Silent Crescendo Read online

  From Back Cover…

  Were they totally wrong for each other?

  Judith neither knew nor cared much about classical music, and the last man on earth she expected to fall in love with was the great tenor Rafael David.

  Their affair couldn't last, she told herself. They had nothing in common.

  And with a man like Rafael, whose life was devoted to melodrama, how could a woman know when he was being sincere and when he was merely pretending?

  Excerpt…

  "Do you have to be so dramatic, Rafael?"

  Judith regarded him thoughtfully. "I have this feeling you're following a libretto every now and then—it's very disconcerting."

  To her surprise there was no answering smile. "I am sorry," he said in a monotone. "I had no desire to speak of this. But I am not the noble, silent type, Judith. For more than half my life I have made my living by expressing emotions through my voice, showing what I feel, suppressing very little. I do not want now to burden you with my problem."

  "What problem?" she asked as she crossed the kitchen to him, suddenly desperate.

  He shrugged. "The operation has done permanent damage to my throat. I can speak, but I cannot sing."

  About the Author…

  CATHERINE GEORGE was born in Wales, and following her marriage to an engineer lived eight years in Brazil at a gold mine site, an experience she would later draw upon for her books. It was not until she and her husband returned to England and bought a village post office and general store that she decided to try her hand at writing. With her husband's encouragement, she submitted her first book and was quickly accepted. Now her husband helps manage their household so that Catherine can devote more time to her writing. They have two children, a daughter and a son, who share their mother's love of language and writing.

  Silent Crescendo

  by

  Catherine George

  CHAPTER ONE

  The last of the dog-walkers had gone. The park was almost deserted, only a lone running figure in sight. Long hair flying, a girl sped with fluid, easy strides along a bridlepath leading up to a ridge crowned with a copse of oak and beech, the leaves stencilled soot-black against the darkening, gilt-edged sky. The half-light was eerie, and Judith quickened her pace, anxious to pass through the barrier of trees to reach the final downward stretch to the park gates. Close to the town though it was, Abbey Park was not the best of places to run alone at dusk, and gritting her teeth she increased her speed as she breasted the rise. Eyes distracted for an instant from force of habit to the floodlit clocktower of the church in the distance, Judith's breath was suddenly knocked from her body as she collided with an unseen runner hurtling out of the wood in the opposite direction.

  With a muffled scream Judith landed on her back on the hard-packed earth, half winded by the body pinning her to the ground. She fought instinctively to be free, hair escaping from the sweatband round her forehead to blind her for a moment of breathless panic before she managed to struggle to her feet. Pushing the hair away from her eyes she stood transfixed, petrified, all her fears realised as she stared for a split-second of nightmare at the man in front of her. Tall, dressed in black, a ski-helmet over his face with holes for eyes and nose, he was the very stuff bad dreams are made of, and as he made a move towards her Judith came abruptly to life, letting fly with her fist to connect with a hard, wool-covered jaw. More by luck than skill the blow caught the man off-balance and Judith promptly took off, running like the wind down to the gates, pausing only long enough to open one and slide through, her breath tearing through her chest in painful gasps as she threw a look over her shoulder to see if the man were following her. He was not. He stood exactly where she had left him, a sinister shadow merging with the trees, and with an incredulous sob of relief Judith raced away down the long curve of Abbey Road and turned the corner into Chantry Lane. Halfway along the short row of houses the lights were on in Chantry Cottage and she slowed wearily to a walk, lifting the knocker as she reached the door, too spent even to search in her pocket for the key.

  The door opened on the trim figure of her sister, who stood looking at her in disapproval. In contrast to Judith's dishevelment Honor was her usual immaculate self in silk shirt and linen skirt, smooth fair hair neatly coiled above her calm, beautiful face. Judith staggered past her into the kitchen, too shattered to care about her wild appearance as she tried to get her breath back.

  'Where on earth have you been? I was worried— heavens, what's the matter?' Honor's disapproval swiftly changed to concern as Judith collapsed on one of the stools at the small breakfast bar in the kitchen, leaning her head in her hands as her breathing gradually slowed to normal.

