“What?” She narrows her eyes at me.
“Come with me.” I grab my oboe and lead her into the hallway. Now, where did Peter say the nurses went?
There is a velvet rope halfway down the corridor with a sign saying ‘Private.’ Beyond it, a trolly with a water jug and some folded towels stands outside a large, closed door.
“Come.” We hurry towards it before anyone can stop us.
A nurse opens the door to my knock.
“We’d like to meet the birthday lady.”
The nurse steps aside. “I’m afraid she might not remember you.” She waves a hand towards the back of the room.
She’s in a high-backed armchair in the corner.
“Good evening.” We say together.
She doesn’t even meet our eyes.
I walk closer but not too close, a few yards away, then take the reed between my lips. Katherine, guessing what I’m about to do, stands near me and waits.
I start with a soft, slowHappy Birthday, the traditional version. After a couple of bars, Katherine joins me, singing quietly.
The old lady doesn’t take any notice. When we finish the tune, I go on to play another tune that she must know,London Bridge is Falling Down. After that we move on to,Catch A Falling Star. Katherine, whose voice can be huge and operatic, keeps her singing simple and sweet.
By the time we get toQue Sera Sera, the old lady is watching us and swaying gently with the tune.
We stay for nearly an hour and play her every old song we can think of. Gradually, her eyes shine, and she starts to clap along with the songs. When one of her nurses offers to dance with her, the lady even agrees to a gentle waltz as we playGood Night Sweetheart.
We only stop when another nurse brings in a cup of hot chocolate and some pills. It’s her bedtime. We say good night, and she shakes my hand. “Thank you, dear,” she says in a surprisingly clear voice.
When we’re back in our dressing room, Katherine is grinning widely. “I can’t believe she talked to us. How did you know she would respond?”
“I didn’t know, but I hoped.” I tell her about Doris and Lou and the garden concerts.
“Makes me wonder about music therapy.” She finds her phone and scrolls to find something, then reads out. “There’s been significant research into the effects of music in treating depression, dementia, PTSD, and anxiety.”
Her face is thoughtful. “I might look at doing a few concerts for the Alzheimer society.”
“You look far happier than you did singing downstairs.” I tell her.
She looks at me for a long moment. “You know what? So do you.”
“Must be because I’m looking forward to that party downstairs, mingling with all those important people.” I do a theatrical shudder which makes her laugh.
“I could do with an early night, myself.” She yawns. “I have a recital in Paris the day after tomorrow.”
“How about we find a limo and skip the party?”
“What?” She looks shocked. “And miss out on meeting the composer of that strangled cat concerto? Surely not.”
We’re still laughing as we sneak downstairs.
Outside, there are a few people wrapped in furs enjoying the vast garden. We hurry past them towards the limo, and I help Katherine into the backseat then get in after her. As I reach to close the door, I see Janey, standing by an ornamental hedge, she’s frozen still, watching us, her face furious.
Chapter Fifty
Brandon
