EIGHT
It was a week later, the following Monday morning, that Jude had a call from the Rev. Bob Hinkley. ‘I hear that you’re going to be singing at Alice Mallett’s wedding,’ he began, almost brusquely.
‘Yes. Heather asked if I would. As a favour.’
‘Does this mean you might reconsider my request to join the choir on a more permanent basis?’
‘No, I’m afraid it doesn’t. The issue of my not having any faith is still to me a considerable objection.’
‘But if you make an exception for a wedding …’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Oh, well, it was worth asking.’ He sounded really harassed, nearing the end of his tether. ‘It’s just … Bet Harrison … Do you know her, only recently moved to Fethering?’
‘I’ve met her, yes.’
‘Anyway, she didn’t appear for yesterday’s service. I rang her and she said, with childcare problems, the time commitment was getting too great, Friday evenings and the Sundays. She said it was more convenient for her just to do Monday evenings with the choir at the pub.’ He contrived to get a lot of contempt into the last few words.
‘I’m sorry about that, Bob, but hopefully you’ll be able to recruit other people. There must be more undiscovered singers in Fethering. Not me, though, I’m afraid.’
‘Huh,’ he said. Then, almost as if he was speaking to himself, ‘What are people going to think if, so early into the job, I can’t even keep my church choir?’
Needless to say, Carole’s attitude to the Crown & Anchor Choir did not get any less sniffy. ‘Oh, your pub singers are getting together for a second week?’ she said when Jude mentioned it.
‘Yes. The first meeting was very successful. About a dozen people turned up.’
‘About a dozen people turn up to anything new in Fethering. They soon drift away, though.’
‘Well, we’ll have to see, won’t we?’
‘Huh,’ said Carole.
Jude was quite surprised to get a call from Heather to ask if she could turn up to church choir rehearsal on the Friday of the same week. She repeated what she had said to the vicar, that she had only agreed to sing at the wedding and had no intention of becoming a permanent member.
‘I know that, but we will actually be rehearsing some of the wedding stuff on Friday.’
‘Oh, but it’s still weeks away, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, but the music we’ve chosen for the wedding is quite complicated. Well, no, not complicated, it’s just that I want it to be of a really high standard, so it’ll need extra rehearsal.’
Jude wasn’t very keen on giving up her Friday evenings as well as the Mondays, but she reasoned that it was only for a relatively short while. Her Fridays would be free again after the wedding, and she did want to give Heather any support she could. So, she agreed to turn up that week. At seven thirty. The church choir would rehearse their normal stuff first, and then do maybe three quarters of an hour on the wedding music.
It became clear in All Saints that Friday evening just how seriously the programme was being taken. Jonny Virgo had risen to the challenge. At last he was dealing with music that was worthy of his talents, and Jude could observe what a good choirmaster he must have been for organizing school concerts and other choral music events.
He started with what he regarded as the most difficult piece on the programme, the anthem which would be sung by the choir alone during the signing of the register. This was Schubert’s ‘Ave Maria’. Heather produced the scores for it. As she had for the Crown & Anchor Choir, she had been busy photocopying and fitting the sheets into black plastic folders, which were distributed to the choir members.
‘Now, this is a very well-known piece,’ said Jonny, ‘which I’m sure you will have heard often, at many other weddings. But I doubt if you’ve ever heard it very well sung. It’s notoriously difficult for amateurs. Don’t worry, though, we’re going to work on it so hard that, come the wedding day, we’ll have you sounding like professionals!
‘All right, so let’s have a go at it. Those of you who can read music, follow the dots. Those of you who can’t, don’t worry. And if any of you are a bit iffy about when to come in, I will give a very firm nod of my head at the relevant moment. OK, so off we go!’
Jonny Virgo’s hands descended on to the organ’s keyboard and rolling chords swelled up into the empty heights of All Saints Church. As arranged, Jude had joined the rest of the choir at seven thirty. Most of the regulars were there, though two notable absentees were Bet Harrison and her son Rory. The choir didn’t rehearse in their stalls but gathered round Jonny at the organ.
His words about ‘sounding like professionals’ seemed to have had the opposite effect to what he had intended. Rather than encouraging his singers to greater efforts, the diktat had made them nervous. Heather, who sang the soprano solo part, had done some homework, but she didn’t get much support from the rest of the choir, and their first rendition of the piece was pretty dreadful.
‘Hm, some way to go,’ the choirmaster understated, after his charges had brought the anthem to a rather ragged conclusion.
The singers looked appropriately abashed. The Tattersall sisters, in particular, who had been very quavery during the singing, now looked to be on the verge of tears. Only Ruskin Dewitt wore his customary expression of confident serenity.
‘Still, early days.’ Jonny Virgo got up from his organ bench and came towards the choir in the manner of someone with something portentous to say. ‘Look, the wedding that we’re rehearsing for is only a few weeks away. And, Heather, you want the music to be of the highest standard possible …?’
‘Yes, I do,’ she asserted.
‘Well …’ He took a deep breath. ‘If we’re aiming for the highest standard possible … then I’m afraid there’s no way you can sing the solo.’
Heather’s silence, and the expression on her face, showed the power of the body blow she had just received. Jude wondered how long the fantasy had been nursed of taking that role at her stepdaughter’s wedding.
Jonny instantly covered himself with apology. Confrontation did not come naturally, and he had clearly built himself up for the assessment he had just delivered. ‘I’m sorry, Heather, but I have your own interests at heart. If you want the best music, you’ve got to get the best singers available. And, though you’re a good workmanlike amateur soprano, I’m afraid that solo has to be sung with more expertise.’
He stopped, the anguished expression on his face suggesting he feared her response might be physical violence.
But Heather was far too well brought-up to do anything like that. And also, she proved to be a pragmatist. ‘I see,’ she said, after a pause. ‘Well, you’re the choirmaster. You know what your requirements are.’
‘Yes.’ As if empowered by the tameness of her reaction, he went on, ‘In the usual Sunday-to-Sunday work of the choir, I’m happy to make the best of what’s available, but if you’re really after quality …’
‘Which I am,’ Heather asserted.
‘… then I’m afraid I have to take a more hard-nosed approach. In most of the choirs I’ve worked with, entry has been by audition, which does provide some kind of quality control. Obviously, you can’t do that in a parish church.’ The way he spoke suggested that he was unleashing a flow of grievances which he had been nursing for some time. ‘There you have to be glad for what you can get.’
He seemed to realize that this was potentially insulting and hastened to say, ‘Not that I’m criticizing your efforts. I am very grateful to all of you for your commitment and the time you devote to the choir. Your efforts add considerably to the success of Sunday services at All Saints. But …’ He trod delicately ‘… if one is really looking for the best … as we are in this situation, Heather … then we have either to raise the standard of the voices we use or …’