Love Over Scotland - Alexander Hanchett Smith [110]
“All right, Bertie?” asked the conductor. “You looking forward to Paris?”
“Yes, I am,” said Bertie. “Thank you very much, sir.”
The conductor laughed. “You don’t have to call me sir,” he said. “My name’s Richard. Richard Neville Towle. But you can just call me Richard.” He paused. “You checked your saxophone in, did you? I hope that you had a strong enough carrying case.”
For a few moments, Bertie said nothing. Then, his voice barely audible, he said: “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry about what?” asked Richard. “Do you think the case will break?”
“I didn’t bring it,” said Bertie, his voice small and broken.
“Mummy just gave me my suitcase. That was all. I forgot my saxophone at home.”
Richard sighed. Taking an orchestra anywhere was always a difficult business; taking a youth orchestra was even worse. This was not the first time that he had been obliged to deal with an instrument being left at home, and at least it would be easy to borrow a saxophone at the other end. It was not as if Bertie played the cor anglais or anything like that; that might have been a bit more problematic.
He reached down and patted Bertie on the shoulder. “Not to worry, old chap,” he said. “Paris is full of tenor saxophones. We can very easily borrow one for the three days that we’re there. In fact, I’ll call ahead to a friend I have over there and get him to have it sorted out by the time we arrive at the hotel. No need to be upset.”
Bertie had begun to cry, and so Richard knelt down and put 230 The Principles of Flight
an arm around his shoulder. “Come on, Bertie,” he said gently.
“Worse things have happened.”
Bertie made an effort to control his tears. This was a terrible start, he thought; to go off with a group of teenagers and then to start crying. It was just terrible. He looked about him furtively, half-covering his face with his hands so that the others might not see his tears. Fortunately, they all seemed to be busy talking to one another. They were smiling and laughing. As well they might, thought Bertie: they had their instruments with them. 74. The Principles of Flight
By the time they boarded the aircraft, Bertie’s spirits had picked up again. He tried to give an impression of knowing what to do
– an impression which would have been weakened if anybody had seen him turn left on the entrance to the plane, rather than right, and head purposefully towards the flight deck. But nobody saw this solecism, apart from a cabin attendant, who gently pointed him in the direction of the window seat that had been allocated him and into which he was shortly strapped, ready to depart. Bertie had already seen, but not met, the boy who came and sat next to him. Now, turning to Bertie, this boy, who in Bertie’s reckoning was at least fifteen, introduced himself. “I’m Max,”
he said. “And you’re called Bertie, aren’t you?”
Bertie nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I play the saxophone, only . . .”
He was about to explain that he did not actually have his saxophone with him, but he decided not to mention this. Max would think him rather stupid to have left his instrument behind, and Bertie wished to impress Max.
“Where do you go to school?” Max asked, as he adjusted his seat belt.
“The Steiner School,” Bertie said.
“That’s nice,” said Max. “I go to the Academy. I play the cello there. And I’m in Mr Backhouse’s chamber choir.”
“I bet you’re good at the cello,” Bertie said generously. The Principles of Flight 231
“Quite good,” said Max. “But not as good as somebody called Peter Gregson. He used to be at the Academy and now he’s gone to study the cello in London. I’ll never be as good as he is.”
“But you do your best, don’t you?” said Bertie seriously. He was enjoying this conversation and he wondered whether Max would be his