Preludes, page 29
What did he believe? What did he think he knew? Was he also deceived into thinking she was marrying William? She had to talk to him, had to tell him the truth. Had to somehow let him know that if she loved anybody, it was him. She sent an email begging him to call, then left a voice message on his phone. But she heard nothing back from him and her read-request notification on her email suggested he had not opened it at all.
On Sunday morning, she received a short text from him. It was brief and quite disheartening.
I hear congratulations are in order. We still need to practise once more for the wedding. I am busy, but can make time before the orchestra rehearsal on Monday morning. That should be enough for the wedding in the evening. I’ll be at the theatre at 9:30.
That was all. No personal gestures, no kind words, no queries as to her feelings. Was he angry? Hurt? Just tired of her? God, why wouldn’t he answer his phone? She needed to talk to him for five minutes.
Maybe before their rehearsal on Monday. Maybe if she arrived a bit early… but no. The theatre wasn’t open until 9:30. She had spoken to the custodian Kostas several times in the past, and she knew his schedule. And afterwards there would be too many people around. Even at 9:30, the tech crew would be in, getting the stage set up for the orchestra. Maybe he would agree to talk later that day.
She hoped.
After a fuzzy weekend of too little sleep and too much coffee, Anne arrived at the theatre exactly on time on Monday morning. Hopefully, she would be able to nap in the afternoon. The wedding, later on in the day, was going to be a small evening affair. Ben had found a non-denominational officiant to perform the ceremony in a private room at a rather nice restaurant she had heard of but never been to, and they would remain there for a celebratory meal afterwards. According to Ben, it was a beautiful and intimate space with high ceilings, exposed brick, crystal chandeliers, and a prominent fireplace, with a rather good grand piano at one end. It all sounded lovely. Except that Fred would be there. Please, let us sit beside each other, she prayed to the universe, while at the same time pleading, please don’t let us sit beside each other.
Of course, with only a dozen or so people invited, avoiding Fred would be impossible, all the more so since they were performing together at the ceremony.
And that was why she was here now, she reminded herself: to do one final rehearsal of the piece she had written.
She pushed open the heavy glass doors and waved to Kostas, who sat in his office-booth near the front. He called out his greeting and pointed to the one side door that was unlocked. She passed through it and into the dark theatre.
As expected, the stage crew were there, getting set up for the orchestra. The grand piano was already in place at one side of the stage, and Fred’s cello sat on its side next to it. Of Fred, she saw nothing. She walked down the closest aisle and up the three stairs, then tossed her coat onto a chair and pulled her music out of her tote bag. She ran her fingers up and down the keys, warming them up after the cold February air outside, working out stiff joints with some scales and arpeggios, and then a short passage from her piece.
Nine thirty-three. No Fred. Nine thirty-six. No Fred. Was he not coming? Surely he had to be coming. He had a rehearsal to lead in a few minutes.
Then he appeared as if from nowhere. He looked at her sternly and cut her attempted greeting short. “No time now, Anne. I’ve asked Kostas to keep everyone but the tech guys out until we’re done, but we only have a few minutes. I don’t think we’ll need more. Let’s start. I’m already in tune.”
He sat down and placed the instrument between his knees and looked at her to start playing.
He might not want to talk to her, but he still connected with her at a musical level. There was very little work that needed to be done, and Anne knew they would play well together this evening. At ten minutes to the hour, Fred stood, thanked her for her time, and informed her that they were finished for now.
“Until this evening.” He turned away before she could say another word.
The wedding was lovely. It was short and personal, filled with snatches of Ben’s poems and little stories about the couple that brought a smile to every face in the room. The officiant had clearly done her work in getting to know the newlyweds. Anne and Fred played the new piece before the ceremony started, and then again as the couple signed the official paperwork before being pronounced married. They received nearly as many congratulations as did the bride and groom themselves.
Then the small party drifted to the far side of the room for a celebratory cocktail as the serving staff began shifting the chairs and tables into position for dinner. Would it be possible to speak to Fred now? There were not so many people present, no more than a dozen, and they were bound to be close enough to exchange a few words, weren’t they?
Of course, this was not the time or place to bare her soul to him; she would not do anything to upstage the two stars of the evening with her own little drama, but perhaps a word in his ear that she wanted to talk, that it was good, would be possible. She accepted a glass of something sparkling from the young man behind the bar and moved towards where Fred stood alone in a corner.
His eyes met hers and went cold, and he stepped a few feet away to insert himself in a conversation between one of Ben’s best friends from school and Louisa’s mother. It seemed there would be no such luck for her now. Maybe at dinner. With so small a group, Ben and Louisa had arranged for three tables of four people each. “Don’t make yourselves too comfortable, though,” Ben had announced to the assembled gathering. “We’ll switch around for each course. We want a chance to mingle and chat with everyone.”
Perhaps there would be an opportunity to sit with Fred after all, even for a few minutes.
For the first course, Anne sat with Louisa’s parents and Ben’s childhood friend. They were pleasant people and had a great deal of good conversation. All expressed both surprise at this hasty relationship and marriage, but at the same time, commented on how well suited the bride and groom seemed to be.
