Preludes, page 20
Two o’clock! How did that happen? She pushed back from her chair and rubbed at complaining muscles in her back, then grumbled to the kitchen to put on the kettle and make a sandwich. A glance at her silenced phone informed her that she had missed a few messages. One was from Fred.
Sorry about last night. I didn’t know what else to say. Forgive me? But we should talk. I’ll call when I’m finished rehearsal.
There was also an email from Marie, explaining how she had finally forgiven her sister for her gross negligence last summer, and how she really needed a night out. She would expect Anne at seven this evening.
Anne massaged the back of her neck. It was Wednesday. William always had meetings on Wednesday nights, and Fred’s message had said nothing about plans. She replied to Marie, agreeing to the command, and then sent a separate message to Charles saying that she had to be home by ten, so he should keep any plans for the evening appropriately short. It was useless trying to talk to her sister about things like that.
She had a quick meal and returned to her work with a happier stomach. She had all but completed the outline for the short set of miniatures when her phone rang. It was Fred. She hit save on her computer and took the call.
“Hi. You must have known I was just about finished thinking for the day.”
“Hi yourself.” He sounded tired. “What are you working on?”
“The concert opener for January. I’ve had these ideas floating around for a while. Instead of an overture, I’m writing a three-part set of images. Think Monet, but in music. I don’t have a title yet, but I might just call them Impressions. It should be about fifteen minutes long in total.”
She heard some clicks from the other end of the line. He must be looking something up on his laptop.
“That sounds perfect. It will go nicely with the Mozart clarinet concerto, which is about half an hour.” He paused. “Look, Annie, about last night…”
“Don’t worry about it, Fred. She was bound to find out at some point. We should talk.”
Another pause, much longer this time. Was he still there? Just before she drew breath to ask, he cleared his throat. “Yeah. I suppose we should. But here’s something else. Do you want to come over tomorrow night for a bit? Ben has been complaining he hasn’t seen you in ages—”
“He’s the one who is always busy!”
“—and he wants to have you over. I’ll be your chaperone.”
She spat out a laugh. “Yes. We definitely need a chaperone.”
“Will you come? You haven’t seen the place at all and I’ve been here for months.”
Now she paused. Going to her ex’s condo carried with it all sorts of strange associations, but this was just a friendly get-together. Besides which, Ben would be there. It was his invitation, after all.
“Sure. What time? Send me the address so I know I’m going to the right place.”
Fred had taken a suite near High Park, where Anne and William had gone with their cameras so many months before. It was not a shiny new building, but neither was it old, and it spoke of a quieter elegance than some of the more recent flashy buildings that had sprung up around the city like dandelions after a spring rain.
His apartment, when she entered it, was welcoming and chic, decorated with a discerning eye. This was a far cry from the tiny place they had shared so long ago, with paper posters on the walls and blankets tacked up over the windows because they couldn’t afford curtains.
Ben welcomed her inside as if it were his own home. “Anne, love, come in. I’ve put on the kettle for a cuppa, but we have wine and cider in the fridge, and all sorts of yummies to eat. I hope you came hungry. Frederico just got home. He’ll be out soon. Let me take your coat.” He bustled about, divesting her in moments of her jacket and scarf.
Now she had a moment to take full stock of the place Fred called home. She looked around as Ben hung up her outerwear. The apartment was larger than she expected, with a separate kitchen and a dining room nook off the main living space, and a tiny room by the balcony that looked to be a study. She glanced down a short hallway. There were three doors. Two bedrooms and a bathroom? It must be so, if Ben had been staying here for so long.
The living room, eggshell white and wood with a dark green couch and set of chairs, was dominated by a black baby grand piano in one corner. Fred’s cello was propped up on a chair beside it. A music stand, almost lost behind a pile of music, filled the space by the wall. She smiled at the sight of it. She hadn’t realised he still played. What memories that brought back, the two of them in their tiny flat, playing through sonatas and concertos and their own compositions, he on his cello, the sound damped by a heavy mute, she on an electronic keyboard with the volume turned low. She closed her eyes, lost in the past, until Ben’s footsteps recalled her to the present.
“Come, help yourself. I took the liberty of pouring you something.”
He led her to the nook that was the dining room. The table, as promised, was laden with treats sweet and savoury. Ben handed her a glass of sherry and had just suggested they sit when Fred emerged from one of the rooms down the hall. He must have showered when he came home, because his dark hair was still damp where it curled over the collar of his white linen shirt.
