After the talent contest prelims, those chosen to appear in
the actual competition had been asked to congregate in the church hall in Upper
Grumpsfield by 11 a.m. on the big day. They would draw lots for the order of
appearance, but without a guarantee that this order would be followed since two
similar acts would not perform in succession. Anyone who was not there in time
would have his starting position decided for him and should not complain about
it.
Although drawing lots is, by definition, a matter of luck and would of course have to be adjusted should the outcome be too terrible, it did make sure that the contestants got out of bed in time. By eleven, nearly all of them had turned up. One notable exception was Robert Jones, of course, because he had to open his shop on Saturdays to sell people their Sunday joints. He was a seeded contestant, like the best players in a tennis tournament, and the rest of the programme would be arranged so that seeded contestants did not appear one after another.
Laura had insisted on her candidate being a seeded player,
too, promising that he would be the best, or at least one of the best. Had Dorothy
been there, questions would have been asked, but Cleo did not want to risk a
showdown, so Dorothy controlled the seating order in the old school hall while
Cleo coped with any crisis at the church hall. Drawing lots was only a
diplomatic gesture designed to avoid being accused of favouring this or that contestant.
In the end, Dorothy would vet the programme order and change anything that she
did not agree with. Mr Parsnip helped Dorothy to organize the old school hall.
They were helped, or to be more exact hindered by the unexpected arrival of the
Mayor, Mr Cobblethwaite. He rarely put in a voluntary appearance at anything
not involving his dog or food, but was curious to see how things were going. He
was jealous of the whole idea of a talent contest and determined to organize
the next one himself. It was, however, spiteful of him to hope that this one
would be a gigantic flop, considering the boost it was going to give to the
district’s cultural reputation.
Laura had organized a piano tuner, so the hustle and bustle at
the hall was accompanied by his attempts to make the old Joanna sound more like
a Steinway and less like a honky-tonk.
By one thirty, Cleo had accompanied the finalists on a coach
hired especially for that purpose to the old school hall in Middlethumpton.
There, they were treated to refreshments and introduced to the Mayor, Mr
Cobblethwaite. He had not provided the refreshments, but was glad to get some.
At two thirty, the doors opened and the audience rushed in to bag the best
seats. It did not take long for every seat to be taken.
At three o’clock, Mr Parsnip and Mr Cobblethwaite opened the
show. No event could start without him and he actually told the audience that
the next talent competition would be held with funds from the town hall and
entirely dedicated to renovating the ceiling of that building. It was too late
for protests from the organizers of the current show, though they were
horrified that the mayor had decided to take much of the limelight for himself
at the opening, quite apart from him stealing the idea of holding a talent competition and announcing
it publicly without even telling them. Mr Smith the trumpet-playing postman
took the stage to start the entertainment with rousing solos played at
breakneck speed to stay within the 10 minutes allotted to him. The tunes were so
excessively loud that they left everybody’s ears ringing from the onslaught. If
a prize were to be given for making the most noise, Mr Smith would surely win
it.
As arranged, the judges decided separately how many points
from one to ten they would give to each contestant. After every act the results
were handed to Cleo for counting. Laura had not really approved of this method,
but the others had, so she had no choice but to fall in with it. As a
precaution, Laura vowed to everyone a low mark in anticipation of giving her own
surprise contestant, who had yet to turn up, ten out of ten.
Everyone was thankful that the act after Mr Smith was a
juggler throwing noiseless spheres into the air and catching them just before
they reached the ground. Laura marvelled at his tricks with hula-hoops,
remembering the one embarrassing attempt she had made at climbing into one and
keeping it circulating. This artist, a real professional who had dishonestly
claimed to be an amateur, not only wiggled one hula-hoop round, but kept on
increasing the number until he had seven spinning around his waist, then he
even put one on his left foot and two on each arm. A miracle of coordination,
everyone agreed, and Dorothy started to wonder whether she had been wrong about
Robert Jones winning the competition hands down.
One clever act after another brought the audience frequently
to its feet and made the organizers wonder how on earth they were going to
decide on a winner without disregarding their individual votes. During the
interval they had a hasty meeting to decide what to do. They could hardly cook
the books. Cleo was not corrupt, as she stately in no certain words.
Even Laura was starting to have second thoughts about who
would win.
“You must wait till you’ve heard my contestant,” she declared.
Cleo reminded them that Robert was going to sing. Laura
thought an amateur singer could never compete with a professional, but
refrained from saying so. She was, however, worried that her entrant would think
better of taking part in such a lowly event.
“I think I can hear a car. I’ll go and see,” she fussed and
was disappointed.
