Wolf Notes and Other Musical Mishaps by Lari Don Read Free Book Online Page B

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    “But just jam,” Emma added. “No butter. Just jam. And bread.”
    “Absolutely. You need the bread or it isn’t a sandwich. What else does James eat?”
    “Birthday cake.”
    Helen was right back where she’d started. “Okay. Do you like picnics, Emma?”
    She brought the whole picnic bag through to the tiny three-year-old, and while Emma ate all the food her brother wouldn’t touch, Helen made another batch of sandwiches with just jam, no butter. Making a wild guess about James’s attitude to crusts, she cut them off too.
    She filled a bag with jam sandwiches and nothing else; all that stood between James and a lifetime with the faeries. She hoped the lodge wouldn’t run out of jam by the end of the week.
    She wiped most of the chocolate off Emma, then took her back to the cottage. Mrs McGregor and the boy had fallen asleep beside each other. Emma was yawning, so Helen laid her down at the other end of the couch.
    She took another look at the sleeping James, so she would recognise the real thing tonight.
    Then she headed to the old lodge for lunch and her afternoon lessons. The first couple of hours with a composer from Dublin on orchestration, arranging and improvisation passed quickly. But the music theory lesson afterwards wasn’t exciting enough to keep her mind off faeries and wolves. It was an individual lesson with Dr Lermontov, the Professor’s deputy at the summer school, the only other teacher staying for the whole week. He was a world expert on the use of harmony and counterpoint.
    When Helen realized that the shiny new décor in the Doctor’s study included atmospheric photos of duns, brochs and faery mounds, she found herself staring at them over Dr Lermontov’s round bear-like shoulders. Really, she should be researching faery weaknesses, not thinking about four-part harmony.
    “Miss Strange!” Dr Lermontov shouted.
    Helen jerked round. “Strang, sir, my name is Strang, not Strange.”
    “Miss Stran-ga, you must listen to me with your eyes as well as your ears if you are to learn from me. Stop looking at the walls; look at me and my manuscripts!”
    So Helen followed his pen nib across the staves and tried to concentrate. It was a huge relief when he picked up his violin so they could play a duet. Dr Lermontov was a virtuoso violinist, but he was also a good enough teacher to let her play the challenging music and keep the supporting role for himself.
    He smiled at her as they put their violins away.“At least you concentrate totally on your violin when she is in your hands. But perhaps when I want you to concentrate on soprano, alto, tenor and bass, the call of the summer sun is stronger!”
    “No,” answered Helen, “it’s the summer night that calls me.”
    Dr Lermontov said, “In the north of Russia, the summer nights are so short, the sky never grows dark.”
    Helen smiled back at him and took a chance. “Do you know where we’re playing on midsummer night, Dr Lermontov?”
    “No, Miss Strange, I was summoned across the world to play in this concert, but even I do not know where it will be. Fay Greenhill says it will be a night to remember forever, so I will be content to see our stage and our audience when the sun goes down and not before.”
    “Is that wise?”
    “Wise? Wise? Artists must take risks! Anyway, it does not matter where we play nor to whom we play. In a cowshed to farmers? Or in a palace to tsars? It does not matter … so long as we play with all our hearts! The music matters, not the venue, nor the audience.”
    “Nor the theory?” Helen asked quietly.
    “Indeed!” He laughed a deep growly laugh. “Not the theory either, my clever strange girl. Do not worry about the concert. I trust Professor Greenhill completely. Now off you go for your tea and let the summer night come to you.”
    So Helen went down the wide stairs to the dining room. For a whole hour of stilted conversation overlarge plates of pasta, she gazed impatiently out of the window at