Preludes, page 26
She cocked her head. Was this what he wanted to know?
“Does he have a favourite artist, or a period of art that he really likes?” Was it her imagination, or did Ben look like he wanted to take notes? This didn’t seem like a casual chat about someone’s boyfriend. Or not-boyfriend, not that anybody seemed willing to listen to that part.
But there was no real reason to hold back. She only had approving things to say about William, after all, and she didn’t want uncomplimentary words coming to haunt him, and the orchestra by association. And so Anne talked a bit about what she thought were William’s favourites, although, she had to admit, she did not know for certain. He had never really mentioned any particular likes or dislikes, or even discussed one piece of art or artist with more fervour than the next. Perhaps he was a general lover of things beautiful, with only enough knowledge to satisfy his general interest. Or perhaps he only took her to exhibits he knew a great deal about. He had never expressed his real opinions to her. Of course, it would take a lot of guts to be the one to confess, “I never understood the fuss about Renoir, anyway.”
Likewise, his interest in drama. He could talk knowledgeably about the particular show they were seeing. He knew the playwrights and the plots and enough about the history behind them to supplement her enjoyment of the productions. Anne herself had little more than a passing knowledge of theatre. She knew more than most, perhaps, but certainly not enough to consider herself anything close to an expert.
“Does a person need to understand art at an intellectual level to appreciate it?” She asked Ben this question sincerely. “You’re a wordsmith. I’m guessing you have more than a passing acquaintance with English letters through the centuries. Does knowing about Sheridan’s personal history bring you any more enjoyment of his plays? Or Shakespeare, even? Do you need to understand his social position and his relationship to the crown to really appreciate his comedies?”
“Oh, his histories, certainly!” Ben returned. His face grew animated, and he leaned forward in his chair, his coffee forgotten in the excitement of the turn of conversation. “Take Richard III, for example, or the Henry plays…” He launched into a long spiel about history and power and the role of artists in creating authority, reframing the past, and defining the present. There was more power and passion in this impromptu lecture than ever Anne had heard from William, even though the latter had more data and information at his fingertips. It was a fascinating discussion, and for a moment Anne saw what might connect this unusual man to his intended bride. If Louisa responded to this sort of discussion with even half of Ben’s zeal, they must have some wonderful and stimulating exchanges indeed.
They talked for half an hour about art and its contexts before Ben turned the conversation back to William.
“But he doesn’t make his living through the arts. He’s in business. How much do you know about that?”
Anne turned her attention back to her cup of coffee, which was now empty. Ben jumped up and returned a moment later with another cup for both of them, then repeated his question.
“What does he call it? Property development. You were up at that place on Lake Simcoe where Louisa had that terrible accident.” Ben’s face went pale, and Anne let the words hang for a moment. Neither wished to remember that awful occasion.
Eventually, Ben cleared his throat. “I wish I had never seen it, wish it had never happened. But it was as she was recovering that we really got to know each other. I liked her a great deal before, but wondered if she still had a thing for Frederico. But each time I came to visit her, she asked me to come back, and that’s when we really fell in love.”
There was another moment of silence, this one reflective rather than strained.
“What else does your friend Barnett do? Does he have other projects on the go? I’m always interested in what keeps people busy.”
This was curious, but again, Anne had no reason not to speak.
“I’m not exactly sure, but he’s always flying down to the Caribbean to check on the progress of something there. I suspect he’s very well off and he has a lot of well heeled acquaintances. He always treated me very well when he took me to a show or to dinner, and we met a lot of rather affluent friends of his. That’s why he’s on the board—to help bring in donations and procure new donors. Why? What’s with all these questions?”
Ben’s face was inscrutable. “I’m just looking out for you, Annie. There’s been talk, you know…” He shrugged again with a half smile starting to crack through.
“Talk? Was it the gala? What sort of talk?”
Another shrug. “Just… talk.”
“Did Fred put some ideas in your head?”
He put his cup on the table and leaned forward. “Speaking of Fred, I think we also need to chit-chat about him. He saved my life, quite literally, and while he was one of my best friends before, he is even more so now. What is your history with him? I know you were friends back in the day. I also know I’m missing something. He won’t say another word, no matter how much I nag him, but his interest seems to go a lot further than mere friendship, if you know what I mean.”
He rocked back again and gazed at Anne through half-closed lids. He remained silent, just staring at Anne through half-closed eyes. Should she respond to this? What did he want her to say? He helped her along by explaining.
“To answer your unasked question, he didn’t put ideas into my head. I put them there myself. Still, Fred obviously cares a great deal for you, and, as I said, he is my best friend. Your happiness is his happiness, and his happiness is mine. So I need to know, are you and William…?” He made a rather rude gesture with his fingers.
“Ben, really!” She was shocked he would even suggest this. It was the twenty-first century, sure, and Anne was no prude, but some things should remain private.
“So are you?” His voice teased, and he flashed a conspiratorial grin, but his eyes were stony and serious.
