Free Cat With a Fiddle (9781101578902) by Lydia Adamson Page A

string quartets, whatever—were made up of musicians who realized they would never make it big as soloists on the concert stage. They accepted that they weren’t individual giants—stars.”
    â€œLike Heifetz,” I put in. “Or Jacqueline Dupré.”
    â€œExactly,” he said. “Like them. Well, musicians in groups like ours accepted that they would never fill Carnegie Hall to the rafters with people who’d paid top dollar to hear them and them alone. So they went along in their careers, playing well, even playing brilliantly in some cases, but playing with . . . what? ‘Modesty,’ I think is the word. Good work, but without the panache of conceit. They didn’t have the manner of the virtuoso.
    â€œSo you had a lot of fine, well-balanced string quartets around. And they were a big yawn.
    â€œAnd then some genius asked himself: Why should a quartet mesh at the lowest level of energy? Why not come together at the highest level? What if each of the musicians in the quartet played and thought of herself as a virtuoso—why not let loose with all the panache and conceit the audience can handle?”
    I couldn’t help pricking him a little. “So you introduced a little show biz into the world of high culture. This unnamed quartet was the Riverside . . . and the genius was you.”
    â€œRight! It happened. And the quartet became a real musical force. Now, you must understand. There’s no doubt that at first the Riverside was looked upon as some kind of cute novelty act—like an all-woman band from the forties. And naturally, it didn’t hurt that they were all pretty and smart and vibrant. It was all very sexy. Some even thought it was a kind of sop to the feminist movement, which was very strong in the seventies. But what made the Riverside Quartet succeed and prosper and endure was the fact that each and every musician in the group was playing with an unfettered ego. As though she and she alone were the show the people had come to see. That was the secret of our success. Until now, that is.
    â€œAnd of course, now we’re in worse trouble than ever. No ridiculous little month in the country is going to get back what we had—that virtuosity, that fire. I guess I was underestimating how bad off we were. Or overestimating my own abilities. However you look at it, I made a horrible mistake dragging everyone up here. And my mistake cost Will his life.”
    â€œBut how could you have known he was going to be killed?” I said calculatedly. “You can’t blame yourself for that.”
    Hazan nodded slowly, silently thanking me for my words. He walked to the window then, and stared out into the blackness. The wind had picked up and was starting to rattle the panes.
    â€œYou’re an actress?” he said quietly.
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œAh. That explains a lot.”
    â€œAbout what?”
    â€œMost actors don’t have a very high opinion of agents and managers. We always get the job done, but you think we’re fools.” He turned and looked directly at me. “You may be giving a decent enough performance, as far as it goes, but I don’t believe for a moment that you came in here to get my opinion on spiritual retreats in the world of classical music.”
    I couldn’t think of a reply. He had nailed me, stripped away my artifice.
    â€œWhy don’t you just tell me what you really want?” he said, tapping on the desk with his nails.
    I thought it best to go ahead and level with him. But what and how much should he be told of what I had already found out?
    â€œI came into your room to ask for your opinion,” I said, “but not about the retreat.”
    â€œAbout what, then?”
    â€œWhether you think one of the members of the quartet could have murdered Will Gryder.”
    â€œOh, please!” he said in disgust. “Jesus! Don’t we have