He greeted Anne with a hand on the back of her arm and his accustomed double cheek kiss. Fresh from the shower, he smelled good. He was not one for cologne or fragrance, but she recognised the citrus aroma of his shampoo. Funny that he still used the same product all these years later. She took a deep breath, enjoying the scent. She missed that. She had never noticed how William smelled, but then she had never seen him fresh from the shower.
They helped themselves to heaping plates of snacks. Being with two men, Anne felt no shame in the large portions of chips and dip and baked cheese buns that she took. There would be no judgement. She was not one to be embarrassed by her enjoyment of good food, but she was aware of taking smaller helpings when out with her women friends. Now she could go back for more without a second thought, and later would help herself to the cookies and two-bite brownies that taunted her from their plate in the centre of the little feast. Satisfied with her selection, she took a seat on the comfortable chesterfield and let Ben direct the conversation.
They chatted for a while about his adventures in the city and the new areas he had discovered. “I borrowed Frederico’s bike for a day,” he explained around a mouthful of corn chips, “and followed the path along the Humber River. We have a Humber too, back home, but it’s a rather different creature. Ours is wide and flat and open; yours snakes along, hidden behind tall trees and mossy paths. It was a great adventure and I’m going to do it again, hopefully with Louisa, if her head allows it. She doesn’t get dizzy anymore. I’m not a great rider like our friend here, but I’m adequate for a trip in town. Lou has a bike, so when she has a break, and feels ready for an adventure, we’ll make a day of it.”
The conversation moved to Anne’s new composition, which she had made good progress on earlier in the day, and then to Marie.
“Charles sent me a note and mentioned you were going there last night. How did it go?” Fred explained the situation to his friend in a few short words and then sat back to listen to Anne.
“It was fine. Marie acted like nothing had ever been wrong, other than that I haven’t been doing my aunt-like duty by coming to babysit every week. The boys seemed happy to see me, though, and Charles was gracious as ever. Luckily, they had school today, so I didn’t have to entertain them all night. We played for a bit, had a story, and I put them to bed. Then I started scoring the second movement of Impressions. I hope you’ll like it, Fred. It’s based on that bike ride we did with Sophia and Jeremy last spring, just after you came back. The vines and the grapes and the river all called to me until I turned them into music. May I?”
She gestured to the piano. Both men nodded. Anne put down her plate and moved to the bench. She tried a few chords and, satisfied that the instrument was in tune and that the action of the keys was comfortable, she began to play. It was only a few bars, two or three minutes at most, but it would give the men a sense of her idea. The steady, regular progression of the staked vines, the riotous glorious abstract growth of lush leaves and fruit, the mighty and relentless press of the great Niagara River broken up with little waves and splashes upon its banks, all these were now notes and melodies and harmonic progressions, sometimes separate, sometimes layered, other times in counterpoint. She spoke up above her playing, explaining something here or there.
“This section will be brass, with a strong bass line… here I’m going to let the winds take the melody, with the strings con sordino and a whisper of tympany… I was thinking of solo cello here, with commentary from the English horn and bassoon….”
She finished and returned to her seat, then went to refill her plate.
“Bravo, Anne. I can hear exactly what you mean. It will be terrific.” Fred’s words were warm and genuine. Ben just sat there with a goofy smile on his face.
“I am in awe. I knew you were famous, but now I’ve realised what rarified company I’m keeping. Fabulous!” He took a sip of his beer. “What’s that solo cello part again, Anne?” he asked. “Do you have the music for that?”
She pulled out her tablet and called up the program she used. She handed it to him.
“Oh, not me, dear. I can’t read a note other than Middle C, and then only if it’s circled in red with an arrow pointing to it. Show it to our friend here. He bashes that great ugly guitar from time to time.” He winked and looked over at the cello.
Fred took the tablet and hummed a couple of notes, his fingers moving up and down as he did so, pulling phantom music from the air. Then he took the tablet to the music stand beside the piano and picked up the cello and settled it between his knees. He tightened the bow and plucked the strings. It was in tune with the piano. He must have played it earlier today.
He put the bow on the strings and in a moment the room was filled with the lush sounds of the instrument, chocolate and velvet, the reddish-tinted tones of the notes a perfect complement to the wood and green of his decor. Anne had forgotten how gifted he was. Had he not taken up the baton, he could have had a good career on the concert stage as a cellist.
