Preludes, page 22
Abdulmalik grinned, his teeth brilliant white against his olive skin. “Turned me into a jazz fan, and I didn’t much fancy the music before. If they go back next year, we’ll be there to listen.”
The group ordered more food, and William took Anne’s hand in his, toying with her fingers as they waited for the platter to arrive. By the look on their friends’ faces, it did not go unnoticed.
“Thanks for coming along. I had a lovely evening.” William stood in front of her building later on, the taxi waiting patiently. He was close, just inches away, facing her. He was not as tall as Fred, but he still had several inches on her and she had to crane her neck to look up into his eyes.
“I enjoyed it. I need to listen to more live jazz. Most of the concerts I see are classical, and it’s good to have a change. I think I might experiment with some jazz riffs, too.”
“Danny and Abdulmalik like you. You really charmed them. They’re thinking of buying into my Lake Simcoe development, so I’ve been seeing a lot of them. Maybe we can get together again soon.”
She smiled. Had he moved even closer? “I’d like that. They’re really nice. Ab tempted me with his boasts about his whisky collection.”
Yes, he had definitely moved closer.
“Let’s not talk about Abdulmalik and Danny right now. I’m much more interested in Anne Elliot.”
The wind was cold and a light drizzle had started falling, but Anne hardly noticed as William closed the final wedge of space between them and kissed her. Not a full-out passionate kiss, but certainly more than the butterfly touch of lips he had bestowed on her before. This was definitely A Kiss. With capitals and italics. Sophia would do her mind if she saw this.
And, to her surprise, Anne found herself kissing him back.
“Do you like him, Anne?”
Sophia’s voice sounded from the other end of her phone.
Anne had not intended to call her friend, and certainly not to discuss William, but after an almost sleepless night, she needed to talk through her emotions. Her dreams, such few that she had, were not filled with romantic interludes with William, but instead were full of doubt and confusion.
“Do I like him? You ask that as if you don’t.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. “I wouldn’t say I don’t like him. He’s very charming. What’s important is whether you like him.” Another pause. “Do you, Anne? You wouldn’t have called if you were completely certain.”
She sighed. Her coffee was cooling in its mug and she picked it up, letting the dark liquid swirl around before setting it back on the kitchen counter. “I don’t know. I think so, but there’s something going on that makes me… not wary, but confused. It’s like there are two parts of me, my head and my heart. My head says yes, and my heart asks if I’m sure.”
“Hmmm,” Sophia murmured. “Has he done anything to disturb you?”
Anne shook her head, although she knew her friend couldn’t see her. “No. Not at all. As you say, he’s very charming. He’s handsome and cultured and he dresses well, and he’s so attentive and unfailingly polite. He’s everything a girl should dream of. Right?”
“But…?”
“But… But nothing.”
“Tell me, Anne, you and Fred were together a long time ago. How many boyfriends have you had since then?”
“You mean going out on-a-date-type boyfriends?”
“No, I mean relationship-boyfriends.”
Silence.
“It’s eight years, Anne. Surely you haven’t been alone all that time.”
“I’ve been busy. And I’m not a very outgoing person.”
“You mean William is the first person you’ve gone out with more than a couple of times since you and Fred broke up? How did I not know this?”
She wished she had something to hide behind. Curse the transparency of the telephone. She couldn’t deflect the conversation to a safer topic. “I just don’t like talking about myself. You’re right. I’m being an ass, that’s all. I’m just creating trouble where there isn’t any. Maybe I’m still a bit unsettled with Fred being back in my life in some way, so it’s making me uncertain about relationships in general. I mean, I’ve been going out with William in one way or another for months now. It’s hardly like he’s pressuring me or anything, and I really enjoy the time we spend together. I need to stop holding back. It’s just…” She trailed off and there was a moment of silence on the other end of the line.
“Yes?” Anne could picture her friend on the other end of the phone line, eyebrows raised, that look on her face.
“I’m being silly, Soph. Ignore me and my insecurities. The problem is me, not him. I like him just fine.” But he’s not Fred.
With Christmas coming up, Anne’s schedule became, if possible, even busier. She had almost finished the score to Impressions and was working on some final details so she could print parts for the orchestra. Fred had completed his round of guest conductor gigs and was expecting to have a first rehearsal of the piece in a week’s time. Anne, of course, would attend. She was looking forward to hearing her piece as the orchestra read through it for the first time, but she was also anxious. This would be the first time she would see Fred since he had started his tour, since William had made his more romantic overtures towards her.
As well as her days being busy, so were her evenings, for the annual array of Holiday and Year End parties was about to begin. The first of these obligations was in early December, and it was not even a party she was invited to. Rather, Charles had asked her to watch the boys on this night while he and Marie were at his office’s party. It was the day after the first rehearsal for Impressions, and Anne could think of no reason to refuse. With the score delivered to the musicians, her duties with the orchestra were over for a few weeks, and she was always happy to play with her nephews. The week after Charles’ office party was Marie’s. Her company had arranged for an afternoon affair, heading into the evening, and she had asked Anne to pick up the boys from school that day. Anne assumed she would still be expected for her weekly babysitting duties, and planned what little time she had free accordingly.
