Raisins and almonds - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)

Raisins and Almonds 141
Phryne walked away across the empty hall as the argument
bloomed behind her. Voices were raised. Phryne could not understand
Yiddish, which was probably what they were speaking.
Phryne felt alien and isolated. As Solly leapt to his feet to
pound the table, the gawky boy Louis opened a violin case,
tucked the instrument under his chin, and began to play.
Not a popular tune, but Bach. Not a Jewish song, but the
Ave Maria. His skill was partly constrained by the cheap instrument,
but each note was perfect, full and round. Phryne, who
had been about to go into Drummond Street out of the sound
of the quarrel, sat down. Louis did not see her or notice her
appreciation. His eyes were shut. His strong fingers shifted and
pinned each note to its pitch. It was not the over-emotional
rendering expected of a boy, a sob in every string, but a mature
performance good enough for the Albert Hall.
He completed the work, sighed, then opened his eyes, propped
his score open at Violin Concerto in A Minor: allegro assai and began
to play phrases, trying them one way and then another.
‘Bach is difficult,’ offered Phryne, wanting to hear Louis’
voice.
‘Nah,’ said the boy, as if he was speaking to himself. His accent
was pure Carlton. ‘Bach’s controlled. It’s the wild ones that are
crook for me. Tchaikowsky. The Brahmns gypsy dances. Ravel’s
flamin’ Bolero. Bach’s simple,’ he said, and tried the phrase again,
now faster, now slower.
He was a pleasure to listen to, so Phryne listened.
Louis had worked his way through the whole of the Violin
Concerto in A and was well into the Concerto for Two Violins and
Strings in D Minor when Phryne heard the ordinarily placid
Simon shout ‘Zoll zein shah!’
This brought almost instant silence.
‘Enough!’ He pounded the table in turn, so that one of the
cups dropped and smashed. ‘Make up your minds! Either we
tell the lady or we don’t! I can’t stand any more of this endless
arguing, round and round and round in circles!’