Preludes, page 16
Did William expect her to ask him up? She never had before. No, he had pulled up into the little loop off the street, but he could not stay there. It was only a place to stop for a moment to let somebody in or out of a car. He clearly had no such expectations, else he would have parked on the street.
She squeezed her tired eyes closed for just a moment, then turned to him to thank him for the ride and say her goodnights.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” was his reply, and he leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. But he didn’t get out of the car to open her door, and he did not wait outside long enough to watch her get into the elevator.
Perhaps she should have been miffed, but deep down, she was relieved.
Morning, as happened so often, came too early. Anne winced against the insistent sunshine that invaded her bedroom and, when it became clear that there was no escape, shuffled out of bed and to the kitchen to start her coffee machine before heading off to shower.
Soon enough, clean and more awake, she sat with her steaming mug of wakefulness and a freshly toasted bagel and reached for her tablet to check her mail.
There was a quick note from William that said nothing of any real importance, a message from Sophia suggesting a time for coffee in a couple of days, and to her surprise, a short email from Marie.
Anne,
I am sad that you have not called once to check on Dylan. He is all recovered, not that you seem to care, and he is proud of his scar. If you had called to check in on me, you would know how much I need a night out. Come at seven tonight.
Marie
She glared at the screen. Pouring her hot coffee over the device would not help matters at all, and would only result in a damaged tablet and a loss of precious coffee. Of the two, the latter was more concerning to her right now. Of course, she had checked on Dylan. She had emailed Charles every day that first week, and then twice a week since. He had replied politely, even affectionately, but had insisted that Marie would not appreciate her calling anytime soon. How like her sister, only to reach out when she needed something.
She glared at the tablet for a moment longer, wondering how to respond. A certain string of bad words crossed her mind, but calling her sister out would not improve matters at all. Tonight. Marie wanted her to babysit tonight, and had not given her the choice to agree or not. It was a command, not a request.
As she considered what to say, the machine made its little pinging sound, a chime of bright pink that meant she had a new message. Was it from William again? His first note has just said good morning and that he’d be in touch later.
To her surprise, it was from Ben.
Hallo Anne,
Are you going to the concert tonight? If not, join me for a cuppa somewhere? I’d like to talk to you about something.
Ben
Tonight was the second performance of the season’s first program, with another performance scheduled for tomorrow. Fred would be on the podium, but Anne had not planned to attend, having made her bows at the very first concert. So Ben would be at a loose end, she understood, but what did he want to talk about? Something about his poetry? He had mentioned something about finding inspiration in Byron recently, despite Anne’s suggestions that he perhaps find some time to read more uplifting prose. A good novel with a happy ending can, after all, go a long way to raising gloomy spirits.
Still, this was as good an excuse as any to give to Marie, and she sent off a quick note to her sister.
I’m glad Dylan is all healed, but I’m sorry I can’t come by tonight. I have an important meeting.
There was no need to say that the meeting was with a friend over coffee to chew over poetry. The response came a minute later.
An important meeting? What can anyone want to talk to you about?
She did not reply.
One further message appeared later that morning, shortly before she dashed out the door to teach her classes at the university. This one was from Fred. It was a rather formulaic note, congratulating her on her Preludes and thanking her for being at the concert and at the party afterwards. It could all have come from a how-to guide, except for the final sentence.
You looked really nice last night. I was proud to be on stage with you.
If she didn’t know better, she would think that Fred was trying to flirt with her!
She met Ben as they arranged that evening. Instead of coffee, they chose to meet for dinner at a casual place near Fred’s building, close to High Park. It was on a less busy street, one enterprise in an eclectic collection of family homes, law offices, mosques, and the like, but it had good reviews and an interesting menu that suited her tastes. Ben was wearing his usual long-sleeved tunic-type shirt and black jeans despite the continuing summer heat, but something about him was very different. It was there, on his face: a smile!
They exchanged all the standard greetings and ordered their meals before Anne could control her curiosity no longer.
“Tell me! What has happened that has dispelled the grey cloud that usually hovers over you?”
“Ah, Annie, and I thought I was the poet! Yes, you’re exactly right. That is what I wanted to talk about tonight. I think I have met somebody who’s exorcised the ghost of Claudia from my mind and my heart.”
Anne’s brows rose. “Oh yes?” Who could it be? Ben had certainly carried his accustomed aura of gloom at the reception last night. She searched her memory, trying to work out what might have happened between then and now. The only person she had seen him talking to was…
“Louisa. The horn player. Do you know her well?”
Oh! Her face must have gone blank for a moment, because Ben peered at her with concern on his face. “Is everything alright? Did I say something I shouldn’t have? She’s not… touched in the head or anything, is she?”
“No, no! It’s fine. Yes, I know her a bit. But I thought she and Fred were a bit of an item.”
Ben screwed up his forehead. “That so? Frederico never said a word to me. I think they went out a few times in the summer, but he hasn’t mentioned her once since I’ve been staying with him. Maybe the attraction was more on her part than on his. She did talk about him quite a bit, the new handsome maestro and all that. I’ll ask him when he gets home tonight. I don’t want to be ‘that guy’ who steals his chum’s girlfriend.”