  'A man—in the park—'

  'What!' In consternation Honor jerked Judith's head up and examined her flushed face closely. 'Did he hurt you? I've warned you about running in the park alone. Where was Rob? Did this man attack you, or—or anything?'

  'No anything.' Judith managed a grin. 'He didn't really attack me either; we just had a collision by the copse of trees at the top of the hill. We landed in a heap, then I hit him on the jaw and scarpered. He looked utterly terrifying—all in black, with one of those balaclava things over his head with holes for eyes. I'm sad to say I panicked like mad and ran for it.'

  Honor listened thoughtfully, her eyes troubled. 'Should we tell the police?'

  'Tell them what? That I bumped into a man in Abbey Park? Not much, really, is it?' Judith got up to rummage in one of the drawers for a piece of string. 'It was probably just me being fanciful. I found myself alone in the park, it was almost dark and I had a shock. Maybe the man was more frightened than me!' She tied back her untidy hair with a frayed piece of cord.

  'Did he say anything?'

  'Not a word—just a sort of grunt when we collided. Don't worry—I'm sure he was just an ordinary jogger.'

  'Only dumb, and wearing a woollen ski-cap over his head on an August evening,' said Honor tartly.

  Judith shrugged and unzipped her track-suit top.

  'Earache, maybe.'

  'Or something!' Honor was sceptical. 'Have a shower, you look a wreck. I've no doubt all this excitement was on top of a game of squash?'

  'Two, actually.' Judith gave her a guilty grin. 'Which is why I was so late. Rob's on call, by the way. I'm not seeing him tonight.'

  'Right. Then we can eat at our leisure and I'll tell you all the news—it's been quite a day for me, too.'

  'Don't say Arts Week has been cancelled!'

  Honor shrugged her shoulders and stooped to inspect the contents of the oven. 'You're not so very far off the mark, as it happens. Get a move on, dinner's just about ready, so not another word until you're respectable.'

  Judith was hungry after all her excitement, and hurried through her shower, not bothering to dry her thick russet-brown hair. She plaited it into a long rope, pulled on a sweatshirt and shorts and ran down to enjoy the chicken casserole Honor had waiting.

  'So what's new, Honor?' she asked as they began to eat. 'Martin giving you trouble?'

  'Mr Gresham never gives me trouble,' stated Honor with dignity. 'Clive Morrison is the problem.'

  'What's up with our leading tenor, then?'

  'Laryngitis,' said Honor tersely. 'He caught cold canoeing on, or rather in the river, and now his voice has gone. Totally irresponsible—I mean who could be so brainless as to risk half-drowning himself a few days before singing the lead in an opera!'

  'Clive Morrison, obviously.' Judith looked at Honor in enquiry. 'No understudy?'

  'Well, Mr Soames, the curate, can sing the part, but his upper register is a bit suspect, and apart from being several inches shorter than Meryl he finds it embarras­sing to seethe with passion, being a man of the c
loth and all that.'

  Judith tried hard to keep a straight face, but failed, and giggled despite the quelling hazel turned on her. 'Sorry, Honor, but it is a bit comic you must admit!'

  'Just because you haven't a note of music in you, Judith Russell, doesn't mean you can't appreciate the problem it is for Mr Gresham,' said Honor severely, but the corners of her mouth twitched involuntarily. 'A good thing you weren't at the rehearsal in the theatre this evening to see Mr Soames gazing up into Meryl's frozen face singing "O life of my life, do not shatter my heart" in the most extraordinary Italian!'

  'Oh I wish I had been,' said Judith fervently. 'What did Martin Gresham have to say about that?'

  'He wasn't there. The trouble blew up yesterday. I went to bed before you got in last night and I went out this morning before you got up, so I haven't had a chance to tell you. Mr Gresham went dashing off to London when he heard the news about Clive, and I've been in the library all day today, but he rang me about four to say the problem was solved, but he didn't elaborate, so I don't know how.'

