Full Circle

Chapter 5. PLAY, MAESTRO. PLAY...

For once in her life, Jenny would be pleased to put Alison Thompson well and truly in her place.

Into the room bounded Alison with all the arrogance of a deluded show pony, chaperoned by Mrs Nikolayeva.

"Now you sit there, Miss Thompson," said Mrs Nikolayeva, grabbing a chair from the side of the room and placing it next to Mr Armstrong's. "Did you hear that rendition of Fur Elise, Alison?" she asked.

"Yes, Miss. The notes sounded clearly right through the door. It must have been quite something for Jenny to witness your beautiful playing first hand. Did she muck up her own attempt or something?"

"Didn't you hear the applause?"

"I heard quite a racket. But words don't come through the door as clearly as the piano notes. I thought it was a bit confusing, though, because it did sound as if you were doing most of the applauding. In England we don't applaud ourselves."

"In Russia, as in the whole world, we don't applaud ourselves either," snapped Mrs Nikolayeva. "It was Jennifer's playing of Fur Elise that myself and Mr Armstrong were applauding."

"Huh?" Alison was completely discombobulated. Both of her blue eyes lost their sense of direction and each took a different path. This made Jenny giggle.

"Now, Jennifer is about to play piano free-form for her free choice piece. She is going to make something up on the spot. Though it will obviously not be a remarkable piece in terms of composition, I want you to observe her technique and construction. I would be surprised if you did not learn a musical lesson of great significance."

"Mr Armstrong?" queried Alison. "Should I go and fetch the nurse?"

"What on earth for?"

"Well, it's Mrs Nikolayeva. Hasn't she had a breakdown or something?"

"No. Now be quiet and pay attention."

"Is everybody ready?" said Jenny, her wriggling fingers waiting for their inexorable descent to the impatiently waiting ivory keys.

"Play, Jennifer! Play!" cried Mrs Nikolayeva dramatically.

Once again, Jenny's fingers gracefully descended and plunged into a musical masterpiece. It was impossible for anyone to observe Jenny's technique and construction of the piece because the music was so mesmerisingly moving.

Mrs Nikolayeva's icy heart had been thawed out for good. Her red spotted handkerchief was soon soaking wet. Mr Armstrong was wishing Jenny was his daughter. Alison was simply flabbergasted. Hardly able to believe her eyes or ears. But whether she liked it or not, the music had grabbed her heart and was taking it on a journey through the snakes and ladders of life. And like Mrs Nikolayeva and Mr Armstrong, she too could not stop the tears flowing from her eyes and cascading down her cheeks.

This time, when Jenny stopped playing, bringing her piece to an end with the most emotionally outrageous syncopated arpeggio, silence filled the music room as if it were a living oxymoron. The audience of three were just too stunned to respond to what they had heard. They felt as if every emotion in their heart and soul had been pummelled in a musical war of attrition.

Time seemed to stop still ...

But then Time accelerated back to its normal frame of reference and the audience of three exploded into raucous applause. Even Alison Thompson was on her feet alongside Mr Armstrong clapping and cheering Jenny.

"Bravo, Jenny! Bravo!" cried Mrs Nikolayeva. "Beyond a child prodigy! The finished article! Incomparable!"

"What a shame there are only two pieces allowed in this practical exam," said Mr Armstrong, allowing his clapping to subside and sinking back down onto his chair.