“I thought she was joking,” Louisa’s mother commented around her salad. “Some English chap from Italy! Would you have imagined it? I was ready to tell her she was crazy, especially if she needs to leave the orchestra to be with him. All those years she studied, practising till midnight, auditioning everywhere. But I trust her. I know I raised her right, and I trust her judgement. If she wants to be with Benjamin, if she’s happy with him, then what else could a mother really want?”
Louisa’s father grunted his agreement before her mother babbled on some more.
“And Ben is such a nice man. I wasn’t sure what to expect of someone who would ask her to throw her career away, but it’s not like that at all. Even if they have to leave Toronto and move to England, she’ll always have her music. But she wouldn’t always have Ben. That, I think, is a sacrifice well worth making. A gamble well worth taking.”
Just like Anne gambled when she refused to join Fred in Europe. Yes, she won her career. But what did she lose? If only Professor Russell had been more like Louisa’s mother! Perhaps they could have found a compromise. There was so much water under that bridge.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed Fred, sitting at another table almost exactly behind the mother-of-the-bride. He was very still as the lady spoke on. Was he listening? Could he hear her? What was he thinking? Anne’s hands grew damp, and she fumbled for a serviette before she wiped them on her skirt and damaged the pale green silk.
The salad course was removed and people rose for a moment to mingle and refresh their drinks and then change tables. Now Anne was with Ben and Louisa and one of Louisa’s sisters. Again, by accident or by design, Fred was directly behind Ben.
The conversation was animated and jovial, all celebration and sunny, despite the cold, dark February night outside. As Anne expected from the restaurant’s reputation, the food was exceptional, and somebody—a sommelier or perhaps Ben or Louisa—had chosen the perfect wine to match the meal.
Fragrant tomato sauce, rich with basil and olive oil, provided the perfect coat for an artistic pile of grilled eggplant and portobello mushrooms, with fish, lamb, or tofu as the focus as the diner wished. On the side, the potatoes were perfectly roasted, and even the Brussels sprouts were good. Anne usually hated Brussels sprouts. She sipped her Baco noir and let the conversation fill in the spaces between bites.
Louisa held court, telling her friend and Anne about the honeymoon she and Ben had planned. She talked about warm beaches and fine restaurants, all a world away from a frigid Canadian winter, and both women gushed their approval of the plans.
“I’ve taken a short leave for the next concert,” Louisa explained, “so we can enjoy ourselves for a week or two. Just long walks on the boardwalk and no pressures. I might even take some pencil crayons and see if I can still draw.”
Ben gazed at her with nausea-inducing adoration.
“You should be taking notes, Anne,” he turned to her when Louisa had finished. “If rumours are to be believed, you’ll be next.”
Behind him, Anne saw Fred’s head twitch.
She laughed, trying to toss it off as a joke. “Rumours are funny things, but not always true. In this case, about as far from the truth as you can get.”
Fred’s head now went very still.
“But everything I’ve heard about you and William Barnett—”
“—is some sort of story that somebody cooked up. I cannot imagine how this is getting about at all. There is absolutely nothing to it. Nothing.” She pitched her voice a touch louder than necessary, loud enough, she hoped, for every word to carry to the man sitting just behind the groom.
“But what about all those photos of the two of you, and the gala before Christmas?” Louisa leaned forward, the rich cream of her sleeves now resting inches from the tomato sauce on her plate. “I wasn’t there, but I heard about it from Kristen, who saw it from a couple of metres away.”
Another laugh. “No, he was just showing off. Really, I think it meant as little to him as it did to me.” She became more serious now. “It certainly made me realise how much I dislike being put on display like that. I never want to be anybody’s trophy, even in jest.”
“I had some ears at the cocktail party the other week, too,” Ben interjected. “Didn’t he try something similar? Who was it who told me? I left my notebook at home.”
“And a good thing,” Louisa quipped, her smile wide and her eyes sparkling.
“I think,” Anne mused, “that I’ve been a lot of things to a lot of people over the years, but mostly as some sort of commodity. It’s taken me a long time to realise this. I grew up just being Anne, the boring kid who doodled music notes on her math worksheets and who preferred practising piano to watching television. When people started paying attention to my jottings, it never occurred to me that they might have designs on me that weren’t about me as a person.”
“But surely this fellow liked you for the person you are.” This was Louisa’s friend. “I’ve just met you, but I can tell you’re interesting and worth knowing completely apart from your music.”
“I hoped so at first, that he wanted to know plain boring Anne, but I also think I always suspected something, even if I couldn’t put it into coherent thoughts. I never could understand what a smooth, urbane businessman like that would find in socially awkward and bumbling me. I know now that it was never me at all that he wanted. Not the real me. Just my name.”
“Aw, Annie, you’re selling yourself low.” Ben reached over to place a hand on her forearm, his new golden wedding band glowing in the subtle light. “You’re worth a thousand of him. He’s all show. You’re substance.”
She gave him a half a smile. “You’re a gem. I hope you know how lucky you are, Louisa. You’ve found a good one here. No, I’ve had a few fabulous friends over the years. You know Sophia Croft, and you’ve met Jasmine, right? But if we’re talking love, the sort you two have, that’s only happened once. There is only one person who I think loved me. Not the composer, not the musician, but Anne. And there’s only one person I have ever loved. And that was over long ago.”