  'Curiouser and curiouser!' Judith slid off the stool and put their plates into the sink. 'Any pudding, Honor?'

  'Stewed plums and cream in the fridge.'

  After supper the two girls watched television for a while in the main room of the cottage. Two smaller rooms had been knocked into one, with the original bow-window looking out on the street and another, larger and newer, giving on to the small patio garden at the back. The furniture was simple; chintz-covered chairs, one or two good pieces like the writing desk and the sofa table, and there were some pleasing flower prints on the plain, cream-washed walls. Chantry Cottage had been Honor's first home when she married Simon Gregg ten years previously. The marriage had been sadly brief. Simon dying prematurely from a heart attack, and afterwards, in spite of much opposition from her family Honor had insisted on keeping on her little house, preferring to stay in Hardwick, the Midlands market town where she had made a life for herself, rather than live with her parents again, much as she loved them.

  Judith's friends had scoffed at her when she chose to work in the Hardwick Memorial Hospital after qualifying as a physiotherapist from the Nuffield, telling her she was wet behind the ears to choose the town where her sister lived. Judith had gone one better and taken up Honor's offer of a room, an arrangement which had turned out surprisingly well despite, or possibly because of, the nine year difference in age. After years of living in hall and then a student flat, not to mention the eccentricity of the family home, Honor's neat, pretty little house was different; ordered and well run, with no intrusion on privacy on either side, as Judith was given the larger upstairs room to arrange as her own bed sitting-room where she could have friends round, or take herself off when Honor entertained friends of her own.

  Tonight, after the disturbing experience in the park, Judith was very glad of her sister's calm presence, grateful just to relax and chat with Honor. Judith invariably played squash on her day off, and it was her habit to run back through the park again afterwards, but always much earlier, when there were plenty of people about, unlike this evening. Not given to nerves much as a rule she was frankly shattered by her encounter, which came into the category of things that happened to other people, not to Judith Russell. She dismissed the incident from her mind and got up to make coffee for them both. It was actually quite rare for the two girls to spend an evening alone together. Honor was a librarian, and spent most of her free time working for Martin Gresham, Arts Director of the Hardwick Arts Society, while Judith had a steady escort in the burly shape of Dr Robert Bailey, a G.P. with one of the town medical practices. He was a member of the same club where they liked to exercise regularly, or play squash when they had enough energy left over from the demands of their respective professions.

  'The thing is, Honor,' said Judith, as she brought back a tray from the kitchen, 'won't Arts Week be adversely affected if the opera is cancelled? I rather thought it was the high point of the week.'

  'It is—or was,' sighed Honor. 'Not that it's as ambitious as it sounds, actually. It's only the third act of La Rondine, and a concert version at that, not the whole operatic bit. The first half of the evening is just a normal concert. I just feel so sorry for Mr Gresham. He's put such a lot of hard work into it, and this particular opera is his pet thing. No one else seems even to have heard of it before. It was the last one Puccini ever wrote—very lightweight and charming. Anyway, Mr Gresham seems to have the problem solved somehow.'

  'Perhaps he's going to sing the lead himself,' suggested Judith. She grinned provocatively at Honor over her cup.

  'Hardly!' Honor's eyes narrowed accusingly. 'Why do I always get the feeling you have something against Mr Gresham?'

  'Only his myopia, darling!'

  'He's not in the least short-sighted!' Honor set her cup down with a bang, the colour rising under her fine, fair skin. 'There's nothing wrong with his eyes.'

  'Only that they can't see what's right in front of them,' said Judith bluntly. 'He's forty, divorced, highly solvent and not bad to look at either, if you like your men bony and brainy—and you obviously do. And you aren't so bad yourself—blonde, thirty-ish—'

  'Thirty-four.'

  'Like I said, thirty-ish, and a very attractive lady. And you're in love with him,' went on Judith relentlessly. 'So why doesn't he snap you up?'

  Honor stared at her sister, appalled. 'Judith I am not in love with him—'

  'Liar!'

