‘Firstly, please call me Mrs Richter, or Hilda, but not Frau. I am not in Germany now, and I am a widow.’
‘My apologies, please accept them…but the orchestra?’
‘My stay here is temporary. I will be moving on early in the New Year, so I’m afraid I must decline your very kind invitation. I would disappoint the orchestra if I joined, then left so soon. I hope you understand.’
‘Of course. I had no idea you intended to leave Forres. I suppose you won’t be moving to somewhere close by?’
‘No, I’m afraid not.’
‘But you’re not going until January? I mean, you will be here over Christmas?’ she asked leaning forward anxiously.
‘Yes, I’ll be helping my mother. As you can imagine, it will be a busy time of year for the hotel.’
She nodded but saw a shaft of light. ‘Then perhaps you might need a break? Could you join us in St Laurence’s church for the Christmas Day service? We will be playing Handel’s Messiah.’
Hilda smiled at the mention of Handel. It would be churlish to refuse, and besides, the Messiah was a piece of music she cherished, and she knew every part of the score.
‘As long as it’s clear I’m only here over Christmas, I could join you for that one performance.’
‘We’d be delighted, Mrs Richter. The woodwind section will be so pleased.’
They parted on cordial terms.
Hilda attended the orchestra’s first practice session during the first week of December. She was back in her comfort zone, and it enabled her to push her worries to the back of her mind. She found she was enjoying the challenge of fitting in with a new group of musicians. In such a small town as Forres, several would have known Hilda and her family. Nevertheless, too many people called her Frau rather than Mrs; but she left it to Miss Robertson to put them straight.
Mother was pleased that she had integrated herself into the community. So too was Eicke; she sent a message informing him that troop movements were minimal and insignificant, especially around the festive period, during which she would be playing her oboe in a local orchestra.
Mr Dynes, however, was not pleased. He told her she should not have been entrenching herself in the community; she had to remain aloof and avoid drawing attention to herself. Above all, it was important she remain free from attachments. She assured him that she was not intending to find a new husband from the ranks of the musicians, but he took the view that others might be interested in meeting an eligible and talented widow. That would wreck her usefulness and place her in danger. Spies had to be alert and able to anticipate what might happen. She felt he softened somewhat when she told him Eicke seemed pleased, but she gained the impression he was anxious for her to return to Germany, in order to maximize her value to the security services. While she was in Forres, she was marking time.
On Christmas Day, the orchestra filled the chancel space of St Laurence’s church. The Reverend William P. Wishart led the congregation in prayer and then settled back in his pulpit to let Miss Robertson get the oratorio underway. Hilda did not learn until later that this had become a popular annual event, though it did explain why the orchestra and the four soloists were so familiar with the music. The women’s dresses were festive red. Hilda had acquired a red dress too, while the baritones, tenors and basses wore traditional black dinner suits. There was not a single empty seat in the church.
The performance lasted a little over two hours, and for most of that time, she sat behind the string section. There was a line of spotlights on the orchestra, making the audience audible but invisible.
Her first solo was “O Comfort Ye My People.” She played it from her seat, and as she thought about the words, she realised that to her ‘my people’ had two meanings. She played with great feeling, asking her oboe to spread the word that peace was surely still possible.
After her solo, she received broad smiles from the cellist and second violins. Her performance had gone down well.
They retired from the chancel during a fifteen-minute break. They left their instruments on their seats and they headed to the vestry, where they queued for the lavatory. As she stood in line, Miss Robertson approached Hilda.
‘Hilda that was a wonderful performance.’
‘Thank you, Miss Robertson. I did enjoy playing it.’
‘The tone of your instrument pierced the church’s atmosphere. It was a wonderful moment. In fact, can I ask you to go to the front of the chancel, and stand in the centre of the stage, when you play “I Know That My Redeemer Liveth?”
‘Oh, I am sure that is not necessary. We are all playing well.’
‘Indeed we are. However, that solo comes straight after the Hallelujah Chorus. Everyone will be excited, and we need to hold the audience’s attention. I am sorry I did not realise this before today, but I would really like you to come forward to play it.’
Miss Robertson was a woman who knew her music, and how to get the best out of her orchestra.
‘Then I will, of course.’
Cool drinks and seasonal snacks refreshed the players before they filed back into the chancel, to take their places after the interval.
Hilda tried not to think about her next solo as her emotions grew stronger with the Hallelujah Chorus. As the choir sang the final notes, and the music echoed around the pews and aisles, she made her way to the front of the orchestra, holding her oboe upright to prevent damage, giving herself time to compose herself. First, she had to get used to the fact she could see more of the audience. She discreetly dampened the instrument’s double reed with her tongue as the orchestra played the opening bars of her solo, and then she took a deep breath and began to play the glorious melody of “I Know that My Redeemer Liveth.” Her first note trembled, and then she settled into the slower pace, which required long breaths. She seemed unable to prevent the tremor on the long notes – and then she realised why.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see into the left transept. It was as full as anywhere else was in the church – but there, without a doubt, were two familiar faces. Mr and Mrs Brown were in attendance.
It was traditional for the minister and his wife to entertain the orchestra to sherry and hot mince pies after the performance. They all retired to the church hall, chattering animatedly; but Hilda’s thoughts concerned the Browns. Why had they had returned. Perhaps they had never left. Perhaps somehow they had seen or overheard her communications with Dynes and Thornton.
Her heart missed a beat when Miss Robertson told her a couple was waiting to see her in the vestry.
‘A London agent, I expect,’ said the bassoonist standing beside her.
Hilda’s fists clenched involuntarily, and she threw him a keen glance. What did he know about London agents? He smiled as she stared at him.
‘Only joking, Mrs Richter. Music agents do occasionally turn up at our recitals, even this far north,’ he said.
She smiled in relief. ‘Oh, I do not think I played that well,’ she replied.
‘You never know when fame comes knocking. That’s all I was saying.’
She made her way to the vestry and found the vicar deep in conversation with the pair.
‘Goodness me, Mr Dynes and Mr Thornton too. I was not expecting either of you.’
‘No. I’m afraid I may have overreacted when we last spoke. We both enjoyed your performance this evening very much,’ said Mr Dynes and Mr Thornton nodded his agreement, and the minister looked from one to the other with a puzzled smile.
‘I did not see you in the church,’ Hilda replied. ‘But I did see Mr and Mrs Brown. I was not expecting them to come either, and I think I had better try to find them before they leave. Would you mind if I went to look for them? I’ll keep in touch, I promise.’