“Play with him, Annie,” Ben invited. It sounded like an acceptable idea, and she did so, joining him with the murmuring undercurrent of harmony, punctuated by the contrapuntal comments from the cor anglais and bassoon lines.
“You two sound wonderful together. What a treat this is. If I were less scrupulous a gent, I’d have you do it again, and I’d record it and upload the whole thing to YouTube in a moment. But say…” Ben paused. “Come back and pour yourselves another drink each. I have an announcement that needs celebrating, and then, perhaps, a great favour to ask.”
“An announcement?” Fred’s arched eyebrows matched Anne’s surprised thoughts.
Ben’s expression now became sheepish. “I should have had Louisa here too. But she preferred I just tell you by myself. We’ll want a drink with this one. Those glasses are empty.” Anne poured herself another sherry and then sat while Fred refilled his glass as well.
“Louisa and I,” the Englishman blurted with a smile that all but split his face, “are getting married.”
There was a moment of absolute silence. Then Fred leapt up to give his friend a shoulder clap. “Congratulations, old man! That’s wonderful news.”
Was it? Anne supposed it was, although Fred’s response seemed forced. Perhaps it was just her own internal turmoil that clouded her impressions. Ben and Louisa. Louisa and Ben. She supposed it was good news after all, and she joined in the celebrations.
“It’s a bit sudden, though,” Fred continued. “You’ve really just met.”
Ben shook his head. “Not at all, man. When it’s right, you know. Have you never been in love? Have you never met the person you didn’t know you were missing? No, I suppose not, otherwise she’d be here with you right now.”
I am! Everything in Anne’s being wanted to shout this out. She could not look at Fred at all, for fear of what his eyes would say. Would he be looking at her with disdain, full of relief that he had escaped a lifetime tied to her? Or would he be full of longing for what he had given up? She remembered those words, whispered so long ago. You complete me. You are what I never knew I needed. You are the music my soul craved. She didn’t know which would bring her greater pain.
She sensed Fred tense up beside her, but he didn’t say a word. What could he say, after all? It was evident Ben knew nothing of their history, and it was probably better that way. The man’s biggest concern was probably that Fred and Louisa had been something of an item only two months ago. The tension in the room was all but palpable to Anne and seemed to last an eternity. But Ben seemed oblivious to all of this. Why should he notice, after all? It did not involve him at all, and he was all wrapped up in his own joy. He had no reason to expect so much drama to be playing out in silence around him.
“We were hoping,” the prospective groom went on, “that the two of you would help with the music for the wedding. Would you play something? I knew you were both fabulous musicians, but hearing you play together, well, it was magical. Would you? Perhaps you know of some suitable piece of music. Some Bach, or Ave Maria, or something else that you like.”
“As long as it’s not Pachelbel’s Canon,” Fred groaned, breaking the tension between them. Anne laughed. That popular piece was the bane of cellists everywhere, those same eight notes repeating again and again until the poor musician’s fingers were ready to fall off from sheer boredom.
“I’ll do you one better.” Anne spoke without thinking. Where did this idea come from? She groaned to herself, but the offer was already being made. “I’ll write you something. When is the wedding?”
Now Ben went red. “You can change your mind, Anne. I know you’re a busy creature. My six months as a visitor come up in late February, and we need to get some legal stuff out of the way, either here or in England. Probably both. We were hoping for late January, maybe mid-February if necessary. We need to find someone official to do the official necessaries. I’ll go home over Christmas to see the folks, and then, when I get back, we’ll make it all legal.”
“Late January or February?” She did a quick mental tabulation of her commitments. “I can manage that if you don’t expect anything too long. It’s only for two instruments. Fred? What do you think?”
He walked to her side and put an arm around her shoulders. “I think we can manage. We’ll make time to rehearse. Ben, I’d be honoured.”
They celebrated for a while longer before Fred went serious. “Where will you live? How long will it take to get the paperwork sorted?”
Bed shrugged. “We’ll live wherever we can. I know you want Louisa for the final concert, for Anne’s symphony. We’ve already discussed this. If we have to move to the UK, she won’t leave till after the season is over. Even if we have to be in different countries for a while, we’re prepared to manage. Maybe I can get some sort of temporary residency so I can fly back and forth for a while. What’s important is that we’ll be together in the end. What happens in the short term is just a detail. We’re in this for the long game. We won’t let a bit of inconvenience get in the way.”