  'In any case, he's a Gresham of Hardwick. His family practically owns the place, and they go back to the Conqueror, I shouldn't wonder. Why should he look at me, for heaven's sake.'

  'Why not? If he's looking for a lady of quality he'll go a long way to do better.' Judith jumped to her feet, looking absurdly young in her brief shorts, the thick braid hanging over one shoulder. Her big dark eyes blazed with sincerity as she gave Honor a little shake. 'And not just because you're my sister, either. These are the eighties, woman. Apart from Crufts, who cares about pedigrees in this day and age?'

  Honor frowned as Judith took the coffee tray to the kitchen. She was still deep in thought when Judith came back after washing up.

  'Does it stick out a mile?' she asked quietly.

  'No, of course not.' Judith dropped down on the floor, her back against the sofa. 'No one would notice except a busybody like me. And that's only because I've come to know you so much better this past year or so, Honor. In my opinion you're good enough for anyone—and heaven help you if Mother catches you saying otherwise!'

  Honor laughed, her eyes clearing at the mention of their mother, who wrote gory, intricate whodunnits in the attic study of the Russell household near Abergavenny, where her father, retired from the Civil Service, strove to maintain some kind of order and peace over the rabidly nationalistic Welsh daily help, three cats, two dogs and the goats who cropped the grass in the paddocks adjoining the garden.

  The next morning Judith set out briskly along the canal towpath that led past the hospital. With autumn in the offing it would soon be better to take the long way round through the outskirts of the town she decided regretfully. At the moment there were schoolboys fishing in groups along the canal bank and the occasional narrowboat cruised along, filled with holidaying families, but soon it would be deserted and lonely. Damn, thought Judith in exasperation. She had never given the loneliness a thought before, but after last night's little incident she seemed to be looking for prowlers behind every bush, and this was a cheerful sunny morning. Heaven help her when the weather was foggy and grey and the canal frankly sinister, as it could often seem during the winter months. She would just have to forget her silly qualms by then. Judith took herself firmly in hand, resolving never to think about the man in black again, which was easy once she reached the hospital. The moment she changed into her neat white tunic and dark blue trousers her attention was centred solely on the patients needing her ministrations. Tending to the breathing problems of road-accident victims Judith forgot herself enti
rely, her attention focused on helping people back to normal again as efficiently and sympathetically as she could. It was a busy, physically demanding day as always, particularly in the orthopaedic ward with some of the spinal injuries, and it was only when she found herself on the busy main roads of the town on the way home that she realised she had opted subconsciously for the safety of pavements rather than the lonely canal towpath.

  Her footsteps faltered. This was silly. She was allowing one isolated incident to alter her entire outlook. Judith strode on through the town, annoyed with herself, oblivious to shop windows that normally tempted her to dawdle, intent on getting home to do something about dinner. The two women shared the cooking between them and Judith always organised the meal on Honor's late evenings at the library. Rob was coming round to join them, as he often did as a change from eating out, or the salads and takeaway meals he subsisted on in his own bachelor flat. Judith had bought gammon steaks and vegetables during her lunch hour and once she was home quickly set to work, slicing potatoes and onions in a casserole with a cheese sauce, putting the dish in the oven to cook while she sliced runner beans, washed mushrooms, made a salad, and put the gammon steaks on the grill pan ready to cook when the others arrived.

  She was bathed and perfumed, her hair swept into a glossy waterfall on one side of her head, looking her vivid best in pink cotton trousers and pink and blue floral silk shirt when the doorbell rang. Rob stood on the doorstep, his fair, goodlooking face glum and depressed. Judith eyed his dark suit and hangdog look with resignation.

  'Let me guess,' she said with a sigh. 'You're doing someone else's calls tonight. Have you time to come in?'

  'Yes—for a while at least.' Rob followed her into the sitting room and flopped down on a chair, his legs stretched out in front of him. There were dark stains of weariness below his blue eyes and he yawned widely. 'Sorry, Judith—again. I've given your number to the practice. I said they could reach me here until seven— hope you don't mind.'