There were gasps of admiration as Rannaldini in his black-and-white splendour, swept on and mounted a rostrum a foot higher than usual so everyone could see him. The great prevailer, he smiled down at Benny’s shock of dark curls. He knew exactly how to wrong-foot the foolish Frenchman to Natalia’s advantage.
His two bodyguards, Clive and Nathan, the black basketball player, stood watchful at the back of the hall. Rannaldini was taking no chances.
As the clock started on the monitor, the vast audience went quiet. Five, four, three, two, one. The camera panned in on the little silver piano, which would be awarded to the winner. The last round of the Appleton Piano Competition, live from the town hall, was under way.
SIXTY-EIGHT
The Press swarming round the hospital were thrown into a frenzy by Rupert’s totally unexpected arrival, particularly when he screeched to a halt in a muddy puddle, drenching the lot of them.
‘What’s the latest, Rupe? Is the kid going to be OK? Terrible shock for you,’ they closed round him. ‘How’d you feel about him being a woofter?’
Wrath gave Rupert superhuman strength as he barged a gangway through for himself and Taggie. He had more trouble fighting his way through the barricade of outraged medics. Helen had left tearful instructions that if, in the unlikely event Rupert rolled up, he mustn’t be allowed to see his son.
‘It’s the one thing that really triggers off Marcus’s asthma. Rupert’s got a terrible temper. I’ll only be gone a couple of hours.’
‘He’s not allowed visitors, he must be kept quiet. I’m afraid no-one can see him.’ The pleas, and then orders, fell on deaf ears as Rupert stalked through the lot of them.
He loathed hospitals, the smell and glaring whiteness instantly brought back poor little Xav’s countless operations and Taggie nearly dying twice when she miscarried. It also took him back twenty-two years to Helen also nearly dying, giving birth to Marcus — a sickly, carroty-haired baby, who, from the start, had never endeared himself to Rupert.
Finding the lift blocked by a massive matron, Rupert dodged round her and ran up the stairs with Taggie panting after him.
Three doctors, pretty Sister Rose and two male nurses barred the door to Room Twenty-Five.
‘I really must insist you don’t go in there.’
‘Fuck off.’ Once more Rupert parted them — a bowling ball through skittles — then he turned on a panting Taggie.
‘Stay outside, I want to see him on my own.’
‘I’d like to be with you,’ pleaded Taggie.
‘This is my problem,’ snarled Rupert.
‘That is the handsomest Angel of Death I’ve ever seen,’ sighed Sister Rose.
Expecting to find Marcus unconscious and a mass of tubes, Rupert was astounded to see him sitting on the bed buttoning up a blue dress-shirt. His red hair hung lank and darkened by sweat to the colour of a copper beach. His deathly pallor was tinged green by the fluorescent lighting, his huge frightened eyes were black caves as though he could see deep into his own tortured soul.
‘D-d-dad, I thought you were at the Pardubika,’ Marcus leapt to his feet, cringing against hideous yellow-and-orange curtains, waiting for the firing-squad invective.
For a second Rupert gazed at him, reminded of the only time he’d gone stag hunting. Appalled by the terrified eyes of a little doe trapped against a huge wall, he had been too late to call hounds off before they ripped her to pieces.
‘I’m really, really sorry,’ gasped Marcus.
Rupert shrugged. ‘It’s the way you’re made. Campbell-Black libido has to come out somewhere, I guess. Sorry I haven’t been any help. Been meaning to ring you for months — ever since you sent Tag that Mothering Sunday card.’
‘That was just after I’d met… I wanted to see you. Oh Dad,’ for a minute, Marcus’s lip trembled, then he stumbled forward and, for a brief moment, he and Rupert embraced.
Passionately relieved the boy was all right, Rupert patted his desperately bony shoulder.
‘You poor little sod.’ Then as Marcus half-laughed, added ‘Oh God, that wasn’t very tactful. Get back into bed.’
Marcus shook his head. ‘I’m going to play.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
But Marcus stood his ground. ‘You won a gold with a trapped nerve. If I don’t crack it now, I never will. It’s the only way to throw off the stigma of being Abby’s walker, Alexei’s catamite and Rannaldini’s stepson.’
‘And my son, too,’ said Rupert wryly. ‘Look, there’ll be other competitions. It’s crazy to risk it, when you’ve just pulled through.’
‘That’s why I pulled through. Would you terribly mind ringing the town hall? I don’t think they will let me use the telephone here. Just tell them I want to go on, and I’ll be there in half an hour.’
Finding it difficult to breathe and talk, he slumped onto the bed.
‘Benny’ll just be starting the second movement,’ he smiled slightly and cupped his hand round his ear, ‘I can hear him now. My tail-coat needs a press and a brush, but someone can do that at the other end. And could you get me a taxi, because I don’t think the hospital would do that for me either.’
‘I’ll take you if you’re really set on it.’
Marcus nodded, unable to speak, overwhelmed by Rupert’s totally unexpected acceptance. Then he muttered: ‘You’ve missed the Pardubika, I’m terribly sorry.’
‘Blood is thicker than water jumps,’ said Rupert, getting out his mobile.
All hell broke out as the doctors frantically tried to dissuade Marcus.
‘It’s insanity,’ they berated Rupert. ‘The pressure could kill him. He’s desperately weak and he needs to go on the nebulizer again in two hours’ time.’
‘Sometimes the mind reaches out and the body follows.’
‘You’ve pushed him into it.’
‘He has not,’ protested Marcus, unearthing the score of the Schumann from the bedside cupboard, and swaying at the sudden rush of blood to his head as he stood up. ‘Someone’s got to fight Abby’s corner. She should never’ve been fired.’
‘You realize we’re not responsible if he insists on discharging himself,’ boomed Matron, blocking the entire doorway.
‘The discharge of the heavy brigade,’ said Rupert, bodily removing her from Marcus’s path.
Taggie was hovering in the waiting-room on the way to the lifts with an undrunk cup of tea in her hands. Her eyes were very red. Marcus went straight into her arms.
‘It’s so lovely to see you,’ they cried.
Rupert put his arms round both of them, but just for a second. ‘Come on, we mustn’t be late.’
The only concession the hospital made was to smuggle them out of a side-door.
Panic gripped Marcus the moment he was installed in the back of the car. As they hurtled through the night, rain lashing and clawing at the windscreen, he took great gulps from his puffer and under a pallid overhead light, desperately riffled through the score which seemed terrifyingly unfamiliar. What were all the pitfalls? He hadn’t touched a piano for two days. With Abby, the orchestra would have seemed familiar, but Rannaldini would take everything much slower or much faster, whipping the orchestra up to an unnatural frenzy. Rannaldini also despised Schumann as an over-romantic wimp.
Thank God neither Rupert nor Taggie talked, although Marcus noticed his father’s hand sliding over Taggie’s whenever he entered a straight piece of road. As they reached the outskirts of Appleton, the reflections of the orange street-lights shivered like carp on the shiny black cobbled streets. Breathing in the conflicting wafts of hamburgers, curry and fish and chips, Marcus retched. Rupert’s mobile rang. It was Northern Television.