-file viola player in his arms and kissed her on and on in front of his entire orchestra.

‘Oh George,’ gasped Flora.

‘I’m not taking you round the world, I’ve got a better idea,’ said George.

That evening a delirious Flora telephoned her mother from George’s double bed.

‘Mum, Mum, I’m getting married.’

‘You’re far too young,’ wailed Georgie. ‘Who is he? Where did you meet him? Has he got a job?’

‘He works for the RSO.’

‘I’m not having you throwing yourself away on some penniless musician. I know too many of them.’

‘Mu-um, it’s George Hungerford.’

There was a long pause.

‘The George Hungerford?’

‘None other.’ Giggling, Flora handed the receiver to George so he could hear her mother’s screech of amazement down the telephone.

‘Oh darling, he’ll be able to keep us all in our old age. How lovely, such a sweet man, too. When will you bring him to see us? I suppose he ought to ask Daddy for your hand.’

‘Not until I’ve stopped biting my nails. Actually we thought we’d push off for a holiday first. George wanted to take me round the world, but I said we couldn’t leave Trevor.’

Trevor, who was lying across George’s feet, wiggled his tail.

‘Oh Mum, you’ll never guess what George has done.’

‘What?’

‘You know they don’t allow dogs on beaches any more because of “fouling”. Well, George has bought Trevor a beach all of his own with a sweet little cottage for us thrown in.’

‘Oh, how wonderful,’ said Georgie. ‘Anyone that nice to dogs will make a wonderful husband.’

The Pellafacini Quintet were very sad to lose their young viola player, but the person totally unhinged by Flora’s whirlwind romance was Abby. Not only was she terribly jealous of Flora’s and George’s almost incandescent happiness, but also how dare Flora land a real man and such a rich, attractive one? How could her singing career not soar with such a back-up? On the other hand, how lucky she was to be able to settle down and play house and have babies. Worst of all, with Rodney dying and George’s departure, Abby felt utterly defenceless.

‘You can’t quit now. There’s the Appleton coming up,’ she railed at George. ‘And I’ve had an enquiry today about taking the orchestra to the States.’

George found he couldn’t give a stuff.

‘Miles will cope, he’s very capable.’