There were, of course, all manner of other holiday events. Every year Charles’ parents hosted a big family gathering, to which Anne was always invited, and she was expected to attend two or three parties at the University. As well, Sophia and Jeremy always held a small but lavish do for their select friends, and Jasmine and Connor had invited her over to their house for dinner one night.
And then there were the parties connected to the orchestra.
The board of directors were holding their year end gathering two weeks before Christmas. While she was not required to attend, she knew her presence would be noted and expected. And then—and this was a command performance—the orchestra was doing a fundraiser, an elaborate affair for any who had the funds for a seat at a finely set table, with performances by small ensembles consisting of orchestra members, and a short presentation by Fred on the progress on Anne’s symphony to date. She would be expected to play short excerpts on the piano, or from pre-recorded snippets that she would create from the music notation program that she used.
The software had a robust set of sound samples and while a clip could never sound like a live orchestra, she could program it to give a very good suggestion of what a performance might offer.
That was the easy part.
The hard part was more personal. William had called up to ask her to attend with him as his date. His ‘companion,’ he called it. This was not the first event Anne had attended on his arm, but it would certainly set tongues wagging afresh. She accepted, of course, and immediately called Sophia to ask for help in selecting, or possibly purchasing, a suitable outfit.
The next day, Fred called with exactly the same invitation.
The night of the fundraiser arrived more quickly than Anne could have imagined. She was not used to being so much in demand, and with her calendar full, the days slipped away.
The first read-through of Impressions had gone well. There were some tricky passages for all the musicians, but they were a first rate crew and did a creditable job for not having seen the music before. Fred had some questions for her and the musicians made a couple of comments, but in all, there was very little for her to do other than sit back and enjoy the rehearsal.
This never failed to thrill her. No matter how often it happened, there was something wonderful about hearing her music being brought to life by others. She recorded the session with Fred’s permission; she would use the tape to refine a couple of short sections and to guide her development as she moved on to other pieces. And, of course, she would play a clip here or there for Sophia and Jasmine when next she saw them. Perhaps this was her version of baby photos.
On the following night, she watched her nephews while Marie and Charles were out. There were no more disasters, no emergencies, and after the boys were in bed, she took advantage of the quiet house to read a book she had been neglecting for far too long.
Then came dinner with Jasmine and Connor. Connor had invited his friend Jamal, the jazz bass player, and his partner, and they spent a lovely quiet evening talking about all things musical. This was the first time Anne had been in the Smiths’ home. They had a small apartment in a less fashionable part of town, but their furniture was all very fine, some looking like excellent antiques. The expensive interior did not match the somewhat shabby outside. Of course, it made sense; her friends had, not so long ago, been far better off than they were now. She wondered what it had been that had toppled Connor from the career he had built for himself and forced the couple to live on what Jasmine could bring in from teaching. It must have been quite dire. And, not for the first time, Anne wished she had some means of helping. But that was beyond anything she could do.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Con Fuoco
Almost before Anne knew it, December was nearing its end. She had never been so busy, her calendar so full of social engagements. Between the parties and dinners and babysitting nights, she felt she had hardly been home a single night this month. And this evening was the orchestra’s fundraiser gala. One more event to suffer through, although this was as much a working event as a celebratory one. Somehow that made it better to contemplate; putting on her social face for her career was easier than trying to be gregarious for its own sake.
Regardless, she must make an excellent impression tonight. This, too, was part of her job, and she stood by her mirror, turning slowly this way and that, hoping she looked acceptable.
On Sophia’s recommendation, she had bought a new gown for the occasion. It was a rich gold jacquard with a soft shimmer to the silk fabric. The square neck framed her face and gave the frock a nostalgic look, which was emphasised by the fitted bodice and flared skirt. 1950s meets Renaissance, she had joked to her friend, but the dress suited her well. No simple jewellery for this one. She had borrowed some spectacular pieces from Sophia for the evening: topaz and chocolate diamond earrings, with a matching choker necklace and a string of chocolate diamonds at her wrist.
In her brown satin clutch purse (that matched the diamonds, of course), she had placed her keys, a tube of lipstick, and her phone, which now held the four clips from her symphony that Fred would discuss in his lecture. She checked again. The gadget was charged, and she had a connecting cord, despite all assurances that the sound system would connect through Bluetooth.
She fluffed her hair, re-cut and coloured just that morning, and contemplated herself as she waited for William to arrive.
She had, of course, explained to Fred that she had already accepted William’s invitation to attend the gala with him. She wondered if the guilt she felt seeped out into her voice. Fred had said everything proper and assured her that he understood, no hard feelings. They were, after all, just friends. But she knew him too well to ignore how hurt he was by her refusal, no matter that she really had no choice. And she wished he had called first.
He had then changed the topic at once to discuss which excerpts he wanted for his lecture. She had not seen or spoken to him since.