Ben gave her a curious glance, but the others knew nothing and Anne did not elaborate.
Louisa sipped her wine and asked, “But surely, over the years and with all the amazing people you must have come across in your career, you’ve met someone equally suited to you. Or do you believe in soulmates?” Her eyes drifted to Ben, and she dissolved in a beatific smile.
Anne lightened the mood again. It was a wedding, after all. “I don’t know about the concept of soulmates, but he was one if they exist. My career… yes, I’ve met some really fascinating people, it’s true. But you imagine my life is a lot more exciting than it is. Really, I don’t get out all that much. I mostly stay at home. All of the adventure happens in my head. I correspond with people by email and text, of course, but it’s all business. My career isn’t one that takes me out into the public eye a great deal. Not like…” She could see Fred’s head behind Ben, still motionless as she spoke. “Not like some people’s.”
“So when that fellow, William, started wining and dining you?” Louisa asked.
“I was flattered. It was nice to be the centre of attention for a change. Me, not my music, but me. But it wasn’t me after all that drew him. Look,” she shook her head and raised her glass, “this is a time to celebrate you. A toast to Ben and Louisa! I wish you everything good in the world.”
Louisa’s friend raised her glass too, and soon the whole room was toasting the happy couple, and the sad topic and Anne and her lost love was abandoned.
But hopefully, just hopefully, Fred had heard enough that he would at least read her emails. She gulped down the rest of the wine and sent a small prayer to whoever might be listening.
Soon enough, the dinner dishes were cleared away and the party all rose to mingle for a few minutes before finding their new seats for dessert. Anne was swept up at once by Louisa’s mother, who cooed afresh about how thrilled she was for her daughter to have found such happiness. There was no regret at Louisa possibly leaving Toronto, no clucking about abandoning a great career with the symphony, just pure joy.
Then Ben’s brother was at her side to rave about the piece she had written, followed quickly by his father with equal words of praise. When she found her new table for the final course of the meal, she realised Fred was nowhere to be seen. His seat at the next table was empty, but his cello still stood silent in the corner by the piano. He had not left. But where was he?
The waiters started to bring in dessert, an assortment of little cupcakes for each table, piled high on a multi-tiered wrought-iron serving dish. There was one iced in pale blue with silver sprinkles, one that looked like strawberry shortcake, another that seemed to be a Black Forest confection, and more. Enough, by her quick count, to have one of each, perhaps more. She licked her lips in anticipation. Then came a tray of cheese and fruit for the table, and coffee and tea.
And still no Fred.
The four around her table had just finished discussing the selection and making their first choices when a motion to her side caught her attention. He was back, sliding into his seat at his own table.
“Sorry,” she heard him mumble to the others. “Urgent message. I had to deal with it quickly.” He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, as Anne knew he used to do when agitated. Hopefully, it wasn’t anything serious.
The chatter now was as light as the delicate cakes they ate, and as delightful. There was no more opening of the heart, no pouring out of lost longings. But it was a most pleasant end to a meaningful wedding. There came more toasts, more coffee, and then it was time to leave. Tomorrow was, after all, a weekday and many of the guests had places to be early in the morning.
She kissed the bride and groom on the cheek and offered her most sincere wishes one more time, as well as her hopes for a wonderful honeymoon, and went to find her coat and bag in the little cloakroom near the door.
Fred strode across the room, cello case slung over his one shoulder.
“You forgot your music, Anne.”
He handed her a sheet of paper, and she took it out of reflex. Was it hers? Surely she had packed her music earlier. A frown crept over her brow, but the pleading look in Fred’s eye kept her silent.
“Thank you.” She placed it in her tote bag without looking. She would have all the time she needed to peruse it later at home.
Was it a final order to leave him alone? A renewed recrimination of past wrongs? Something else? Whatever it was, she could only read it in private.
She buttoned her coat and waved at the newlyweds, and when she turned around all she saw was Fred’s back disappearing out the door into the frigid snowy night.
* * *
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Chapter Thirty-One
Espressivo
Anne’s hands shook all the way back to her building. That sheet of paper that Fred had given her was a millstone in her tote bag, both hampering her every step and propelling her home as soon as she could get there. Anticipation, trepidation, and plain curiosity warred within her as she trudged the final few steps down her hallway and into her apartment.
Her coat fell onto the floor as she flung herself onto the sofa, tote bag clutched in shaking hands. She reached inside and withdrew that single sheet of paper. It was music, after all, one of the first sheets she had printed out, before making nicer copies to use for the performance. But it was not the printed side of the paper that drew her anxious eyes. She turned the sheet over to see Fred’s familiar handwriting all over the back.
This must be what he was doing when he was late for dessert. The paper burned in her hands as she read.
I cannot listen in silence any longer. I have been afraid to speak, afraid to say what I want to say. I left you once and broke your heart, and my own, and when I thought you had found happiness with Barnett, I promised myself not to destroy your life again with my selfishness.