“It really is none of your business. None of yours and none of Fred’s.” Suddenly, every idea of confessing her heart to Ben, in hopes that he would pass along something of her message, vanished into the ether. That very personal and suggestive question put pay to any such thoughts. Anne returned his stare. “He had his chance.”
“Oh ho! So you two were a pair? When was this? What happened?” He leaned forward now, elbows on the small metal table between them.
The steam rushed out of her. “If he hasn’t told you the details, I won’t break his confidence. But I suppose it’s no secret. Yes, we were together. We aren’t anymore. It’s over. That’s all.”
The forced smile now grew shrewd. “I’m not so certain it’s all that over.”
Jasmine came over to Anne’s place one morning the following week. January had come to a shivering end and February seemed to promise no more warmth, but music and good friendship could thaw even the bitterest of winters. The two friends sat for a half an hour with some mugs of hot chocolate before moving to the piano to play music.
As they had decided before Christmas, they began with some Bach. The music was interesting and challenging, but well within both women’s capabilities, and they were able to work through some interpretive aspects of it as well as the purely technical. This was something Anne loved: making music purely for pleasure. There was no need to produce anything, no pressure of performance. It was music for the sake of music.
And Jasmine was a good violinist. Not quite, perhaps, at the level of the musicians in the National Philharmonic, but close, and better than many out there who made their livings on the instrument. She played with a sweet tone and with the agility and flexible musicality that Anne appreciated. Would Fred be amenable to playing some piano trios at some point? Violin, cello, and piano, a venerable combination that had inspired the composition of a wealth of first-rate music. She should mention it to him… But no. Something had happened, and they seemed not to be communicating again.
Yesterday’s conversation with Ben flashed across her mind. What had he told Fred about her? Surely he thought that she and William were a couple, destined for something more serious. His questions and his vague, “there’s been talk,” suggested he had some firm notions about Anne’s future, and Anne’s protestations had been met with a disbelieving eye. Fred would never want to rebuild a friendship now. She pushed these unwanted thoughts from her mind and concentrated once more on the music before her.
All too soon, they reached the final bars of the piece and they beamed at each other for a moment as the echo of the last notes faded.
“Oh, that was wonderful!” Jasmine’s face almost split in two from the width of her smile. “I haven’t played like this in far too long. What a magnificent piece! It gives you energy rather than taking it.”
Anne, too, was buoyed by the music. It was energising and calming at the same time, bringing with it a profound sense of peace and completion. “I am so glad we did this! And we’ll do more. I can’t believe it took until now to play together.” She glanced at the clock in the corner. “I know you have a busy schedule, but is there time for another cup of something before you need to leave?”
Her friend nodded. “Thanks. I do have a few minutes.”
Jasmine put her violin away and then followed Anne into the kitchen.
“I ran into Fred the other day.” She made the offhand comment as Anne turned off the boiling kettle. “I was so surprised he remembered me at the dress rehearsal before your concert a few weeks ago. He’s a really nice guy. You’d think fame would have gone to his head, but it really didn’t. You too, I suppose. You’re also famous, and as nice as they come.”
Anne felt the blush creep up her neck. “That’s sweet of you. I don’t always feel nice. More invisible.” She poured the water into the teapot. The scent of bergamot began to waft up from the spout. “Fred really is down to earth, isn’t he? He’s as happy in jeans at a baseball game as he is in a tux on stage. Where did you see him?”
A chuckle. “It was almost like he’d planned it. I was just leaving the community centre where I teach on Wednesday afternoons, and there he was at the corner by the subway station. He didn’t seem surprised to see me. I suppose he knew what my teaching hours were. We went for a very quick coffee.”
Oh?
Jasmine must have seen the surprise on her face and explained. “We just stopped into the Tim’s at the corner. It was fifteen minutes at most. He asked about my teaching and then asked about Connor. Does he know something about the financial mess we got into? About that awful investment deal that stole all our savings?” She sighed. “I suppose it’s not a secret. He must have looked me up after the rehearsal. I would have done the same thing. I’m easy to find because I need to be available for new students. And it’s not hard to get to Connor and all that stuff through me.”
Anne poured the tea, and they went to sit for a few minutes. “What did he want to know about? I had a strange tea with his friend Ben the other day, too.”
“Just some general stuff. Where had Connor been working when it all went haywire? What was the project that we invested in, the one that the developers sold out from under us? That sort of thing. I didn’t know Fred was into investing.”
“He has a lot of interests, I suppose. He was certainly busy enough when we knew him all those years ago.”
“Hmmm.” She gazed at Anne through her liquid dark eyes, her thoughts inscrutable. A thousand questions rushed through Anne’s head, none stopping long enough for her to grab it and form it into words to ask. Each impression melted into the next, leaving her with nothing but a sense of mild consternation. Something odd was going on, and she had no clue what it was.