It was Karl von Klippen, who had not been able to find anyone
at home and had made his way to the old school hall after reading the poster
advertising the show stuck on the front door of the vicarage. He wanted to
surprise Clare, so he had not told anyone he was coming.
“Vell, I see you are having the talent contest,” Karl said to
Laura, who was extremely put out that this curious foreigner had arrived. Was
he a mysterious contestant, too? “Wery nice!”
The vicar joined them outside.
”‘Yes, wery, errrrum very nice,” echoed the vicar. “Very nice
to see you again so soon.”
Laura was irate. Was the vicar sneaking in a candidate of his
own?
The three went into the hall.
The vicar stage whispered
“Any special reason for your visit, Karl?”
“You can discuss that later, Frederick!” hissed Dorothy. “There
are more performances to judge, remember?”
“Quite right! So what shall we do about all those brilliant turns
we have already enjoyed?”
“Just keep on writing one to ten for the contestants. You’ll
have to accept the result, whatever it is.”
The vicar had been giving all the contestants 10 out of 10. He
had already shed responsibility for choosing a winner.
Cleo was also irritated. She was sure Robert could live up to
his reputation and was anxious for his performance to be first rate.
“It’s time to start the
second half now,” said Cleo.
“But....” whined Laura.
“Laura, if your contestant doesn’t turn up, that’s just hard
luck,” said Cleo, who would have preferred it if Laura’s protégé did not arrive
in time.
The next contestant took the stage, and soon the competition
was again in full swing, Word had got round that Laura had a secret weapon up
her sleeve. To her relief, the vicar was at last able to announce that a Mr
Jason Finch, nephew of Mrs Laura Finch, would sing, accompanied by Mr Morgan on
the piano.
The lights went down except for a spot aimed at centre stage,
but there was no sign of Jason.
Laura waited with baited breath.
Gareth Morgan played a single note on the piano and from the
back of the stage came a sung note in reply. Resplendent in ancient Greek,
Roman or was it Ethiopian dress, a young man with jet black hair and a swarthy
complexion appeared to the strains of the famous opening tenor aria from
Verdi’s Aida.
“Celeste Aida,” he sang, and Laura felt a little dizzy. Jason looked
very like the captain of her cruise ship, He had been of Indian extraction.
The audience was enraptured, not least because Jason looked
more like something out of a costume movie than a contestant at a local talent
contest. He brought the house down.
The audience speculated about Jason’s origins. Not that it
really mattered. The main thing was that he had looked like a god and sung like
an angel.
Mr Morgan bathed in Jason’s success, speculating that only a
Welshman could sing like that, so was Jason from the Valleys? If so, why hadn’t
Laura told him?
The only question that remained in everyone’s mind was how Robert
Jones was going to top that heroic performance. Laura didn’t think he could and
even Cleo had misgivings.
When Mr Parsnip had wiped the tears from his eyes and
signalized in a gesture of blessing for the audience to be quiet just one more
time, he was ready to announce the final contestant.
Hardly had he finished doing so when there was the sound of
drums in the background. Accompanied only by the rhythm, Robert appeared in a
flowing royal blue robe secretly organized by Gloria and launched into a medley
of gospels and spirituals, the like of which had never been heard in Upper
Grumpsfield before. Cleo was transfixed, and so was everyone else.
So Laura was not the only person with a surprise up her
sleeve. The young drummers were members of an Afro-American rhythm group who
had been busking one Saturday afternoon when Robert was in Middlethumpton, He
had dropped some coins into their hat and made a note of their phone number.
Now they were happy to play for him in his bid for the talent trophy. And what
is more, they were joined by Gloria, who might not be quite as nimble as she
had been forty years ago, but nevertheless added rhythm and temperament in her
colourful patterned cotton sarong and turban and had made ‘Bobby’ move and rock
in a way he had not thought it possible to shift his 150 kilos.
It was not long before the whole audience was entering into
the spirit of things, first with rhythmical clapping to the drums and then, encouraged
by Gloria, almost everyone trooped up the rickety steps onto the stage and
joined in the act. Robert’s sonorous voice rang out with the verses and
everyone else joined in with the responses, swinging chariots and rowing boats
ashore with gusto.
The auditorium was all but empty. Even Cleo had found herself
joining in. Laura looked on in disgust. How could Robert spoil such a wonderful
afternoon by singing such common music? Jason Finch watched in horror through a
gap in the stage curtain. He never would have come had he known this amateur
upstart was going to bring the house down.
Dorothy had not left her seat. She was looking on in wonder at
what was happening and wondering how Laura would take it.
Karl von Klippen had been watching the spectacle from the back
of the hall. He wasn’t used to such exhibitions of raw animation. Had he got
the English all wrong? Clare, who had joined the audience too late to get a
seat, found herself standing next to him.
