Remembering Carmen Read Online Free

extended. You noticed the hands, of course, for they were Jimmy’s trademark, his USP. That memorable CD cover of Berg, Schoenberg and Webern, with the elongated, delicate hands poised over the keyboard, had been a catchy icon after it won a Gramophone award and was advertised on the Underground – itself a rather remarkable achievement for three alumni of the Viennese School. Jimmy knew how to manage his success, how to play the admiring fish. He knew just how far to go and when to hold back. It was a performance as impressive in its way as his conduct at the piano. Like everyone else, Christopher and Carmen ate, eagerly, out of his hand. Unlike some celebrities who keep a dim recollection of those they have met – their real interest centring on themselves – Jimmy had remembered Carmen from the hotel on the Riviera. Christopher could see that Jimmy was homing in on her – although he was scooped up into the general embrace – and she warmly rose to take those magnificent hands. He smiled, offered them the gracious tribute of himself, wordlessly, for several seconds, then, after a quick acknowledgement of his encounter on the Riviera with Carmen, nodded with the faintly arch grace of a maître d’ , and backed away to his table where he rejoined the glittering couple with whom he had come to dine. Christopher could not help noticing that he was unaccompanied.
    Carmen responded testily to Christopher’s inquries. He could see that she detected the false note, his effort to appear detached, amused. She knew what he was thinking. What he was fearing. The ground was being cleared for a real humdinger but it was too early in the evening to launch the first strike. They attacked instead a small dish of varied dips – crushed walnut, taramasalata, something unidentified which, had he been able to stomach the preposterous prose of restaurant menus, Christopher could have had named. It was perhaps half an hour later – when he was quietly and intently at work on a challenging preparation of lamb – that Jimmy softly reappeared. He was off, it seemed, not staying for the full meal. His manner suggested more pressing business elsewhere. He had done what needed to be done. He dropped on to the tablecloth a flyer for a concert at the Purcell Room: John Cage’s sonatas for prepared piano. They compliantly murmured that they would be there.
    Over coffee, the first missile was launched.
    â€œSo, tell me more about the divine Jimmy.”
    â€œWhat is there to tell?”
    â€œHe seemed very pleased to see you.”
    Carmen looked at Christopher with that magnificent plaiting of pity and contempt that was her invariable starter.
    â€œHe’s a professional charmer. He’s pleased to see everyone.”
    â€œThey seem to reciprocate. They don’t seem able to resist him.”
    â€œDoes that make you jealous?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œForgive me, but I can’t help sensing a little male rivalry here.”
    â€œWhat? The carpenter and the virtuoso? In which arena, tell me, would we be slugging that one out?”
    â€œDon’t be obtuse. You know exactly what I mean.”
    He knew exactly what she meant.
    â€œNo I don’t. Why should I be jealous of that mountain of blue-eyed smarm?”
    Carmen laughed in triumph. She had no further need of riposte.
    â€œAre you going to his concert?”
    â€œWe could, I suppose, unless you have got one of your rush jobs on.”
    He didn’t like her tone. It was uncertain, trying a little too hard for insouciance. It was patently obvious that she wanted to clock Jimmy again: the triumphant entrance through the narrow door at the rear of the stage (the Purcell, with its subtle intimacy, perfectly adjusted to Jimmy’s special modes of self-display); the enveloping smile thrown out like a gossamer veil over the heads of the audience; the long, magnificent silent foreplay; the hand dragged