Preludes, page 19
“Oh? More poems?”
Fred’s face clouded for a second. Then he replied, “No, some investigative piece that fell into his lap. He is a journalist, after all. That’s his bread and butter. I think he enjoys the research and the digging as much as the writing. When he is at the apartment, as often as not, he has his head buried in his laptop, looking up this or that. That’s all I know right now.”
It was clear he didn’t have anything else to say about it, so Anne moved her remarks to the paintings, and they wandered through the gallery until it was time for Fred to head off to his rehearsal.
Hi Anne, it’s William. I’m finally back in town. Dinner tonight? Maybe somewhere fancy? Call when you have a moment.
She had returned his call, and they chatted about nothing for a while before making their plans. A nice restaurant, somewhere smart enough for her to dress up and put on more than her usual light makeup. Eyeshadow, mascara, and some lipstick that promised to stay on even through a meal. She found an elegant skirt in her closet, all black lace over a satin underskirt, and matched it with a silk blouse in a soft peach colour. Sophia had insisted it was a lovely shade for her complexion, and she had bought it solely on her friend’s recommendation. A pair of pearl earrings and a pearl necklace completed the ensemble, and she hoped William would approve.
When he arrived to pick her up, his smile suggested her efforts were appreciated. He was in a dark blue suit, not too formal for a weeknight out, but certainly smart enough that he would not be out of place anywhere but at the most high-toned of events. Once more, he was the perfect gentleman. He got out of his car when he saw her coming through the lobby and opened her door for her, planting a kiss on her cheek before handing her into the passenger’s seat.
His hand on the small of her back felt familiar now, comfortable even, and she liked how secure it made her feel. But there was no thrill. She was still waiting for the thrill. Still, comfort and gentle satisfaction were not things to reject, and she was pleased to be out with him again.
They made their way into the elegant restaurant William had selected. The maître d’ led them through the gently lit space, their feet all but silent on the carpeted floor, wending between well-spaced tables with crisp white linens. All about them the ambiance whispered of the belle époque, all art nouveau in warm tones with gothic touches to give some whimsy, and a fabulous, vaulted ceiling.
“Your table, sir,” the man pulled out a chair for Anne. But William did not sit. Instead, he lifted his head to glance at a couple at a table nearby. The man there waved and William walked over.
The couple were an elegant pair, possibly in their 60s, very smart and handsome and beautifully dressed. He had thick white hair cut exactly to bring out his best features and wore a beautiful dark grey suit; she sported a stylish short haircut that made no attempts to allude to lost youth and a long-sleeved pearl-coloured dress. Both smiled at William and gazed with curiosity at Anne.
William exchanged a word or two with them, then called Anne over. The maître d’ nodded and returned to his station and Anne rose to join William at the other table.
“Anne, please meet a business acquaintance of mine, Pierre Gaultier. Pierre, Madame Gaultier, my dear friend Anne Elliot. You have surely heard of her. She’s the brilliant composer behind Preludes and the movie score for The Butterfly’s Kiss.”
“A pleasure.” Pierre rose to shake her hand, and his wife’s face broke into a radiant smile.
“Enchantée! I have, of course, heard of you. It is really you? You are so young and beautiful.” The lady spoke with a marked French accent, although her English was perfect. “What an honour to meet you.”
“Say, William,” Pierre now remarked, “we have just arrived. We only have our drinks. This is a large table. Will you join us? Or is this a, er, more intimate dinner?”
William turned to Anne, who shrugged and smiled.
“Thank you, Pierre. We’d be delighted.”
“I’ll see about having more places set.” Pierre strode off to make his request, and in moments the maître d’ had returned with a waiter and the table was transformed to seat four with comfort.
By now Madame Gaultier had insisted she be called Monique, and the four settled in with their menus to make their selections. William insisted they refrain from talking about his and Pierre’s business dealings, but encouraged Anne to talk about music. The Gaultiers were both great music lovers, and their intelligent comments and insightful discussion were the perfect accompaniment to a delicious meal.
They lingered over dessert and coffee, and it was very late when they rose at last. “I’ll call you tomorrow, Pierre. We can talk about the project then.” William gave his associate’s hand a firm shake.
“Very well. And let’s discuss that development you have going on again. I’m very interested. A real pleasure, Doctor Elliot. Anne. With your permission, I’ll dine out on this evening’s conversation for months. I shall be the envy of all my friends.”
The car ride home was not long, the day’s heavy traffic long since having disappeared as people returned to their homes and families. William drove skillfully, as always, a contented grin upon his face.
“You charmed them, Anne. You always do. One word and you have people enchanted.”
She fought a blush, although she knew he couldn’t see it. Why did she always turn red at the first compliment? “I don’t always feel that way. I’m usually so tongue-tied I can hardly remember my name. I don’t have the gift of the gab some people have, yourself included.”
“Perhaps we can arrange a trip to Ireland. Kiss the Blarney Stone. But you really don’t need it. Your intelligence and thoughtful opinions are a far greater gift than being able to shape words into pretty sentences. Anybody with the first bit of sense will hang on your every utterance.”
