She bought a house outside the town, about half a mile down one of those quiet roads that wind through the Suffolk countryside. It was a large old house, with walls of wattle and daub, oak-beamed, and painted on the outside in that extraordinary soft pink colour that one sees in parts of the Suffolk countryside. It had large gardens, five acres or more, with lawns and a rather overgrown pond. Sheep had ruined part of the garden before she bought it, but she repaired the fence and kept them out. The sheep looked in, with grumpy expressions on their faces.

La started her orchestra after a friend suggested that they invite an orchestra from London to entertain them with a concert. La was feeling cross with London, because another friend had made a patronising remark about people who live in the countryside.

‘No need to invite anybody from London here,’ she sniffed. ‘We’re perfectly able to form our own orchestra.’

‘Are we?’ said one of her friends. She sounded doubtful.

‘Of course we are!’ snapped La, now quite convinced that this was what should be done.

‘There’s plenty of talent here. An abundance.’ She waved her hand airily in the direction of the window.

Her friend looked outside. The lawns, over which the evening sun was setting, were touched with gold. There were two pigeons cooing somewhere. But there did not seem to be any orchestral talent.

Undaunted, La proceeded to speak to the editor of the local paper. He listened to her seriously. These people, he thought, come up with some very odd suggestions, but this was surely one of the oddest. Discreetly, unseen by La, he scribbled on his pad: La’s Orchestra.

2

At least the editor of the paper had the grace to admit that he had been wrong. It turned out that not only was there a great deal of musical talent in the area, but it was talent of a reasonably high level. A number of retired players from great London orchestras offered their services, and many others, some coming from as far away as Cambridge, wanted to play. It was, it seemed, a thin time in the orchestral world, and the possibility of the occasional booking in return for dinner at La’s house and a rail ticket to and from the concert was enough for many musicians. In the manner of a skilled manipulator, La knew how to persuade and encourage, and people found themselves committed to a far greater extent than they had bargained for at the outset.

Most of the players were not professionals, though they were competent amateurs. There were two, indeed, who had spent time studying music at academies, and some who could have done so, had life worked out rather differently for them. Then there was a handful of what were known as the weaker brethren. They, like those of a church congregation who were more likely to falter, were generously watched over by their more talented colleagues. Difficult passages of music were explained, tactfully, and, sometimes, whispered help was given: ‘I’ll do it. Just follow if you can.’