Preludes, page 3
“Anne.” His voice was deeper than she recalled it, more sonorous than on videoconference. “How have you been?”
No comments about it being good to see her again, or whether he had missed her. Just a polite “how’dye do?” like any almost-stranger would ask.
“Well, thank you. Congratulations. The orchestra is lucky to have you.”
“And to you as well. You are famous. Your music is spectacular.”
Such polite nothings.
A beat.
“You look… different. Your hair?”
“Oh. Yes. I find it easier to pull it back. I’m not twenty-three anymore.”
“No. Of course. None of us is.”
Silence.
“Well, what a treat this is!” Sophia had entered the room, and she was in full-out hostess mode. Anne knew that tone of voice. “Have a seat, Anne, and let me get you something to drink before dinner is ready. Fred was just telling us about some of the places he saw today…”
From here, Anne allowed herself to fade into the background, letting the conversation flow around her like a stone in a stream. She was there; she was acknowledged. But the water continued on its relentless course despite her presence. Sophia was garrulous enough to continue a conversation unaided, and Fred was equal to her. With Jeremy’s sporadic interjections, there was no need whatsoever for her to utter a word, other than an occasional “yes” or “of course.”
As for Fred himself, he seemed to be revelling in the spotlight. It was his milieu, after all. Unlike a composer, who completes her work in solitude, pouring out her soul to a sheet of lined paper or a computer screen, a conductor lives his art in public. One does not lead an orchestra in solitude; rather, every nuance and every emotion must be made grand and public, to be received and made apparent to all. How different they were, but how well they worked together.
At some unseen signal, they moved from the living room to the dining room. Sophia and Jeremy were both excellent cooks, and for tonight, they had brought in their housekeeper’s daughter to serve and clean up. She was a university student studying urban design, and Anne had met her before and liked the girl. But for now, it allowed the four to dine uninterrupted by the need to get up and bring in the next course or refill the water jug.
“Are you here for good, Fred?” Sophia asked as she waited for her soup to cool. “Surely you still have commitments at your old gig in Rome.” She blew gently on the fragrant soup. Anne took a sip of her own: pear, squash, and the perfect amount of ginger, with a swirl of crème fraîche. She had never had a bad dish in the Croft home. She savoured the combination of flavours as Fred finished his own spoonful and answered.
“I need to be back at the end of June. This is the time of year when they usually bring in guest conductors, anyway. I have a couple of engagements in Chicago, one in Montreal and one in Vancouver, and each of those will take me out of town for about a week. Then it’s back to Rome for the final concert of their season, but I’m making this my permanent address pretty much immediately. I’ll pack up when I’m in Rome in June, and hopefully I’ll be able to move into my own apartment here as soon as I’m back. I liked those two we saw again today—the one on St. Clair Avenue and the one near High Park—so hopefully I’ll get a lease signed for one of them before I have to fly off to Chicago next week.”
“Where are you staying now?” Jeremy asked.
“My parents!” Fred chortled. “Yeah, I know. Thirty-four years old and living in my mother’s basement again. If I weren’t going to be dashing all over the continent for the next couple of months, I would find something short-term, but for a week at a time, I can put up with it. Besides,” he mused, “I’ve missed them. I loved being in Europe. I loved being the star and the man of the hour and everything this amazing career has given me, but the spotlight gets tiring after a while. I miss hanging out with my dad in front of the TV to watch soccer, and I miss my mom feeding me tastes of her tomato sauce, and I miss just being me. I’m not going to slow down my career, but I’m ready to take another step in my life and find a home, somewhere I can stay and put down roots.”
“Looking to find someone and get married?” Jeremy teased.
Fred gave a great laugh. “I’m not going about it like a project or some mercenary venture, but the thought had crossed my mind. I want a family and a stable life. Find me the right woman,” he grinned, “who loves music and who can stand my travelling, and she can have me for a song, as long as she stays in key!”
His eyes did not even flicker once towards Anne.
“Anne?”
Anne fumbled with her phone. It was six thirty in the morning. What was Marie thinking?
“Yeah…” she mumbled. “It’s early, Marie. What’s up?”
“Charles just left on his business trip a few minutes ago. He had to get to the airport early. So I thought I’d see how you’re doing.”
“It’s six thirty in the morning.”
“I know, but I was up anyway to help Charles.” Anne could hear the slurp of coffee. “Where were you last night?”
“Oh God, Marie. Are you Mom now? I was out at the Crofts. Sophia asked me for dinner.”
“Why didn’t she ask us too? I’m the one who introduced you to her, after all. I mean, it’s Charles who works for them, not you. Well, never mind. Look, Anne, why don’t you come over today? Maybe this afternoon, when the boys are back from school. They love hanging out with you. Maybe I could set up the spare room if you want to stay over.”
“So I can look after them, you mean? Don’t sputter, Marie. It’s too early for games.”
“Well, I just thought, since they are your nephews, you know!”
“And I adore them. But I’m not their full-time babysitter.”
“I thought you’d want to spend some real time with them, because it’s not like you’re likely to have your own kids, now, are you?”
