1 Julia
May, 2002 – London
The auditorium of Wigmore Hall was empty. Julia gripped the arms of the red velvet chair, hoping the silence would soothe her mind. She closed her eyes and tried to hear Beethoven’s ‘Polonaise in C major’ in her head, but nothing came.
Below the balcony where she was sitting, a vacuum cleaner whirred, breaking the silence. Her mother’s voice came back to her: ‘There’s no time to sit about. You need to prepare for the concert.’
She had prepared. The usual ritual had been gone through – going over the score, arriving early, trying out the piano, sitting in the auditorium – she’d done everything to the letter. But today, something was different. It fluttered in her veins like a bird trapped behind glass.
She’d played here many times, jumping the hurdles of national piano competitions year after year. Now she was here as part of a tour that Sebastian had arranged. Nerves twisted her stomach. Julia opened her eyes and stood up. The spring-loaded seat flipped upright with a thud. The audience would be arriving soon.
Julia’s bag was where she’d left it in the green room, the score ready to peruse one last time. Her breathing slowed. She avoided looking at the other performers and the photos of pianists who’d played here: Daniel Barenboim, Edwin Fischer, Angela Hewitt. They made her nervous.
‘How are you doing?’ Sebastian said. He crossed the green room. He wore a pinstripe suit and a white shirt. Thank goodness: he was here. She felt her nerves settle slightly. ‘Are you ready?’
‘Almost.’ Julia fiddled with the satin folds of her dress. ‘This is far too long.’
‘Heels could have cured that,’ Sebastian said with a smile.
He sat down. She felt comfort in their closeness, helped by the fact they were almost the same age. She’d been his first signing six years ago, when she was just twenty-one. He’d flown over to Bonn to hear her play at a recital. The whole thing had nearly been a disaster, but thankfully Sebastian had heard enough to know he wanted to represent her. He was one of the youngest managers at the agency.
‘It doesn’t matter about the dress,’ he said, gazing at her. ‘You look breathtaking.’
‘Sebastian …’
He straightened his cuffs. ‘There’s no rule against telling you the truth, is there? It’s a good night to look amazing. Another step on the way to the Queen Elisabeth.’
‘I know, don’t remind me.’ Everyone agreed that Julia’s star was on the rise. The Queen Elisabeth competition in Brussels was one of the most prestigious international piano competitions in the world. But as she climbed higher, the air got thinner and colder, and sometimes Julia felt dizzy at the thought of it all.
Sebastian nudged her and laughed. ‘Come on, don’t tell me you’re nervous. Not a seasoned performer like you.’
Julia forced a smile. ‘Of course not. I can’t wait to play.’
Sebastian held out his hand. ‘Come on, I’ll take you to the stage.’
He led her through the green room, towards the stage door. His hand against the small of her back and the black curtains at the side of the stage concentrated her thoughts. In a few seconds, she’d be out there.
‘Remember to dazzle them,’ Sebastian said. He drew her hand to his lips and kissed it softly before she could protest. The door opened and she walked on to the stage into the glaring lights.
She faced the audience and bowed. Applause rippled towards her. Her stomach clenched like a fist. She sat down on the piano stool. The Steinway gleamed. This she knew.
The applause died away. Dazzle them, Sebastian had said. That’s what she’d been doing most of her life: eliciting gasps of delight at her dexterity. It was addictive and terrifying. Tonight was no exception.
She began to play. The opening bars of Beethoven’s ‘Polonaise’ spilled out from her fingers. Perhaps it was going to be all right.
Nothing compared to this feeling. She was alone on a sea of music. Her body swayed, buoyed by the melody. The notes appeared in front of her and, like magic, her hands knew where to go.
But suddenly, without warning, Julia’s fingers stiffened. It was barely perceptible at first. She played on, stretching across the octaves, dancing up and down the sequences. The notes flashed in her head, but her fingers couldn’t keep up.
Blood rushed in her ears. Fragments of melody shattered and fell. No matter how hard she tried, the music was breaking apart, right here in front of everyone. She wrenched her hands away.
Julia’s heart thumped against her ribcage. She couldn’t face the audience; she couldn’t face anyone.
Stumbling on the hem of her dress, she darted off the stage. She had to get away. She heaved the fire-escape door open and fled outside.
‘Julia.’ Sebastian had followed her into the courtyard. ‘My God, are you all right?’
‘I don’t know. I’m sorry. I can’t …’ Her chest heaved. Rain fell and made her shiver.
‘What happened?’ he asked.
She didn’t dare tell him that her hands had failed once before, during a practice session two weeks ago. She’d pushed it to the back of her mind, hoping it wouldn’t happen again, but now … Panic rose in her chest. ‘I can’t go back in there.’
He touched her arm. ‘All right, calm down,’ he said. ‘You’re allowed one mistake, I guess, it’s just so out of character.’
Julia held the tears back. No way was she going to let this night ruin everything. ‘I promise it won’t happen again.’ But even as she said the words, she knew it was out of her control.
Sebastian squeezed her hand. ‘I’ll get your bag and call a taxi.’
The rain kept falling and soaked through her dress. Far off, she could hear the next performer playing. It was Chopin: the notes perfect and flawless. The beauty of the music made her heart ache.