William was waiting for her when she arrived downstairs. As usual, he was dressed perfectly, like he had stepped off a magazine cover, and he greeted her with a gentle peck on her lips. “I won’t spoil the lipstick,” he joked, “yet.”
He handed her into the car and manoeuvred the vehicle through the city streets to the Royal York Hotel, the venue for the evening. They left the vehicle with the valet at the main doors and walked, arm in arm, into the lobby, up the richly carpeted grand staircase, and into the ballroom.
The grand hall was already abuzz. Large circular tables dotted the carpeted floor, the ivory hued linens a perfect foil to the intricate painted ceiling, all punctuated by a veritable forest of fabulous potted trees that towered above the guests. Stately and verdant, they projected upwards, brown and green, like piano chords, straining for the azure expanse above. Tall arched windows extended the entire length of the long wall opposite the door, and in the very centre of them stood a lectern, a grand piano, and a gathering of music stands for where the chamber groups would sit to entertain the diners. Swirling through this symmetrical maze of furniture and accessories, the crème de la crème of Toronto’s arts patrons ornamented the space. This was the new haute ton, the Upper Set. There were ladies in ball gowns, men in tuxedos, and the occasional kilt or sari, beautiful and sophisticated, a symphony of class and style. Anne could all but hear the musical notes suggested by the sight of it all. The room was only about half full now; when all five hundred or so guests were present, the waiters would have a more difficult time weaving in and out with their trays of drinks and canapes.
Despite the crowd that had already gathered, Anne heard William’s name called almost at once. Kevin Walters came striding through a small knot of donors, a glass of whisky in his hand. “There you are, William, and with the beautiful Anne Elliot as well. If I’d known what a looker we had with you, I’d have put you on the front of the season’s brochure. Come, let’s find our table. I believe we’re together. Anne, you know Penny, my wife? Of course you do. The others will be some special donors, real supporters of the orchestra, just falling over themselves to meet you. Come along, let me find them and introduce you now. I’ve seen them here somewhere.”
He grabbed Anne by the arm and all but pulled her through the gathering crowd. She swivelled her head to look at William over her shoulder with pleading eyes. He gave an apologetic shrug and turned towards a waiter with a tray of drinks. She thought she saw Penny Walters there as well. At least he’d have someone to talk to.
With Walters at her side, Anne was trotted around the room like a prized heifer at a country fair. Everybody came by to gawk at the specimen on display, for all that they were garbed in silks and diamonds rather than plaid and denim. They cooed and said erudite things with twenty-dollar words, and she smiled and flashed twenty-dollar words back at them, and then they drifted off looking like they had just won a hunk of cheese or a slab of beef at the raffle stand.
She fought a yawn as Walters pointed to yet another couple he knew. She must smile and play along, this she knew. These people were the donors whose huge contributions kept the orchestra alive and vibrant, and if shaking her hand led them to maintain or increase their contribution for the next year, she would plaster on a smile and do what was necessary to make herself charming and agreeable.
She tottered behind the CEO, careful to avoid tripping on a tablecloth that touched the carpet. Her eyes were on her feet and she almost walked into one of the massive potted trees. She stopped short and stepped to the side, bumping into something hard.
Someone hard. He put his arms out to help her keep her balance and she, out of instinct, reached back, putting her weight against his chest.
She knew this body, tall and solid, all too well.
Fred.
She should step back at once and cut this contact between them, but she could not move. She was transfixed, held there by some force she could not identify. For a moment, all she could hear was the beating of her heart, all she could see were his eyes, deep and brown, bottomless, enticing. Her feet, rooted to the floor, hummed with an unknown energy that sent a thrill through her body. It was as surprising as it was eye-opening, and she had to catch her breath. Here were all the thrills, all those little jolts of electricity, that were absent when William held her. Here was the spark that went beyond the physical, that connected her to his soul.
Being held and kissed by William was nice. This, this accidental contact with Fred, unexpected and transitory, was not “nice.” It was elemental.
She staggered back before she said or did something untoward. Like running her fingers through his carefully combed hair, or kissing him senseless in the middle of the ballroom. Or declaring herself still in love with him.
Instead, she stepped backwards and said thank you.
His smile was polite but cool.
“Anne.”
Double cheek kiss, but just for show.
“Fred. How are you tonight?”
“Are you ready for the lecture?” So no friendly chatter. He was too professional to be rude, but he was not pleased. She could hardly blame him, although it was no surprise to anybody that she had come with William.
She patted her compact purse. “I have my phone in here. I should set up the Bluetooth connection before too many people arrive. And the music is already on the piano, even though I don’t need it.”
“Let’s go, then.”
She found Walters and excused herself from the next introduction, then followed Fred to the lectern. Within minutes, they had completed their little task. A black-clad techie walked them through the steps to connect the phone to the Bluetooth speakers, although they didn’t need his assistance. Anne could now play the synthesised clips from her symphony for the gala’s attendees. And she could sit at the piano to play other shorter sections to illustrate Fred’s talk. It was all very proper and clinical, nothing like that jolt that had all but seared her when she bumped into him a few minutes before.