“Can this possibly wait till after I’ve had coffee? Or maybe a drink or two?”
“Well, it’s true, isn’t it? You’re nearly thirty-two and I don’t think you’ve gone on two dates in the last eight years. You do know how babies are made, don’t you, Anne? Anyway, it’s not like you have anything to do.”
“Marie!” Anne had to restrain herself from throwing the phone against the wall. She lowered her voice; it would do no good to disturb the neighbours with her shouts this early in the morning. “I happen to have a lot to do. I need to get the final movement done in draft before the play-through in May, and then I need—”
“Oh really, Anne, how hard can that be? You just think of tunes and then write them down. You can do that while helping get the boys ready for bed.”
“Sorry, Marie. Gotta go. Bye.”
Anne pressed the disconnect button on her phone before her sister could say anything else and rolled over. She pulled the covers over her head in hopes of sleeping a bit more, but a few minutes of tossing and shifting proved that this would be impossible.
She dragged herself upright and slipped on her gown before padding to the kitchen to make some coffee. She would have to find another place to plug in her phone at night. No one else called at such unreasonable times. She had her phone set to do-not-disturb for most people, but she had flagged Marie as an accepted caller in case something urgent came up with the boys or with their parents. Perhaps she ought to change that to Charles’ number rather than her sister’s.
Was it true, though? These were not thoughts she welcomed as she waited for the coffee maker to come to life, but they would not be silenced. Was she destined to live out her life alone? She had tried to date after Fred left. She had met some very nice guys, and she was… she used to be… not unattractive.
There was Anton, the PhD student, with his wry sense of humour and his invariably poor taste in clothing. He was smart and interesting and more than a little bit cute, and she went out with him two or three times. But she could never think of him as anything other than a friend. At another time, if things had been different, perhaps something could have developed between them. They certainly got on well enough. But it was clear that he was, as they say, friend-zoned from the start.
Then, a while later, there was Rajiv. He was not a musician at all, but an architect whom she met through some mutual friends. Again, he was a terrific guy… for somebody else. His ready laugh and willingness to embrace every new experience were charming and more than attractive—not to mention that gorgeous black hair! Whoever ended up with him would be a lucky woman. But Anne’s heart refused to open to the possibility, and they soon parted ways.
Had she dated anybody since them? Other than the occasional coffee with somebody at Marie or Sophia’s urging, she could not recall a single one. Her soul had withdrawn deep into herself; she had locked away her heart. When Fred had left, she had sealed it off with a wall of pain and had not released it since.
And now Fred was back, and he seemed to have lost all interest in her.
Marie was right. She would likely remain single forever.
Chapter Five
Repetizione, più forte
April melted into May, and then June. Anne had not seen Fred since the dinner at the Crofts, although she heard about him everywhere she went. Jeremy had, at some point, introduced Fred to Charles, and the two had formed quite a fast friendship. At every turn, Marie talked about Fred coming over to watch the baseball, or of him and Charles taking in a pre-season football game at the stadium, or of the fabulous stories he told about his years in Europe.
“You should come over after the game sometime,” Marie urged, but Anne always found some excuse. Seeing Fred only tore at her wounded heart, and he clearly had no interest in her anymore.
Sophia, too, talked all the time about the new conductor. She and Jeremy had gone with him to decide on the apartment he would take for the next year, and had appointed themselves a sort of older brother and sister to him. They went to art exhibits and plays in town, as well as day trips in the surrounding areas.
Anne heard about bike trips and hiking excursions and visits to wineries and local historical sites. She was invited along for none of these.
“I don’t remember Fred being such an outdoors type,” she mused to Sophia over one of their regular coffees. “He always seemed happier doing inside things.”
All manner of memories came unbidden to her mind. She remembered him grimacing at the idea of ice skating outdoors. “It’s cold out there, you know?” he would grumble. “People invented inside for a reason.” But still, they would go every now and then and do two or three laps around some frozen rink, then hurry into the lodge for a hot chocolate. Later on, they would curl up together on a lumpy IKEA sofa, wrapped up in a single blanket, talking, laughing, and getting lost in each other. His hands would wander and she allowed it with great pleasure, stopping him only to tease him about something or to change the music on the CD player.
Then came the flood of memories of him talking about his one and only attempt at camping. His family were not the sort for roughing it in nature, and he had gone on his first trip with friends in university. She remembered him complaining about the heat and the insects and the discomfort. “The air mattress I brought along was like a pancake!” he had grumbled. “A roll of bubble-wrap would have been more comfortable. And the washrooms! Oh my God, Annie! Literally a hole in the ground! There was a shower, but it was so awful I just dunked myself into the lake at six in the morning when there was no one around to see me!”
They had laughed together, and suddenly, she could almost feel his arms as he pulled her closer to nestle along his side. Then he had smiled at her and she had smiled at him and he had kissed her in that wonderful way he had, and ended up in bed, and they never talked of outdoor adventures again.
But Sophia was privy to none of these recollections, nor was she even aware of their previous relationship, and so replied in a matter-of-fact voice.
