always here.”
“Very well, madame.”
Madame Lafitte put her arms around Angélique, who had come to stand enthralled beside her. The old lady planted a kiss on the side of her short dark hair, before whispering in her ear, “I think, Angélique, my dear, that one day you will become an exceptional violinist.”
And so it was that Madame Lafitte became the most important person in Angélique Pascal’s young life. It was she who gave Angélique her lessons until the ability of the ten-year-old outshone her own; it was she who arranged and paid for the teacher who continued to nurture her extraordinary talent, and together with whom Madame Lafitte put out a search for a full-size violin that had the same resonance and playing style as the one Angélique had been using, eventually tracking one down in a backstreet shop in Munich that held a scant but exceptional stock of stringed instruments, and subsequently purchasing it with little regard to its enormous price tag; it was Madame Lafitte who set up the interview and audition for the thirteen-year-old at Le Conservatoire National Supérieur de Musique et de Danse de Paris; and it was she who mollified the stupid prejudices of the Pascal family and made them understand that her attendance there would have no detrimental impact on their lowly finances, and that Angélique’s future promised much more than working in a furniture factory in Clermont Ferrand.
It was Madame Lafitte also who accompanied Angélique to Paris for the first time, the girl holding tight to her hand as they rode below the streets of the city on the Métro before emerging at La Porte de Pantin station in front of the inspirational white structure of the Conservatoire. Then, having watched Angélique being taken off for her audition, carrying the new, but equally treasured violin, the old lady had sat alone in the echoing foyer, drinking a cup of coffee whilst keeping the fingers of her free hand tightly crossed, watching the music students struggle along the corridors with bulky instrument cases and the leotarded dance students who sat in the chairs around her, chatting to their friends as they effortlessly stretched their legs into positions that would be unachievable for mere mortals.
It was a full hour and a half before Angélique eventually returned to the foyer, accompanied this time not by the young public relations woman but by a tall bespectacled young man wearing a dark green corduroy suit. When they reached the perimeter of the seating area, he put a hand on Angélique’s shoulders and spoke to her. The girl smiled at Madame Lafitte and pointed a finger in her direction. Settling Angélique in a chair, the man bought her a bottle of orange juice from an illuminated dispenser next to the wall, gave it to her along with a reassuring smile and approached the old lady.
“Madame Lafitte?”
“Oui, c’est moi,” she replied, struggling to raise herself out of the awkwardly shaped chair.
“Oh, please, don’t get up,” he said, reaching down to her an elegantly shaped hand that bore the hallmark of a musician. “I am sorry that we have taken so long with Angélique. My name is Albert Dessuin and I am a teacher of the violin here at the Conservatoire.”
Madame Lafitte shook the hand and watched as the young man lowered himself into a chair on the opposite side of the table. She could not bear to wait for news of the audition.
“Monsiuer Dessuin, can I ask how Angélique got on?”
Dessuin leaned forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees and linking his hands together in front of his chin. “Madame Lafitte, all I can say is thank you for bringing Angélique to the Conservatoire.”
The old lady felt her heart give a huge thump, and tears immediately sprang to her eyes. She opened up the blue leather handbag on her knees and extracted a white linen handkerchief. “Oh, I am so pleased you said that. She has a wonderful talent, n’est-ce pas? ”
“I certainly
“Very well, madame.”
Madame Lafitte put her arms around Angélique, who had come to stand enthralled beside her. The old lady planted a kiss on the side of her short dark hair, before whispering in her ear, “I think, Angélique, my dear, that one day you will become an exceptional violinist.”
And so it was that Madame Lafitte became the most important person in Angélique Pascal’s young life. It was she who gave Angélique her lessons until the ability of the ten-year-old outshone her own; it was she who arranged and paid for the teacher who continued to nurture her extraordinary talent, and together with whom Madame Lafitte put out a search for a full-size violin that had the same resonance and playing style as the one Angélique had been using, eventually tracking one down in a backstreet shop in Munich that held a scant but exceptional stock of stringed instruments, and subsequently purchasing it with little regard to its enormous price tag; it was Madame Lafitte who set up the interview and audition for the thirteen-year-old at Le Conservatoire National Supérieur de Musique et de Danse de Paris; and it was she who mollified the stupid prejudices of the Pascal family and made them understand that her attendance there would have no detrimental impact on their lowly finances, and that Angélique’s future promised much more than working in a furniture factory in Clermont Ferrand.
It was Madame Lafitte also who accompanied Angélique to Paris for the first time, the girl holding tight to her hand as they rode below the streets of the city on the Métro before emerging at La Porte de Pantin station in front of the inspirational white structure of the Conservatoire. Then, having watched Angélique being taken off for her audition, carrying the new, but equally treasured violin, the old lady had sat alone in the echoing foyer, drinking a cup of coffee whilst keeping the fingers of her free hand tightly crossed, watching the music students struggle along the corridors with bulky instrument cases and the leotarded dance students who sat in the chairs around her, chatting to their friends as they effortlessly stretched their legs into positions that would be unachievable for mere mortals.
It was a full hour and a half before Angélique eventually returned to the foyer, accompanied this time not by the young public relations woman but by a tall bespectacled young man wearing a dark green corduroy suit. When they reached the perimeter of the seating area, he put a hand on Angélique’s shoulders and spoke to her. The girl smiled at Madame Lafitte and pointed a finger in her direction. Settling Angélique in a chair, the man bought her a bottle of orange juice from an illuminated dispenser next to the wall, gave it to her along with a reassuring smile and approached the old lady.
“Madame Lafitte?”
“Oui, c’est moi,” she replied, struggling to raise herself out of the awkwardly shaped chair.
“Oh, please, don’t get up,” he said, reaching down to her an elegantly shaped hand that bore the hallmark of a musician. “I am sorry that we have taken so long with Angélique. My name is Albert Dessuin and I am a teacher of the violin here at the Conservatoire.”
Madame Lafitte shook the hand and watched as the young man lowered himself into a chair on the opposite side of the table. She could not bear to wait for news of the audition.
“Monsiuer Dessuin, can I ask how Angélique got on?”
Dessuin leaned forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees and linking his hands together in front of his chin. “Madame Lafitte, all I can say is thank you for bringing Angélique to the Conservatoire.”
The old lady felt her heart give a huge thump, and tears immediately sprang to her eyes. She opened up the blue leather handbag on her knees and extracted a white linen handkerchief. “Oh, I am so pleased you said that. She has a wonderful talent, n’est-ce pas? ”
“I certainly
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