Anne went cold and Fred went silent. This was exactly what they had not done. If they had Ben’s attitude… if Fred had Ben’s attitude all those years ago, they would still be together.
But now was no time for uncomfortable memories. Anne plastered a smile on her face and said all the right things and the little party continued until she had to leave to return to her home.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Lacrimoso
Anne had hoped to spend the next few days working on Impressions, but Sophia would not give her another moment of respite and, to be honest, by noon on Friday, she had all but given up any hope of making progress. Her mind was everywhere but on her music, her thoughts awhirl and her emotions too loud to let her concentrate.
And so when Sophia called for the fourth time after lunch, Anne agreed to meet her friend for coffee at Percolations. Sophia was there waiting in her favourite seat when Anne arrived, with two large mugs of tea and two plates of treats on the table before her.
“You’re always exactly on time, so I knew the tea would still be hot. Now no more excuses. You and Fred. What else haven’t you told me?”
Sophia, as always, looked elegant and sophisticated. Her shirt was a crisp button front, blindingly white under a navy blue jacket, and her trousers were dark grey wool. She would look like a model for a boys’ school uniform but for the silver and pearl jewellery that decorated her earlobes and throat and the large pin on her lapel. On someone else, it would be crystal and paste; on Sophia, Anne was sure the gemstones were real. But as cool and urbane as Sophia looked, her eyes sparkled like those of a child who had just been promised more chocolate.
“Spill it, Annie. Or no cheesecake for you.”
There would be no hiding behind a chai latte today. “Okay. But there’s not much more to tell. You really know most of it already.”
Sophia just raised her eyebrows again. That look. Anne told her story.
“We met at university. Fred was finishing his undergrad when I started, but we were in a couple of ensembles together. He was still a performance major then, concentrating in cello, and I was a piano performance major. We, well, we hit it off and went on a few dates. Then he went away to do his Masters. We kept in touch.” She didn’t tell Sophia about the long passionate letters between them, written in ink on paper, too precious to commit to the ephemeral whims of email. “He came back when I was in my final year. He had taken up conducting, and I had decided to do my graduate work with Professor Russell in composition.
“It was like he never left, except that it was better. Before he went to Oberlin, we had just gone on a few dates. Now we were both ready for a serious relationship. We lived together for three years.”
Sorry about last night. I didn’t know what else to say. Forgive me? But we should talk. I’ll call when I’m finished rehearsal.
There was also an email from Marie, explaining how she had finally forgiven her sister for her gross negligence last summer, and how she really needed a night out. She would expect Anne at seven this evening.
Anne massaged the back of her neck. It was Wednesday. William always had meetings on Wednesday nights, and Fred’s message had said nothing about plans. She replied to Marie, agreeing to the command, and then sent a separate message to Charles saying that she had to be home by ten, so he should keep any plans for the evening appropriately short. It was useless trying to talk to her sister about things like that.
She had a quick meal and returned to her work with a happier stomach. She had all but completed the outline for the short set of miniatures when her phone rang. It was Fred. She hit save on her computer and took the call.
“Hi. You must have known I was just about finished thinking for the day.”
“Hi yourself.” He sounded tired. “What are you working on?”
“The concert opener for January. I’ve had these ideas floating around for a while. Instead of an overture, I’m writing a three-part set of images. Think Monet, but in music. I don’t have a title yet, but I might just call them Impressions. It should be about fifteen minutes long in total.”
She heard some clicks from the other end of the line. He must be looking something up on his laptop.
“That sounds perfect. It will go nicely with the Mozart clarinet concerto, which is about half an hour.” He paused. “Look, Annie, about last night…”
“Don’t worry about it, Fred. She was bound to find out at some point. We should talk.”
Another pause, much longer this time. Was he still there? Just before she drew breath to ask, he cleared his throat. “Yeah. I suppose we should. But here’s something else. Do you want to come over tomorrow night for a bit? Ben has been complaining he hasn’t seen you in ages—”
“He’s the one who is always busy!”
“—and he wants to have you over. I’ll be your chaperone.”
She spat out a laugh. “Yes. We definitely need a chaperone.”
“Will you come? You haven’t seen the place at all and I’ve been here for months.”
Now she paused. Going to her ex’s condo carried with it all sorts of strange associations, but this was just a friendly get-together. Besides which, Ben would be there. It was his invitation, after all.