“I suppose people change over time and discover new things. Jeremy asked if Fred did a lot of cycling, and he said he got into it in Europe. It was a way to get into shape. He realised he needed to be in top physical shape to conduct—it’s hard work, you know, waving your arms around like that for an hour or more at a time. He told us a few stories about his first attempts along the Seine in Paris, and how he found he really enjoyed it. It sounds like he ended up doing a few long rides each year, up and down the rivers and through the countryside. I have to say, by the time he finished talking, Jeremy and I were about ready to drive straight to the airport and fly off to Italy or somewhere with our bikes.
“Hmmmm.” What was she to say? That she wished she had been along on those rides? That these were her dreams that Fred had ended up living without her? The invisible hand squeezed tighter around her heart.
“Do you ride, Anne? Going to Niagara was Fred’s idea, and it was a great one. The side roads are empty and flat, and it’s very pretty there. Are you up for an adventure? Let’s go sometime, you and I. When do you have your next date with the orchestra? We could go the following week.”
Anne sipped her tea. “They’re playing through the last two movements next Thursday. We’ve got two sessions booked, so I can have them go over passages I want to hear again and so I can talk to the musicians about them. I’ve never worked this way before, so collaboratively with the orchestra. Usually we just give them the music and they play it. But this process is fascinating, and I’m learning a lot from how they react.”
“Then the following Monday! You can take the weekend to make your notes and whatever it is you do, and we’ll drive down after that. Do you have a bike? I’ll rent you one. But I’ll buy you a helmet. You don’t want someone else’s. Lice, you know? Hmmm…” She stared into the distance. “Pity Fred will still be in Italy. I think he’d enjoy coming along. His last concert with his orchestra there is on Saturday night. But he said he needs to pack up his old flat there and have everything shipped over. I think he’ll be glad not to be flying all over the map for a while. Is your tea finished? Let me get you another.”
So he was back in Rome. She had known he had some final engagements there, but hadn’t known the date. Once, she would have known his schedule down to when his rehearsal breaks were.
Her eyes followed Sophia as she walked to the counter to order more drinks. She really must find a way to stop thinking of Fred all the time. But it seemed that it was becoming impossible to avoid him, and soon enough, they would be working together. She brushed away that invisible hand around her heart and locked her feelings away behind yet another wall of ice. And she felt another five years settle onto her shoulders and etch themselves upon her once-pretty face.
This was the day. A thrill of excitement tingled its way up Anne’s spine as she made her way into the theatre. She had not been here since that first play-through last November. How long ago that seemed. She waved a cheerful hello to Kostas, the theatre custodian, and asked briefly after his family.
“Thank you, Dr. Elliot. You are always kind to ask after them. My daughter is enjoying her high school very much. She is in the visual arts program, and her poster design was chosen to be the official poster for the school’s winter concert.”
“You must be very proud of her!” Anne had seen pictures on Kostas’ phone of his daughter’s designs, and the girl was very talented.
“We are. Very much. And my son! How hard he has worked. Only last week, he was accepted into his first choice of university.” Kostas beamed and puffed out his chest. “He was not a good student when he started high school, but this last year and a half, he has changed and worked so hard, and now this is his reward.”
And Anne mirrored his great smile. In the short time she had known Kostas, she had heard a great deal about his two children and felt as proud of them as if she were an honorary aunt. “I am delighted. I truly am. Offer him my heartiest congratulations.”
She was still beaming when, a moment later, she swished through the heavy double doors into the theatre space itself where the orchestra was setting up.
Most of the people here she knew, some quite well and others by sight. She had attended a handful of rehearsals before submitting her proposal for the composer-in-residence position, wishing to know what forces were at her disposal: their strengths, their weaknesses, their personalities. She smiled quietly at one or two as she scanned the banks of seats for a place to sit.
Her eyes stopped for a second on an unexpected figure. There, in the far aisle, was somebody she did not know. He was not one of the musicians, that was clear. He had no instrument or case and he stood quite still at the side of the auditorium. Furthermore, he was wearing a suit and tie. The orchestra members were all dressed far more casually, some in jeans and t-shirts, some in shorts, others in skirts and blouses. He was staring at the cluster of chairs and music stands under the bright lights and seemed quite unaware of her. She took a moment to examine him better.
He was a fine-looking man, handsome even, no more than forty, with thick wavy hair whose colour she could not quite determine under these lights. Light brown? Auburn? He seemed to be examining the stage quite intently, glancing now and then to the musicians still gathered in the front rows of the theatre, then back to the chairs and music stands that were set up for them. Whoever could he be? It didn’t matter; she was there to write the music. It was not up to her who did or did not attend rehearsal, although she must make certain he wasn’t recording any of her new piece.
“Hi Anne!” An arm shot up from a clump of musicians and waved at her. She isolated the face attached to the arm and waved back, the stranger quickly forgotten.
“Xi, hi!” She made her way over to talk to him. She had known the violinist since their university days, and while they had never been particularly close friends, they had always been friendly, and she was happy to catch up for a moment.
