A minute later, I could just barely see Gail alighting from the train at the very farthest point of the island’s northeastern tip. She went directly to a white convertible that was parked next to a big white trailer truck. From the sports car’s trunk, Gail produced a can and walked it over to a large rusted trash receptacle. She tossed something white into the bin, poured the contents of the can over it, and must have tossd in a lit match as well, because by the time I got to her side, flames were pluming up from the bin and I could smell the seductive scent of burning gasoline. I could also see Toby Ackland sitting in the driver’s seat of the white Jag convertible, feet propped up on the dashboard.

“Gail,” I called, “come back to the rehearsal! They just weren’t expecting something so avant-garde, that’s all.” I was next to her now. I indicated the subsiding flames in the trash bin.“What are you doing?”

“Burning the score to Swing,” she said, her angry eyes more ablaze than the fire she’d started. “My score for the piano, yours for the orchestra. No one laughs at my music, no one. The hell with them.”

I had to remind myself how upset she had every right to be. I looked to see if I could salvage the music she had burned. I had the Photostatic copy of my own orchestration at the hotel, thank God, but it would have been far better to preserve her original piano score. I still believed the piece was remarkable.

There was a man in a slouch cap sleeping in the front seat of the white truck beside us and I thought of waking him to see if he had a fire extinguisher, but it was already too late. The gasoline had served its purpose.

“Gail,” I said, “let’s go back. They’re all very apologetic.”

Toby Ackland inquired over his shoulder from the driver’s seat of the Jag, “Do you want to stay, Gail? I can pick you up later if you like.”

“No, we’re leaving,” she advised him. He dutifully started the car’s engine.

I protested, “Gail, don’t go by their first reaction. What you composed is brilliant!”

Gail snapped, “Yes, you’re right. For all I know, it’s your arrangement that loused things up! The piece sounds great on piano, you said so yourself. Today was the first time I heard how you voiced it. It sounded pretty laughable to me, too.”

God almighty, so now it was going to be my fault? I had to remember that she’d just lost her mother. I was all she had now. And yet I kept thinking of Russ Hewett meeting her in the lobby of the Hotel Oakland.

“Gail. There is nothing wrong with my arrangement,” I said as calmly as I could manage.