Solo - Jack Higgins [87]
'Now then, Doctor, what's all this?'
'There's a ticket waiting for me.'
He shook his head, took her by the elbow and propelled her firmly outside again. An anonymous-looking van was standing in the small official car park, the Special Branch headquarters for the operation. Ferguson's car was parked beside it. He was seated in the rear with Deville.
The Brigadier opened the door and got out. 'What happened to Cambridge?'
'I changed my mind,' she said. 'I decided I wanted to hear him play again.'
'And that's all? No foolish ideas...?'
'Of what, Brigadier? Warning him? And where could he go?'
'True.' Ferguson nodded.
She looked beyond him at the Frenchman. 'You, too, Monsieur Deville?'
'So it would appear, Mademoiselle.'
She looked again at Ferguson. 'May I go now?'
'Yes, you can go, Doctor. You deserve your last act if anyone does.'
She turned and hurried back to the entrance. Ferguson leaned into the car. 'He should be starting at any moment. Would you like to go in now, Maitre?'
Deville shook his head. 'Not really, Brigadier. You see, strange as it may seem in the circumstances, the piano, as an instrument, has never appealed to me.'
In the Green Room, Mikali adjusted his tie in the mirror while Previn waited by the door. There was a knock and the stage manager looked in.
'Ready, gentlemen.'
Previn smiled and held out his hand. 'Good luck, John.'
Mikali stretched his arms wide. 'Who needs it? To the great Mikali, all things are possible.'
The Albert Hall was packed from floor to ceiling and besides the second-tier boxes, the Loggia, the Balcony, the Stalls, there were fifteen hundred Promenaders, many in the Gallery, the bulk packed into the Arena in front of the stage, standing shoulder-to-shoulder, crowded against the rail, mainly young people and students in fancy dress, the common tradition on this, the last night of the Proms.
And when Previn led the way out on to the stage followed by Mikali, the roar was like nothing Mikali had ever known, sending the blood racing through his veins, filling him with excitement and emotion.
He stood there, bowing again and again and Previn was laughing, applauding also and then Mikali turned and glanced up to the Loggia box on the end of the curve just across from the stage and saw Katherine Riley sitting there.
He threaded his way through the orchestra, plucked the carnation from his buttonhole and tossed it up to her.
She caught the carnation, held it, staring down at him as in a dream, then kissed it and threw it back to him. Mikali replaced it in his buttonhole and blew her a kiss in return. The Promenaders howled their delight as he went to the piano and sat down.
All noise in the hall faded. There was total silence. Previn, as was commonly the case, preferred to conduct a concerto from the stage itself and stood very close to the piano.
He half-turned to Mikali, face serious now. The baton descended and as the orchestra began to play, Mikali's fingers fused with the keyboard.
Kelso turned the Cortina into Prince Consort Road and pulled in at the kerb. He kept the engine running and turned to Morgan.
'Anything more I can do, Colonel?'
'Forget you ever saw me if you know what's good for you.'
'That'll be the day,' Kelso told him.
Morgan, who was wearing an old trenchcoat and tweed cap provided by the sergeant-major, got out and leaned down at the window.
'Thanks, Jock. Now, get the hell out of here.'
The Cortina drove rapidly away and Morgan raised the collar of his coat against the rain and moved towards the back of the Hall. He paused by the Prince Consort's statue and looked across at the rear entrance. There were three uniform police standing there at the bottom of the steps. In fact, at least one on duty at every other door he could see, caps glistening in the rain.
At that moment, a truck came round the corner and pulled up outside the artists' entrance. It carried the name of one of the best-known breweries in London on the side panel. As Morgan watched, three or four porters came out wearing caps and coats against