They arrived at her building, and once more he motioned for her to stay in her seat as he leapt from the car to open her door and hand her out. This time, instead of the expected peck at her cheek, he put a finger under her chin and touched his lips to hers.
It was nice. It was comfortable. It felt pleasant. But there was no spark.
“Call you tomorrow, Anne. Thanks for a really delightful evening.”
And he was off.
As she puttered about in her apartment, washing off the day and getting ready for bed, her thoughts wandered through the evening. She had liked meeting the Gaultiers, had found a great deal in common with Monique, had enjoyed an exceptional meal. And she had been flattered by William’s kiss. But when she turned off the lights and closed her eyes, it was still Fred’s face she saw.
Chapter Twenty
Appassionato
This scene was replayed several times over the next couple of weeks. William would invite her out to dinner, to a gallery, or to a show, and each time he would greet her with displays of growing affection. The hand on her back became a more serious embrace; the peck on the cheek became a kiss on the lips. Always careful, never too demanding, but more intimate all the same. When they met people William knew, as almost always happened at such events, for this was where that set were to be found, he introduced her as tenderly as he would a lover and doted upon her with an obvious adoration. If there began to be more noise going around concerning their relationship, William was the orchestrator of it.
And all through it, Anne did not object to his intimacies, but she was still waiting for that spark.
“When did you know Jeremy was the one for you?” She and Sophia were sitting on Sophia’s expansive balcony near the end of October, gazing out over the ravine below and the towers of the city centre in the near distance. “Was there a single moment or was it something that grew slowly?”
It was early evening, and the sky was showing off to the world with its fiery display of golds and reds and blues. Trumpets, trombones, and lush strings, with the sultry swing of jazz lurking just beneath the surface. They were sipping cocktails tonight instead of their usual tea, letting the warmth of an outdoor heater and warm jackets protect them from the growing chill of the autumn air.
Sophia lowered her crystal glass to her lap. “Why do you ask? Are you… are these rumours about you and William Barnett true?” She assessed her friend from under carefully plucked eyebrows. “I knew at once with Jeremy. He came into my life like a piece of a puzzle that I didn’t know was missing. I was happy before I met him, but when I did, he just fit. And once he was there, I could not imagine life without him. William…?”
Anne shook her head. “I’m trying to work this out for myself. I’ve been going out with him now and then since June. I like him, and I always enjoy the time we spend together, but when he’s busy or away, I don’t miss him. Not like—”
The eyebrows rose again. Oops. She shouldn’t have said that.
“Not like who? Come on, Annie. Fess up. You’ve been keeping something secret for too long. What, exactly, is your past with Frederico the Beautiful? Did you two once date or something?”
“Something.” It came out as a mumble. She took a sip of her drink, hiding behind the brim again.
“Anne?”
She sighed. She would have to divulge her great secret sooner rather than later. Now was as good a time as any to start. “We were together, back when we were at university. It was… It was pretty serious.”
Sophia gave her that look again. “How serious? Anne, I can’t believe you never said anything. What happened? Was it just another case of young love not lasting?”
“No. We were really committed.” She would not say just how much. “I thought it was forever. Then Fred was invited to study in Europe and I was all set to drop my degree and go with him. I told my supervisor and she, well, she started working on me. You’ve met Professor Russell. She can be persuasive.”
“Overpowering, you mean,” Sophia huffed. She clearly knew and did not much like the professor.
“I was young and easily led. Too easily. I know that now. I’m glad I finished my doctorate, but I’ve learned a lot about myself since then. I’m not that insecure girl anymore, the one who could be swayed with talk of prudence and responsibility. She told me it would never last with Fred, that I deserved more than to be second fiddle to a conductor, that I was throwing away my future. And at the time, I believed her. But now I see it was wrong. My future is wherever I want it to be. I can write anywhere I have a thought in my head and a scrap of paper. I don’t need to choose between my profession and my heart.”
She blinked back tears that had suddenly gathered in the corners of her eyes. “I’ve realised over the years that I could have had success and romance. That I could have been happy. But it’s too late now.”
In an instant, Sophia had put down her glass and was at Anne’s side to wrap her in a hug. “Oh, Annie. Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
Sniff. “What would have been the point? It was over. So badly over. Nothing could be done, so I just moved on. Or rather, I tried to.”
“And here we’ve been, Jeremy and I, rubbing him in your face all this time.”
Anne grabbed a piece of the paper serviette that sat beside her drink and mopped at her eyes. “It’s alright, Soph. We’re both adults about this. One of the things that I loved about Fred was how fair he is, how genuinely good. He’d never take out his feelings on me professionally. And really, those first days of bitterness are gone. We’ve become friends again.”
Sophia returned to her seat, and the two sat in silence as the sun dipped below the horizon, taking its multihued mantle with it. The darkness was warm and comfortable, the ceramic heater warding off the breeze that brought more than a hint of the winter to come. It was a soft blanket for the soul, a place to hide and heal, and neither woman made any attempt to move, or even to speak. The peace between them was eloquent in itself.
