Chapter 17

They drove to Llangollen in three minibuses. Court made Mike drive one of them and made sure that Libby was in another one, with him. That did not mean that he chatted her up, but it did mean that he could observe her and have a few words with her.

She shared a room with Eve, which pleased her. Eve was an old hand and she was comfortable with her.

Rehearsals started the next day. On the second day they had the main theatre for three hours. During a break when the rest of the company sloped off for refreshments, Libby, who had been eyeing the Steinway concert grand with increasing longing, sat down at it and started to play Beethoven's 'Moonlight Sonata'. She gloried in the tone, depth and scope of the piano. Playing it was the highlight of her musical experience. She came to the end, dropped her hands in her lap, bent her head and quietly cried with the emotion of the experience.

"That was beautiful, young lady," said a voice beside her.

She looked up slowly and then leapt to her feet. "Maestro!" she gasped.

Kristian Timermat smiled at her. "Not since Solomon have I heard anyone play that first movement so slowly, perfectly and with such beauty. The lightness and timing at the start of the second movement was exquisite and I could find little to fault in the third. You had one little stumble but that was all."

Libby could only nod.

"You are a very gifted pianist. Are you performing here?"

"No," said Libby. "I'm helping out a small company with a one act musical."

"That is a waste. People should hear you play. If I can arrange it, would you like to play in the opening concert tomorrow evening?"

"No!" exclaimed Libby in horror. She had only ever performed before relatively small audiences at school and the thought of a public and televised performance terrified her.

"Why not? You are very, very good and deserve to be recognised."

"I ... I ... haven't any clothes," she stuttered wildly searching for an excuse.

"Pfft!" the maestro dismissed it. "You would not be appearing as a fashion model but as a very gifted pianist."

"But I haven't finished my training."

"What training?"

"The Royal Academy, in September."

"You need no further training to play the 'Moonlight Sonata'. What is your name, my dear?"

"Libby Morris, maestro."

"Do you play 'The Pathetique' too?"

She nodded dumbly.

"Please play it for me, Miss Morris."

She could hardly refuse and sat back down again. He patted her shoulder.

"I go into the auditorium," he said. "Wait a minute."

She waited and then started. She was very nervous but as the piano responded to her touch she was swept up into the music and played it faultlessly.

The company started to drift back chatting and laughing but as they heard Libby play they immediately fell silent. Court thought his heart would burst it was so beautiful.

When she finished there was rapturous applause. The company was about to descend on her but then they saw her rise and turn to a solitary figure half way back in the stalls.

"Beautiful," said Timermat. "Not quite as good as 'The Moonlight' but beautiful. I think you should play 'The Moonlight' tomorrow night."

"I can't," she whispered shyly looking at her feet.

"There is no such word as can't. Please, Miss Morris, play for me tomorrow night."

Court moved forward to stand beside her.

"What is all this, Libby?" he asked.

"That is Kristian Timermat, the pianist I told you about, and he wants me to play in the opening concert tomorrow night but I can't, Court. I just can't."

"Why not?"

"I just can't."

"Why not?"

"Because ... because I'm frightened."

"So all you'll do when you graduate is teach."

She nodded dumbly.

"What a bloody waste! Listen to me, Libby, and listen hard. I've heard you play a lot and you overwhelm me with the beauty of your playing. The person you described as probably the greatest pianist in the world at the moment has listened to you and HE wants you to play in public. Why? Because you're bloody wonderful."

Libby turned towards him, her eyes brimming with tears, "I'd make a nonsense because of nerves," she said. "My hands and my senses would seize up. Court, I can't. I really, really can't."

Timermat was beside them now and had overheard what Libby had said. "When I was a boy," he said gently, "I played at school concerts and that was frightening. You have done the same, yes?"

Libby nodded.

"And you were frightened."

Libby nodded again.

"Did you play badly?"

"No, but I could have played better."

"What would have made you play better?"

"My mother being there to turn the pages."

"But you did not need her."