This was a surprise. Maybe Ben was right. Anne had only seen Louisa staring at Fred, not the other way around. Was it all on her part? She could hardly ask Fred himself, could she? “That sounds like a good idea.” Then, unable to help herself, “Let me know what he says.”
“Will do, Annie. He does go on about you a lot, though. I’ve asked him some rather pointed questions, and he just gives me that glower that could peel paint. Is there a story I should know?”
“He hasn’t told you? No, I suppose not. We were… we were together eight years ago, before he went to Europe. It ended badly.”
Ben’s mouth twisted into something like a sad smile.
“Sorry to hear that. He certainly doesn’t act like it was bad. He seems rather wistful, really. Sad rather than angry. But let’s not reopen old wounds. What can you tell me about Louisa the lovely? We started chatting about poetry last night. Did you know she writes as well? She has a few pieces that have been published in literary magazines and she’s collecting material to get a book together. I suggested we get together to read to each other…”
“Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
Ben laughed. “You are a naughty one, Annie. No, just reading. But if she and Frederico were at all together, I shall suggest another location. Maybe an evening by the lake? Let nature make besotted fools of us all? Is she the sort who would enjoy that?”
They talked for a while about Louisa, music, poetry, and hair colours. They seemed an odd couple, Ben so contemplative and reserved and Louisa so exuberant and obvious, but stranger things had happened. While a certain degree of commonality was good in a relationship, sometimes opposites did attract, if Louisa’s interest in Ben matched his in her. If these two could find that connection in their poetry, who was Anne to throw water on budding affection? And, after all, one meeting to read poetry was hardly tantamount to a lifelong commitment. Some lighthearted banter and frivolity would likely do sombre Ben a world of good.
“That was a fabulous concert last night. We loved the Holst and Beethoven. Your friend the maestro really breathed fresh life into them. I never knew that old chestnut of a symphony could sound so new. But the real treat was hearing your Preludes live. I boasted to everyone I could see at intermission that I knew the composer. Annie, you are just amazing!”
Anne and Jasmine were sitting at their favourite coffee shop, Percolations, near Anne’s condo. The early afternoon sun was bright on the streets and glared through the window, and Anne had pulled down the window blinds to block the rays before they even took their seats. Autumn would be on them soon enough, but summer was not giving up her reign without a fight.
The friends hadn’t seen each other since the night at the jazz club and had been looking forward to catching up. Now Jasmine grinned across the table at her, a cup of hot tea in front of her, her phone in her hands. Anne had been unable to get her friend comps to the first night of the season but had given her friend and Connor tickets to the second performance last night.
“So tell me about the reception,” Jasmine went on. “I saw all the photos on the orchestra’s Facebook page, but we all know that’s just a sliver of what happened. Was it fun?”
“You have stars in your eyes, Jaz. These things are never fun. Sometimes they’re more tolerable than other times, that’s all. This one was okay. It was a good thing that Fred was there. He’s the new darling and everyone was falling over themselves to flock around him, which meant they left me mostly alone.”
“You never were one for parties, were you? But you made your way into a few pictures. You looked really good. That dress is a great style for you, and your new hairstyle looks fabulous.”
Anne mumbled something she hoped sounded like thanks. One of these days, she really must learn to accept a compliment with grace.
“Here’s one of you with your friend Sophia. Who is that man next to you, the one with his hand on your back? He looks so familiar, almost like someone I once knew.” From the tightening of her eyes, this was not a welcome association.
“His name is William. William Barnett. He’s on the board of directors.”
Jasmine’s eyes tightened even more. “Oh.” Definitely not a good association. “Then it is him. He looks… he looks like he’s quite close to you.”
Was this suddenly an interrogation? “He’s been around since last spring. We’ve been out a few times.”
“You’re dating?” Her voice was quite cold.
“I don’t know if I’d call it dating. He’s asked me out a few times for things like gallery shows and bird-watching, but he’s never been romantic about it, if that makes any sense. He’ll be very familiar at one moment and then act the Regency gentleman the next, all formality and distance and whatnot. I don’t quite know how to label it.”
“Do you… like him?”
Anne laughed. “What are we, Jaz? In middle school? ‘Like him.’ It’s another case of I don’t know. I enjoy spending time with him. He’s intelligent and sophisticated and very interesting. I don’t know if I’d say no to something more, but I’m certainly not head over heels or anything.”
There was something in her friend’s face that made her ask, “Why? Is there something I should know?”
Jasmine gave her head a quick shake and her expression cleared. “No, no. Just some business stuff. Nothing to worry about.”
“Oh, okay. You’d let me know if he’s a serial killer or something, right?”
Now Jasmine laughed. “No, no, nothing like that at all. He’s just someone Connor rubbed up against once.”