“Sure. What time? Send me the address so I know I’m going to the right place.”
Fred had taken a suite near High Park, where Anne and William had gone with their cameras so many months before. It was not a shiny new building, but neither was it old, and it spoke of a quieter elegance than some of the more recent flashy buildings that had sprung up around the city like dandelions after a spring rain.
His apartment, when she entered it, was welcoming and chic, decorated with a discerning eye. This was a far cry from the tiny place they had shared so long ago, with paper posters on the walls and blankets tacked up over the windows because they couldn’t afford curtains.
Ben welcomed her inside as if it were his own home. “Anne, love, come in. I’ve put on the kettle for a cuppa, but we have wine and cider in the fridge, and all sorts of yummies to eat. I hope you came hungry. Frederico just got home. He’ll be out soon. Let me take your coat.” He bustled about, divesting her in moments of her jacket and scarf.
Now she had a moment to take full stock of the place Fred called home. She looked around as Ben hung up her outerwear. The apartment was larger than she expected, with a separate kitchen and a dining room nook off the main living space, and a tiny room by the balcony that looked to be a study. She glanced down a short hallway. There were three doors. Two bedrooms and a bathroom? It must be so, if Ben had been staying here for so long.
The living room, eggshell white and wood with a dark green couch and set of chairs, was dominated by a black baby grand piano in one corner. Fred’s cello was propped up on a chair beside it. A music stand, almost lost behind a pile of music, filled the space by the wall. She smiled at the sight of it. She hadn’t realised he still played. What memories that brought back, the two of them in their tiny flat, playing through sonatas and concertos and their own compositions, he on his cello, the sound damped by a heavy mute, she on an electronic keyboard with the volume turned low. She closed her eyes, lost in the past, until Ben’s footsteps recalled her to the present.
“Come, help yourself. I took the liberty of pouring you something.”
He led her to the nook that was the dining room. The table, as promised, was laden with treats sweet and savoury. Ben handed her a glass of sherry and had just suggested they sit when Fred emerged from one of the rooms down the hall. He must have showered when he came home, because his dark hair was still damp where it curled over the collar of his white linen shirt.
He greeted Anne with a hand on the back of her arm and his accustomed double cheek kiss. Fresh from the shower, he smelled good. He was not one for cologne or fragrance, but she recognised the citrus aroma of his shampoo. Funny that he still used the same product all these years later. She took a deep breath, enjoying the scent. She missed that. She had never noticed how William smelled, but then she had never seen him fresh from the shower.
They helped themselves to heaping plates of snacks. Being with two men, Anne felt no shame in the large portions of chips and dip and baked cheese buns that she took. There would be no judgement. She was not one to be embarrassed by her enjoyment of good food, but she was aware of taking smaller helpings when out with her women friends. Now she could go back for more without a second thought, and later would help herself to the cookies and two-bite brownies that taunted her from their plate in the centre of the little feast. Satisfied with her selection, she took a seat on the comfortable chesterfield and let Ben direct the conversation.
They chatted for a while about his adventures in the city and the new areas he had discovered. “I borrowed Frederico’s bike for a day,” he explained around a mouthful of corn chips, “and followed the path along the Humber River. We have a Humber too, back home, but it’s a rather different creature. Ours is wide and flat and open; yours snakes along, hidden behind tall trees and mossy paths. It was a great adventure and I’m going to do it again, hopefully with Louisa, if her head allows it. She doesn’t get dizzy anymore. I’m not a great rider like our friend here, but I’m adequate for a trip in town. Lou has a bike, so when she has a break, and feels ready for an adventure, we’ll make a day of it.”
The conversation moved to Anne’s new composition, which she had made good progress on earlier in the day, and then to Marie.
“Charles sent me a note and mentioned you were going there last night. How did it go?” Fred explained the situation to his friend in a few short words and then sat back to listen to Anne.
“It was fine. Marie acted like nothing had ever been wrong, other than that I haven’t been doing my aunt-like duty by coming to babysit every week. The boys seemed happy to see me, though, and Charles was gracious as ever. Luckily, they had school today, so I didn’t have to entertain them all night. We played for a bit, had a story, and I put them to bed. Then I started scoring the second movement of Impressions. I hope you’ll like it, Fred. It’s based on that bike ride we did with Sophia and Jeremy last spring, just after you came back. The vines and the grapes and the river all called to me until I turned them into music. May I?”