They drank their tea quickly, and then Jasmine had to leave for her students. Anne, too, had a class to teach that afternoon, and she followed her friend out the door and to the subway, where they parted ways with a promise to repeat the Bach next week and perhaps move onto some Mozart.
But more and more questions buzzed through Anne’s head like a swarm of busy bees.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Secondo Volta
There was a message waiting for Anne when she returned home from teaching her class. It was from William. Had she even known he was in town? The last she had heard from him, he expected to be in Barbuda—or was it the Dominican Republic? No, the Caymans—for another few weeks working on his latest property deal.
Anne, darling,
I’m back at last. Things with my project wrapped up quite suddenly, and the next thing I knew, I was on a plane. I can’t wait to see you again. Dinner? I’ll pick you up at seven.
Dinner. It was a summons, not an invitation. She thought about calling back and refusing on principle. She reflected on that awkward kiss on the dance floor at the year-end gala for the orchestra. That, too, had been something of a summons rather than an invitation. And yet she had gladly accepted his kisses before, and had not objected at the moment. He had no way of knowing she was not quite so pleased this time.
Perhaps she should accept tonight after all. A dinner would be a good place to talk, to approach the subject gently and find out exactly what he had been thinking. And, she admitted, she did usually enjoy his company. He was always interesting and he would almost certainly have some fascinating tale to tell from his business trip down to the islands. The gala had been quite out of character for him, and he had sent her some sort of note or message every day that he had been away, even if he hadn’t said when he was likely to return.
It must just have been that she was confused at being at the gala with both Fred and William, wanting to speak to one, yet socially obligated to the other. That internal conflict was surely the reason she had been so shocked by his behaviour. Wasn’t it?
Still, she knew she did not want a relationship other than friendship with William. That she had decided quite firmly during his absence. Dinner would be a very good time to discuss it.
She dressed carefully, hoping to give the impression of friendliness without crossing into flirtatiousness. In the end, the weather had the final say in her choice. Black woollen trousers, a light grey turtleneck, and simple silver hoops in her ears would have to do. Her one nod to her decision was to replace the red lipstick she first reached for with something more subdued in a soft pink. Pink for friendship, not red for passion. She hoped he would understand.
He arrived in a taxi, explaining that he was too tired to drive, and asked the cabbie to take them to a popular Italian restaurant near the entertainment district. It was something of a change from his usual selection of exclusive and high-end venues, but for once they did not meet some colleague or friend or associate of his.
The food was good and the ambiance lively, but while it was not too noisy to talk easily, it was also not the quiet setting for the conversation she hoped to have.
Still, William was once more at his gentlemanly best, not pressing, not assuming. He did indeed tell grand tales from his weeks away in the sun, entertaining her between bites of squash-filled ravioli and fresh spinach and berry salad.
“…and that is how we discovered that the chef we planned to hire for the catering service really had no idea how to prepare lobster!” He settled back into his chair with a satisfied smile. Anne returned his laughter. She could all but picture the disaster William had painted in words, of terrified serving staff running around the kitchen trying to avoid the escaped creature’s pincers, while the chef staggered backwards from the shock of having to submerge another of the live creatures into the pot of boiling water.
Thank heavens she had not opted for the fish today!
He explained his prolonged absence and the unexpected snags that kept him away for so long, and then the sudden resolution of a mountain of issues that allowed him to return without any warning.
“Have I mentioned Adam? Adam Wallis? He’s one of my partners in this development. We’ve worked together on and off for years. He arrived out of the blue with a briefcase full of documents. It seemed that while we were trying to solve all our problems on the ground, he was haunting the lawyers’ offices in Toronto and Cockburn Town and got half our headaches ironed out with a couple of signatures. So he stayed to see everything properly implemented, and I hopped on the first flight home.
“It’s lovely being in the Caribbean in the middle of winter, but there was a lot here in Canada that I missed too much.” He levelled his eyes on her, but made no other advances.
The conversation lapsed into that moment of silence that so often happens. Anne once heard that this was a phenomenon that happened regularly at twenty-minute intervals. The room would be all abuzz with chatter and then, almost on the clock, it would fall silent.
Across from her, William seemed unaware of the lapse. He sat back in his chair, eyes almost closed. His usually animated face was lax; he must be tired.
But he had also finished his account of his trip. This was the time to raise the topic. She might be misunderstanding him, but she had to clear matters up. She took a deep breath to fortify herself.
“William, I…”
He blinked.
“Sorry, Anne. Where was I?”
“There is something we need to talk about. Something I’ve been thinking about for a while.”
He tried, but failed, to stifle a yawn. “I’m afraid I’m not much fun tonight. Can this wait?”
This was not going well. “Not really. I—”
He spoke on as if she hadn’t said a word. “I thought I was well enough rested. I did sleep on the plane, but it seems I was wrong. I’ll call you a taxi. I hope you’ll forgive me. We didn’t even have time for dessert, but I just can’t keep my eyes open. Another time?”
The fire rushed out of her again.
“Yes, of course.”