This made more sense. If Connor had been involved in investing, it was not unreasonable that he might have had some dealings with William’s world. And sometimes things didn’t work out so well, so there might be some bad associations. Still, it was one more little burr that niggled at the corners of Anne’s mind.
Chapter Seventeen
Recitativo
The day held one more surprise.
Fred was waiting for her when she got back to her building later that afternoon. He was sitting in one of the comfortable chairs in the lobby, one argyle-socked ankle balanced upon his opposite knee. The concierge kept sending sidelong glances his way, and visibly relaxed as Anne walked up to him to greet him.
“Fred! What are you doing here? Don’t you have another performance tonight?” This was the last of the three concerts of the opening program.
He got to his feet and gave her a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. The concierge sent them another glance, eyes narrowed. To reassure him, Anne responded with the traditional European greeting, a kiss to one side, then the other, lips not quite touching his face. She felt centred when she was so close to him. Even his scent grounded her, something undefinable and warm, with a hint of cologne.
“I have to be at the theatre at half past seven, but there’s nothing really to do before the performance at this point. The musicians have to warm up, but we all know the music by now. I wondered if you’d like to grab a quick dinner before. It’s only five. It’s still a touch early to eat, but…” he shrugged. “Maybe just keep me company or have something light? I’ve got my tux at the theatre, so I’ll change there.”
Anne cast her eyes down at her shorts and t-shirt. “I just had coffee with Jasmine. Remember her from university? Jasmine Hamilton.” Fred’s eyes widened in recognition. “Now she’s Jasmine Smith. We got in touch over the summer. I’m sure she’d love to see you again too, sometime.”
“Yes. Of course. Dinner?”
“I’ll keep you company. Mind if I go up and change first? I’m dressed for the beach more than for a restaurant. You can come up if you want.”
Why had she offered that? William had never so much as been inside the building, let alone to her apartment. Of course, she shared a very different past with Fred than with William. When you had lived with somebody, the boundaries changed a great deal.
Fred followed her into the elevator with the easy gait of someone who was completely at home. He had, after all, been to her flat once before. And had left it once before as well. He made some meaningless comments about the decor and the carpet, and then stood in silence by her side while she unlocked her door and let him inside.
“Just a moment. Make yourself comfortable. I think there’s iced tea in the fridge. Glasses are above the microwave.” Thank heavens she had tidied up a bit this morning. She had the habit of leaving her dishes strewn all over the counters before washing everything in one load at night, and dangling her robe over the back of whatever chair looked lonely. There was still a pile of note paper on her desk in the corner and a book of crossword puzzles splayed open on the coffee table, but the place was presentable.
She slipped into her bedroom and shucked her shorts and t-shirt in favour of a light summer dress, and then grabbed a cardigan in case the restaurant was cold. She pulled a comb through her hair, dabbed at her nose with a powder brush, and tapped on some tinted lip balm. The whole production had taken less than five minutes. Cinderella’s fairy godmother would be proud.
“Looking good, Anne.” Fred’s eyes slid up and down her form as she emerged. He had not found anything to drink, but stood at the sliding door to the postage-stamp sliver of a balcony. “Nice view. Do you like it here?”
A bit of an odd question, but he was probably just trying to be polite. The last time he was in her apartment, after all, they had not exactly been discussing the scenery. “Yes. It’s just the right size for me and it’s convenient to everything. A little noisy, sometimes, being in the middle of the city, but I have good noise-cancelling headphones for when I need silence.”
He turned his body to take in the flat. It was small but comfortable. The living room was just big enough for a couch and chair and her desk along one wall, with another area that made do as a cosy dining room before the counter that marked off the kitchen. His eye seemed approving.
“I’ve got more space, but I’m further out, closer to High Park. I think you met Ben nearby last night. You know the area. You should come over sometime. Jeremy helped me find it, and Sophia gave it the nod of approval. I think you’d like it.”
She blinked. Why was he being so warm? He was the one who had left her last July, after all. But she said nothing about that and smiled. “Sure.” What else could she say?
They found a small trattoria part way between her building and the concert hall. It was off the main street and a little poky, but it had the tremendous advantage of being quiet so they could talk and not shout at each other over the din of bad music and loud patrons.
“I’ve been here a few times,” Fred explained. “It’s not much to look at, but the food is fabulous.”
He ordered some fish; Anne got a salad. They shared some bruschetta to start. It was, as Fred suggested, excellent.
“Did you have something you wanted to talk about?” she asked as they started on their food. “Or am I just convenient company?”
He looked at her, his fork part-way between plate and mouth. “You’re never just anything, Anne. I did have something I wanted to talk about, but I also wanted to see you, ask how you’re doing. We didn’t have a chance to chat at the reception.” His fork resumed its journey, and he took a bite of his meal. “So, how have you been? Were you pleased with the performance?”
They talked for a while about the concert, about how the performance built upon her original vision of the piece and how the orchestra brought so many little details to life. The conversation ranged from there to the Holst and the Beethoven, and from there to Anne’s current projects. Finally, they got back to the reception, just as the waiter brought Fred his espresso and Anne her cup of tea.