She gestured to the piano. Both men nodded. Anne put down her plate and moved to the bench. She tried a few chords and, satisfied that the instrument was in tune and that the action of the keys was comfortable, she began to play. It was only a few bars, two or three minutes at most, but it would give the men a sense of her idea. The steady, regular progression of the staked vines, the riotous glorious abstract growth of lush leaves and fruit, the mighty and relentless press of the great Niagara River broken up with little waves and splashes upon its banks, all these were now notes and melodies and harmonic progressions, sometimes separate, sometimes layered, other times in counterpoint. She spoke up above her playing, explaining something here or there.
“This section will be brass, with a strong bass line… here I’m going to let the winds take the melody, with the strings con sordino and a whisper of tympany… I was thinking of solo cello here, with commentary from the English horn and bassoon….”
She finished and returned to her seat, then went to refill her plate.
“Bravo, Anne. I can hear exactly what you mean. It will be terrific.” Fred’s words were warm and genuine. Ben just sat there with a goofy smile on his face.
“I am in awe. I knew you were famous, but now I’ve realised what rarified company I’m keeping. Fabulous!” He took a sip of his beer. “What’s that solo cello part again, Anne?” he asked. “Do you have the music for that?”
She pulled out her tablet and called up the program she used. She handed it to him.
“Oh, not me, dear. I can’t read a note other than Middle C, and then only if it’s circled in red with an arrow pointing to it. Show it to our friend here. He bashes that great ugly guitar from time to time.” He winked and looked over at the cello.
Fred took the tablet and hummed a couple of notes, his fingers moving up and down as he did so, pulling phantom music from the air. Then he took the tablet to the music stand beside the piano and picked up the cello and settled it between his knees. He tightened the bow and plucked the strings. It was in tune with the piano. He must have played it earlier today.
He put the bow on the strings and in a moment the room was filled with the lush sounds of the instrument, chocolate and velvet, the reddish-tinted tones of the notes a perfect complement to the wood and green of his decor. Anne had forgotten how gifted he was. Had he not taken up the baton, he could have had a good career on the concert stage as a cellist.
“Play with him, Annie,” Ben invited. It sounded like an acceptable idea, and she did so, joining him with the murmuring undercurrent of harmony, punctuated by the contrapuntal comments from the cor anglais and bassoon lines.
“You two sound wonderful together. What a treat this is. If I were less scrupulous a gent, I’d have you do it again, and I’d record it and upload the whole thing to YouTube in a moment. But say…” Ben paused. “Come back and pour yourselves another drink each. I have an announcement that needs celebrating, and then, perhaps, a great favour to ask.”
“An announcement?” Fred’s arched eyebrows matched Anne’s surprised thoughts.
Ben’s expression now became sheepish. “I should have had Louisa here too. But she preferred I just tell you by myself. We’ll want a drink with this one. Those glasses are empty.” Anne poured herself another sherry and then sat while Fred refilled his glass as well.
“Louisa and I,” the Englishman blurted with a smile that all but split his face, “are getting married.”
There was a moment of absolute silence. Then Fred leapt up to give his friend a shoulder clap. “Congratulations, old man! That’s wonderful news.”
Was it? Anne supposed it was, although Fred’s response seemed forced. Perhaps it was just her own internal turmoil that clouded her impressions. Ben and Louisa. Louisa and Ben. She supposed it was good news after all, and she joined in the celebrations.
“It’s a bit sudden, though,” Fred continued. “You’ve really just met.”
Ben shook his head. “Not at all, man. When it’s right, you know. Have you never been in love? Have you never met the person you didn’t know you were missing? No, I suppose not, otherwise she’d be here with you right now.”
I am! Everything in Anne’s being wanted to shout this out. She could not look at Fred at all, for fear of what his eyes would say. Would he be looking at her with disdain, full of relief that he had escaped a lifetime tied to her? Or would he be full of longing for what he had given up? She remembered those words, whispered so long ago. You complete me. You are what I never knew I needed. You are the music my soul craved. She didn’t know which would bring her greater pain.
She sensed Fred tense up beside her, but he didn’t say a word. What could he say, after all? It was evident Ben knew nothing of their history, and it was probably better that way. The man’s biggest concern was probably that Fred and Louisa had been something of an item only two months ago. The tension in the room was all but palpable to Anne and seemed to last an eternity. But Ben seemed oblivious to all of this. Why should he notice, after all? It did not involve him at all, and he was all wrapped up in his own joy. He had no reason to expect so much drama to be playing out in silence around him.