“I didn’t know you were coming, Karl.”
“Zee goose is cooked,” said Karl.
“What goose?”
“Up there, on the stage.”
“Oh that. Laura’s nephew has to win, or there’ll be ructions.”
“Ructions? Who are they?”
“Not people. Things. Hell to pay.”
“Radames should win, Clare,” said Karl, who had seen Aida many
times at the Vienna State Opera. ”He has sung so beautiful.”
“He is Laura’s candidate. Some people would hate him to win.”
“I don’t know Laura.”
“You haven’t missed anything and you still haven’t told me why
you’re here, Karl.”
“Have you forgotten? It’s our wedding anniversary.”
“Oh. So it is.”
Clare bit her lip. Karl had come all that way and she hadn’t even
remembered why.
“I’ve come to tell you that you can have your divorce if you
still want it.”’
Clare’s heart sank.
“Can we talk about that some other time, Karl?”
“When? I can only stay a
few days.”
“Well, perhaps....”
“Perhaps vat?”
“Perhaps it isn’t such a good idea after all. You know....”
Karl was genuinely surprised.
“Vat?”
“Getting a divorce.”
“You mean....?”
“Don’t hurry me, Karl. Not today.”
“Okidoki. I vill hurry you tomorrow.”
“We could have a meal at that Italian restaurant on Thumpton
Hill and talk things over.”
Clare hesitated before admitting that she had missed him and
her words were spoken so quietly that it was all Karl could to catch them.
Karl von Klippen was walking on air. Clare was wondering if
she was doing the right thing. She hadn’t even told Edith...That night after
the fire...Well, they’d all had a little too much to drink...and what with the
shock...
According to Laura, the result of the talent
contest should have been a foregone conclusion, but it wasn’t. No way could the
jury award Jason Finch first prize after Robert had brought the house down. No
way could they award Robert first prize after Jason’s exquisite singing.
With uncanny foresight, the vicar announced that the
candidates had all been magnificent, but two had been exceptionally magnificent
and the audience could choose between them with a show of hands.
The talent contest was declared a dead heat. The hula-hoop exponent,
who had received the third most points in the official judging, was cock-a-hoop
about coming in third.
The voting slips would not see the light of day again. The
best juggler, conjurer, instrumentalist and acrobat were awarded their prizes
and certificates were awarded to everyone who didn’t get a prize. Justice had
been done. Mr Parsnip was about to declare the proceedings over when Robert
Jones stepped shyly into the spotlight.
“I have an announcement to make. I am going to marry the most
wonderful woman in the world if she says yes.”
Cleo couldn’t believe her ears. She was still waiting for official
confirmation of Jay’s death. What if it had all been a hoax and she was still
married?”
“Laura’s son has made me realize that there's no time like the
present,” said Robert, nodding to Jason, who gave him a little nod in return.
He and Robert Jones had cooked this up together. Laura Finch was appalled.
“What son? I haven’t got a son,” she said.
“I think it’s time to drop the pretence, don’t you, Mother?”
said Jason, ignoring his mother’s consternation. He had come to terms with his
own past, but Laura hadn’t with hers. Now she was avoiding eye contact with
anyone. She didn’t know how to hide her humiliation.
“Well, that’s a turn-up for the books!” said Dorothy. “I did
wonder about your noses.”
Dorothy had been speculating about the similarity of those noses
ever since she saw them together. She was wondering how much grass would have
to grow over Laura’s past before things got back to normal. Laura was the victim
of her own deceitfulness. The walls of Jericho that she had built round herself
had come crashing down.
“Skeletons in cupboards
have a habit of falling out, Laura,” said Dorothy as she joined the procession
round the school hall that was led by a jubilant Robert with Cleo on his arm
and the little marching band following them. Everyone sang along to Robert’s
spirituals all the way up Thumpton Hill, through the village and to the church
hall, where refreshments were available.
Everyone except Jason
was there. He had thought better of prolonging his visit to the district. No
one was surprised about that.
Laura Finch had fled. No
one cared about that. No one except the vicar, that is.
“Poor soul”, he was
heard to murmur several times before leaving the party. He was not quite sure
how he could save Laura’s soul, but there was no harm in trying.
The party had left Mr
Cobblethwaite determined to put on a talent show of his own. He would
circumvent that silly vicar and St Peter’s. The Finch woman would not be able
to stop him either. He had seriously overestimated the influence she had had on
the talent competition, and was not really surprised about the shameful
disclosure that she had been disowning her talented son all his life. He remembered her from a Caribbean cruise many
years ago. He was on his honeymoon and glad he had not had more than a passing
contact with her then, for he knew enough about her to fill a book. It’s a
small world, he decided.
