The Morning Gift

‘No. I’m an ensemble player.’ Ziller was silent, pursuing his thoughts. Returning to the Day Centre to re-establish his claim, he had found, among the wash basins, an emaciated and exceedingly shabby man playing the cello – and playing it well. This had turned out to be Milan Karvitz from the Prague Chamber Orchestra, just returned from the International Brigade in Spain . . . and Karvitz, in turn, had brought along the viola player from the disbanded Berliner Ensemble. The three of them played well together though it was a tight fit in the cloakroom, but the repertoire for string trio was limited and now a man had written from Northumberland where he was working as a chauffeur. Ziller knew him by reputation – a fine violinist, an unselfish player – but it was out of the question. He could never replace Biberstein; never. ‘Anyway,’ he went on, pulling himself out of his reverie, ‘I’ve spoken to him about you. Why don’t you go along?’

Mantella, though brought up in Hamburg, was a South American by birth, with an olive skin, a pointed black beard and a legendary nose for sniffing out talent. In Heini, presenting himself the following day in the elegant Bond Street office, he at once saw possibilities. The musical gift could not be in doubt – all those medals from the Conservatoire and a debut with the Philharmonic promised in Vienna – but more importantly, the boy had instant emotional appeal. Even Mantella, however, could not get a concert for a pianist unknown in England and not yet established on the continent.

He had, however, a suggestion to make.

‘There’s an important piano competition here at the end of May. It’s sponsored by Boothebys – the music publishers. They’re big in the States and here too. No, don’t look like that; it may be commercially sponsored, but the judges are absolutely first class. They’ve got Kousselovsky and Arthur Hanneman and the Director of the Amsterdam Conservatoire. The Russians are sending two candidates and Leblanc’s entered from Paris.’

‘He’s good,’ said Heini.

‘I tell you, it’s big. After all, Glyndebourne is run by auctioneers! The commercial sponsorship means that the prizes are substantial and the press is getting interested. The finals are held in the Albert Hall – they’ve got the BBC Symphonia to accompany the concertos – and that isn’t all!’ He paused for dramatic effect. ‘Jacques Fleury is coming over from the States!’

That settled it. Fleury was one of the most influential concert impresarios in the world with houses in Paris and London and New York. ‘What are the concertos? I could learn a new one, but I’ve only got a rotten little piano and I’d rather play something I’ve studied.’

Mantella pulled out the brochure. ‘Beethoven’s Number 3, the Tchaikovsky Number 1 . . . Rachmaninoff 2 . . . and Mozart Number 17.’

Heini smiled. ‘Really? Number 17? The Starling Concerto? Well, well!’

Mantella’s glance was sharp. ‘What do you mean, the Starling Concerto?’

‘The last movement is supposed to be based on the song of a starling Mozart had. My girlfriend would want me to play that – I used to call her that . . . my starling – but it isn’t showy enough. I’ll play the Tchaikovsky.’

‘Wait a minute – didn’t I see something in the papers? Did she ever work as a waitress?’

‘Yes, she did. She still does in the evening, but she won’t for long; I’ll see to that.’

‘I remember . . . some article by a chap who went into a refugee café. There was a picture . . . lots of hair and a snub nose.’ Mantella twiddled his silver pencil. The girl had been very pretty – girls with short noses always photographed well. ‘I think you should play the Mozart.’

Heini shook his head. ‘It’s too easy. Mozart wrote it for one of his pupils. I’d rather play the Tchaikovsky.’

‘You can give them the pyrotechnics in the preliminary rounds. You get the chance to play six pieces and only two of them are obligatory: a Handel suite and Beethoven’s Hammerklavier. You can dazzle them with Liszt, Chopin, Busoni . . . show them nothing’s too difficult. Then when you’re through to the finals come on quietly and play the Mozart.’

‘But surely –’

‘Heini, believe me; I know what I’m talking about. The Russians will go for Tchaikovsky and Rachmaninoff and you can’t beat them. And we can use the story

- you and the girl. Your starling. After all, we’re not just

trying to win, we’re trying to get you engagements.

America’s not out of the question – I have an office

there.’

‘America!’ Heini’s eyes widened. ‘It’s what I’ve dreamt of. You mean you’d be able to get me a visa?’

‘If there’s enough interest in you. Fleury could fix it if he wished. Now here are the conditions of entry and the dates. There’s a registration fee, but I expect you can manage that.’

‘Yes.’ The Bergers were funny about Dr Friedlander

- they wouldn’t take anything from him, but that was

silly. The dentist was musical; he’d be glad to help.

‘Good.’ Mantella rose as a sign that the interview was over. ‘Come back next week with the completed form – and bring the girl!’