Child Of Music Read Online Free PDF Page B

when she finally went on to the platform with Janet she experienced all the familiar symptoms of acute stage-fright. The dry throat, the inescapable chill, the horrid empty feeling in the pit of her stomach, the awareness that her smile was fixed and that she could do nothing about it.
    Janet wasted no smile - not even a fixed one — on her audience. She looked at no one, but proceeded to tune her violin with something less than her usual calm security. Silence had fallen on the hall already, for the school was well aware that Janet could out-play and out-class them all, and in a way they were rather proud of her.
    It was therefore certainly not from any member of the school that the slight, mocking little laugh came. And because of Janet's immediate reaction Felicity knew, as surely as if Mrs. Morton had been named, that it was Janet's aunt who had made that almost imperceptible sound.
    At once Janet gave Felicity a little nod, to indicate that she was ready to begin. And Felicity, knowing that any further delay would unnerve the child completely, simply could not let Janet know that for once her impeccable ear was at fault and that her E string was fractionally sharp.
    At almost any other time it would not have been serious enough to matter. Indeed, Felicity knew that not one per cent of the audience that night would have any inkling of the fact. Almost all of them were there to applaud and praise indiscriminately anyway. And Janet - even Janet at less than her best — could not fail to astonish and impress them.
    But it was not the unknowing ninety-nine per cent who mattered. It was Stephen Tarkman. And Felicity had not the slightest doubt that he would be alert to the smallest fault.
    In spite of the faulty E string, however, Janet launched into her sonata with the near-brilliance of someone beyond her years, and for the first few minutes Felicity dared to think that perhaps she was going to do herself justice, after all.
    But then a change began to come over her performance, something so subtle and intangible that only someone as knowledgeable as Felicity could have pinpointed it. It was as though the life and light drained out of the work. The notes continued to be played with considerable skill and accuracy and, considering the faulty tuning of the instrument, the intonation was good. But the beauty and knowledge, the insight and poetry which Janet had unfailingly brought to her playing simply were not there.
    She could have been any gifted, hard-working little pupil doing her best. The magic which Felicity had found so incredible in a child of her age was gone. It was a highly meritorious performance. But, thought Felicity bitterly, even brilliant failure would probably have been more arresting.
    At the end there was tremendous applause, partly from her fellow-pupils who thought it fantastic that Janet Morton could play so many notes and get them all right, and partly from indulgent parents who either knew Janet's sad history and wished her well or were just touched that anyone so small could give evidence of such hard work.
    Felicity glanced once in the direction of Stephen Tarkman. He was clapping, it was true, and perhaps rather more than perfunctorily. But his head was bent and he was listening with a smile to something which was being said with some emphasis by the laughing woman beside him.
    'I was rotten,' Janet said stonily as they came off the platform together.
    'You were quite astonishingly good, considering that you were upset,' replied Felicity firmly.
    'But not good enough. And my E string was sharp. Was Mr. Tarkman the man sitting beside my aunt?'
    'Yes,' said Felicity because it was not much good saying anything else.
    'I thought so. She whispered something to him quite near the beginning. I knew it was no good then. She didn't mean him to like me.'
    Felicity was hard put to it not to shake Janet and tell her to snap out of this nonsense. Surely not even a sensitive, temperamental child need allow