existence, I am sure one of them will clear their throat and make a proposal. Until then, they must continue this ridiculous dance, ignoring those whose company they never leave.'
I notice Elise draw away from me, biting her bottom lip. “Are you alright?” I ask, and she nods, not meeting my eye. I see her search for some kind of reaction in Carina. But Carina's expression is vacant; she glances over at me with a slightly amused smile, as if she is being teased. I notice she is blushing. The reaction flatters me, and I look away to disguise it. James considers me with a reproaching and disappointed expression. Francoise looks up and carefully registers these reactions. A little falteringly, she returns to the page.
‘There's barely room to breathe, let alone move at the concert, and I am delighted this is the case. Vincent hurries to his guru, practically begs him to see if there is anything he can do, but Franz has everything in hand. The room seems filled with all the most important faces, and Franz moves comfortably amongst them. He is yet to play a note, and yet I can see the transference of these skills to the international stage will be a seamless, elegant gesture, performed with a transfixing sense of inevitability.
‘Before Franz takes to the stage I see Vincent moving lovingly amongst the instruments, as if by merely being on stage he is worshipping at a shrine. Vincent has a voracious hunger to express himself and find reward through the act, so much so that I am frightened he will now look to music for the answers to his questions. Frightened, because Vincent takes to new causes with excessive zeal, but is too vulnerable to accommodate criticism. I know already that Vincent has no musical talents, and that his gifts lay elsewhere. And yet something tells me that all of us will have to see him play through the motions of walking exactly in Franz's footsteps, and none of us will dare say a discouraging word. Vincent's enthusiasm, his interest in everything and his need to consume will stand him in good stead. But we are all aware of how sulky and introverted he can be if his little experiments are criticized. He is a curious mixture of assurance and vulnerability, and I hope that inevitable tests to his confidence will not dent his bravado. The link between these two traits is self-centredness, yet he cares keenly about his friends and so is developing as a man of intriguing contradictions. The uncomfortable truth is that he has a talent very similar to his father's. He has recently distributed a promising manuscript amongst our group; an excerpt from it won a prestigious regional literary award. I fear that he will only belatedly realise that his talents lie in this area.
‘The concert is a triumph. Franz electrifies the audience with his teasing, emotive songs, with the addictive growl of his voice, with the glacial quality of his instru-mentals. His choruses embed themselves in the ear, so that a few are mouthing along to the words even as the songs begin to end. His bandmates, in their black uniforms, look to him for affirmation and leadership. They play a thrilling encore, which has the venue moving as one and roaring for more, and when he takes to the stage alone, for an acoustic encore, his words of gratitude are self-effacing and charming. He looks every inch the lizard-like rock star, baring his soul and basking in the sheer warmth that emanates from the audience. It is exactly as I imagined a good rock concert to be – visceral, life affirming, and yet with enough meaning to make one more spontaneous than they had previously dared to be.'
Francoise gives a small smile, and her little audience applaud and cheer kindly. She hands the volume to her butler, and says, “Thank you. I was quite nervous, and your approval is most kind. I hope my small observations were received as generously as your applause was given. Back then I was a star-struck and occasionally inspired little girl, so don't take
I notice Elise draw away from me, biting her bottom lip. “Are you alright?” I ask, and she nods, not meeting my eye. I see her search for some kind of reaction in Carina. But Carina's expression is vacant; she glances over at me with a slightly amused smile, as if she is being teased. I notice she is blushing. The reaction flatters me, and I look away to disguise it. James considers me with a reproaching and disappointed expression. Francoise looks up and carefully registers these reactions. A little falteringly, she returns to the page.
‘There's barely room to breathe, let alone move at the concert, and I am delighted this is the case. Vincent hurries to his guru, practically begs him to see if there is anything he can do, but Franz has everything in hand. The room seems filled with all the most important faces, and Franz moves comfortably amongst them. He is yet to play a note, and yet I can see the transference of these skills to the international stage will be a seamless, elegant gesture, performed with a transfixing sense of inevitability.
‘Before Franz takes to the stage I see Vincent moving lovingly amongst the instruments, as if by merely being on stage he is worshipping at a shrine. Vincent has a voracious hunger to express himself and find reward through the act, so much so that I am frightened he will now look to music for the answers to his questions. Frightened, because Vincent takes to new causes with excessive zeal, but is too vulnerable to accommodate criticism. I know already that Vincent has no musical talents, and that his gifts lay elsewhere. And yet something tells me that all of us will have to see him play through the motions of walking exactly in Franz's footsteps, and none of us will dare say a discouraging word. Vincent's enthusiasm, his interest in everything and his need to consume will stand him in good stead. But we are all aware of how sulky and introverted he can be if his little experiments are criticized. He is a curious mixture of assurance and vulnerability, and I hope that inevitable tests to his confidence will not dent his bravado. The link between these two traits is self-centredness, yet he cares keenly about his friends and so is developing as a man of intriguing contradictions. The uncomfortable truth is that he has a talent very similar to his father's. He has recently distributed a promising manuscript amongst our group; an excerpt from it won a prestigious regional literary award. I fear that he will only belatedly realise that his talents lie in this area.
‘The concert is a triumph. Franz electrifies the audience with his teasing, emotive songs, with the addictive growl of his voice, with the glacial quality of his instru-mentals. His choruses embed themselves in the ear, so that a few are mouthing along to the words even as the songs begin to end. His bandmates, in their black uniforms, look to him for affirmation and leadership. They play a thrilling encore, which has the venue moving as one and roaring for more, and when he takes to the stage alone, for an acoustic encore, his words of gratitude are self-effacing and charming. He looks every inch the lizard-like rock star, baring his soul and basking in the sheer warmth that emanates from the audience. It is exactly as I imagined a good rock concert to be – visceral, life affirming, and yet with enough meaning to make one more spontaneous than they had previously dared to be.'
Francoise gives a small smile, and her little audience applaud and cheer kindly. She hands the volume to her butler, and says, “Thank you. I was quite nervous, and your approval is most kind. I hope my small observations were received as generously as your applause was given. Back then I was a star-struck and occasionally inspired little girl, so don't take
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