The tranquillity was broken by a sound from inside the apartment, and Jeremy appeared at the balcony door.
“Ladies,” his voice carried through the glass. “I wondered if I’d find you there. Isn’t it cold? Come inside. I brought cheesecake, and a guest.”
Anne and Sophia looked at each other, eyes alight. “Cheesecake!” they exclaimed in unison and hurried inside.
There was Jeremy, a grin on his face, and a large strawberry-covered cheesecake on the table next to him. And just behind him stood Fred.
Anne did not need to look at Sophia to know what she was thinking.
Fred stepped forward to greet Sophia with the European-style double cheek kiss; his similar greeting to Anne was less perfunctory, his hand moving around her shoulders to pull her into a brief embrace as his lips touched the edge of her ear. She shivered at the contact, and not from the cold.
“What are we waiting for?” Was Jeremy really oblivious to the change of energy in the room? Or was he overcompensating? “Soph, my love, will you do the honours? I’ll put on some espresso.”
The two Crofts bustled about for a moment at their respective tasks, refusing all help from their guests. “Nice to see you, Annie. Now that you’ve had a chance to go over things in your mind, what did you think of the rehearsal the other day? Are you pleased with how the orchestra is doing with your symphony? We should schedule a proper meeting sometime to talk about details, but I’d love your general impressions.”
Shop talk was safe, and they batted about some vague ideas for a minute until Sophia and Jeremy had the table all ready. Beautiful tiny espresso mugs, each decorated with the image of a famous piece of art, sat evenly spaced around the table, the steam rising from them, redolent with the rich aroma of the strong coffee. Beside each was a plate, its pattern obscured by a rather too-large slice of the cheesecake and some extra strawberry sauce.
Anne sat by the Monet cup; she was certain that when she finished her cake, which she had no doubt she would do, the plate would shine up at her with the same image as the cup. Jeremy took his seat by the Picasso, Sophia by the Renoir, and Fred took the Klimt. The Kiss. Of course he would.
“I was at the orchestra’s offices to talk to Kevin Walters, and Fred came in to confer with him about something for next year’s program. I waited and then brought him home.” Jeremy preened, a cat proud of his conquest.
“Your friend William arrived just as we left.” Fred’s voice went icy as he said the name. “He said something about a committee of some sort.”
“The corporate outreach committee,” Jeremy explained. “I’m more interested in building bridges with different arts organisations and with youth. Good thing we have folks like Barnett on board to do the boring business talk. He’s good with that lot, schmoozing with the presidents and owners of this company and that. The man certainly knows where to find money. Like the nose on a bloodhound, that one. Just sniffs them out.”
“Yes…” Fred still did not sound impressed. “Just like a dog.”
They turned their attention to the treat before them, as oohs and ahhs replaced all talk of finance and management. Anne had no hopes that Sophia would let her confession out on the balcony drop completely, but perhaps she would leave the topic for tonight, at least. Anne glanced at the ornamental clock on the wall. When would she be able to leave and not seem rude? Maybe after one more sip?
Her hopes were dashed when Sophia glanced up from the rim of her whimsical espresso cup and turned her gaze directly at Fred.
“I’ve heard rumours, Maestro, that you and my friend Anne here are not new acquaintances.”
Fred’s face went white. Anne wanted to fall through the floor. “No,” he tested the word. “The rumour is true. We… We knew each other at university. That’s no secret.”
“The rumours also say that you were rather more than just classmates.”
“I was a few years ahead of her. We were never classmates.”
“Let me tease you, Fred. I’ve wheedled some of this out of Annie already. So you two were an item? What did they call it then? It’s not so long ago. She was your girlfriend? Your ‘significant other?’”
Fred put down his cup and squared himself to the table. Anne knew what was coming, and the room swayed around her. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. But he did.
The great conductor’s voice was so low it was almost inaudible, but there was no question of what he said.
“She was my wife.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Variation Two
The impromptu party broke up very soon thereafter. Fred wouldn’t divulge anything more, but explained that he had an early rehearsal and needed to go over his music. He said polite goodbyes and left with scarcely an extra word. Anne, likewise, scrambled for excuses to leave.
“We’ll talk about this soon,” Sophia murmured to Anne as she put on her light autumn coat. Was this a promise or a threat? No matter which, there would be no escape from her friend’s well-intentioned curiosity.
Anne spent the next morning working on a new piece. This was another component of her position as composer-in-residence for the orchestra. Rather than a full symphony this time, she was asked to write a shorter work, something suitable for the first piece on a concert program. Often, this would be an overture or a symphonic poem. Or a set of songs or dances. Just as her Preludes had opened the season and her symphony would close it, she would welcome audiences back in January with another short introductory piece. She had several ideas in mind and had been jotting down notes and themes for months, and the piece was all but complete in her mind long before she began to set it out in her computer program.
She was enrapt enough in this task, so consumed by the tones and melodies that filled her head, that she quite lost track of time. Only when her stomach began to nag at her did she realise that she had taken only a bite of her oatmeal and had completely missed lunch, half of her morning coffee now cold in its mug.