“We were hoping,” the prospective groom went on, “that the two of you would help with the music for the wedding. Would you play something? I knew you were both fabulous musicians, but hearing you play together, well, it was magical. Would you? Perhaps you know of some suitable piece of music. Some Bach, or Ave Maria, or something else that you like.”
“As long as it’s not Pachelbel’s Canon,” Fred groaned, breaking the tension between them. Anne laughed. That popular piece was the bane of cellists everywhere, those same eight notes repeating again and again until the poor musician’s fingers were ready to fall off from sheer boredom.
“I’ll do you one better.” Anne spoke without thinking. Where did this idea come from? She groaned to herself, but the offer was already being made. “I’ll write you something. When is the wedding?”
Now Ben went red. “You can change your mind, Anne. I know you’re a busy creature. My six months as a visitor come up in late February, and we need to get some legal stuff out of the way, either here or in England. Probably both. We were hoping for late January, maybe mid-February if necessary. We need to find someone official to do the official necessaries. I’ll go home over Christmas to see the folks, and then, when I get back, we’ll make it all legal.”
“Late January or February?” She did a quick mental tabulation of her commitments. “I can manage that if you don’t expect anything too long. It’s only for two instruments. Fred? What do you think?”
He walked to her side and put an arm around her shoulders. “I think we can manage. We’ll make time to rehearse. Ben, I’d be honoured.”
They celebrated for a while longer before Fred went serious. “Where will you live? How long will it take to get the paperwork sorted?”
Bed shrugged. “We’ll live wherever we can. I know you want Louisa for the final concert, for Anne’s symphony. We’ve already discussed this. If we have to move to the UK, she won’t leave till after the season is over. Even if we have to be in different countries for a while, we’re prepared to manage. Maybe I can get some sort of temporary residency so I can fly back and forth for a while. What’s important is that we’ll be together in the end. What happens in the short term is just a detail. We’re in this for the long game. We won’t let a bit of inconvenience get in the way.”
Anne went cold and Fred went silent. This was exactly what they had not done. If they had Ben’s attitude… if Fred had Ben’s attitude all those years ago, they would still be together.
But now was no time for uncomfortable memories. Anne plastered a smile on her face and said all the right things and the little party continued until she had to leave to return to her home.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Lacrimoso
Anne had hoped to spend the next few days working on Impressions, but Sophia would not give her another moment of respite and, to be honest, by noon on Friday, she had all but given up any hope of making progress. Her mind was everywhere but on her music, her thoughts awhirl and her emotions too loud to let her concentrate.
And so when Sophia called for the fourth time after lunch, Anne agreed to meet her friend for coffee at Percolations. Sophia was there waiting in her favourite seat when Anne arrived, with two large mugs of tea and two plates of treats on the table before her.
“You’re always exactly on time, so I knew the tea would still be hot. Now no more excuses. You and Fred. What else haven’t you told me?”
Sophia, as always, looked elegant and sophisticated. Her shirt was a crisp button front, blindingly white under a navy blue jacket, and her trousers were dark grey wool. She would look like a model for a boys’ school uniform but for the silver and pearl jewellery that decorated her earlobes and throat and the large pin on her lapel. On someone else, it would be crystal and paste; on Sophia, Anne was sure the gemstones were real. But as cool and urbane as Sophia looked, her eyes sparkled like those of a child who had just been promised more chocolate.
“Spill it, Annie. Or no cheesecake for you.”
There would be no hiding behind a chai latte today. “Okay. But there’s not much more to tell. You really know most of it already.”
Sophia just raised her eyebrows again. That look. Anne told her story.
“We met at university. Fred was finishing his undergrad when I started, but we were in a couple of ensembles together. He was still a performance major then, concentrating in cello, and I was a piano performance major. We, well, we hit it off and went on a few dates. Then he went away to do his Masters. We kept in touch.” She didn’t tell Sophia about the long passionate letters between them, written in ink on paper, too precious to commit to the ephemeral whims of email. “He came back when I was in my final year. He had taken up conducting, and I had decided to do my graduate work with Professor Russell in composition.
“It was like he never left, except that it was better. Before he went to Oberlin, we had just gone on a few dates. Now we were both ready for a serious relationship. We lived together for three years.”
