Preludes, page 5
They parked and soon were on their bicycles, heading out of town towards one of the wineries in the region.
“That helmet matches your shirt!” Sophia called. She and Anne were riding beside each other; the men were a few metres ahead, giving Anne a rather pleasant view of Fred’s back. He had worn regular shorts in the car, but had changed into biking shorts at the rental shop. He had invested in proper gear when he started biking in Europe, he explained to Jeremy’s raised eyebrows. Why not be comfortable?
The tight latex shorts gave the ladies a rather clear idea of what lay beneath them. Biking shorts might be excellent for the sport, all sleek and aerodynamic, but they left little to the imagination. Not that Anne needed her imagination for this. Her memory served quite well.
It wasn’t just his obvious endowments that drew her eyes. The years and his time on a bicycle had added welcome bulk to Fred’s physique. He had always been attractive, but he was broader now, more solid, and his lanky arms and legs had become toned and nicely muscled. Not too much. Just enough. His legs, long and lean and beautifully shaped, pumped up and down on the pedals, and his calf muscles flexed and released in perfect rhythm, a magnet to Anne’s eyes.
She wrenched her attention back to the road and to the surrounding countryside. This was wine country. Field after field of vineyards surrounded them, the long straight vines sporting bright leaves and clusters of young grapes, broken up by orchards of tender fruit or tracts of hay and other farmland. There was something soothing and reassuring in the even spacing of the vines, like the regular harmonic progression of a Bach cantata, a walking bass line, predictable and comfortable, leading inexorably from tonic through a musical path back to the tonic.
But the leaves greening on their stems were something different again. Lush. Unpredictable. Growing where they wanted, a riot of life upon the carefully manicured vines. The exotic, free-flowing melody that crested and swept along, anchored by the harmony but not bound to it, moving where it would, twisting here and there, but always returning to its roots.
Yes. This was beautiful country indeed. Perhaps she should have brought her camera after all. Her phone would suffice but it was a poor substitute.
“Stop for a drink?” Jeremy called out from his bike.
The four pulled to the side of the road and dismounted for a moment. Anne pulled her helmet from her head to allow the breeze to cool her damp hair, and then took a gulp from her water bottle. Although the weather was pleasant, the sun was hot on her back and she was unaccustomed to this sort of activity. Fred looked cool and comfortable. Of course. After biking through hot Italy, this must be nothing to him. A mere bagatelle of amusement for an afternoon.
As if picking up on her thoughts, Jeremy turned to Fred and said, “You never did tell us why you’re back so soon. We’re thrilled you’re here, but we didn’t expect to see you till the end of the month.”
Fred rummaged in his backpack for his own water bottle. “It’s nothing, really. I did my final concert and was just packing up my flat. But I don’t have so much stuff. I was a student for a while, and then when I started getting engagements, it was a week here and two weeks there, and my flat in Rome was really just a place to sleep between gigs. It was like living out of page twenty seven of the IKEA catalogue. It’s not like I had anything—or anyone—to come home to.”
Now he sent a cruel glance towards Anne. He might as well have slapped her, and she looked down at her feet. White legs. Blue socks. Black running shoes. He must be congratulating himself for having avoided this ‘prize.’ She stepped backwards.
If Fred noticed, his voice didn’t show it. He continued as if nothing had happened. “And so, after my final concert, I boxed up everything meaningful and sent it ahead. I covered the rest of the stuff with sticky notes—things to pack, things to donate, et cetera—and I hired a company to deal with it all. They’ll send over the few items I’ve labelled. But I’ll want new furniture for my new apartment anyway, so there’s very little from Rome that I need. And with that done, I thought I’d rather be here. I have one or two details to take care of in Rome this summer, but I left a mattress on the floor. It will do.”
He took a drink. When he spoke again, his voice had softened. “I’m glad I came. I was able to drop in on Anne’s rehearsal last week. It was lovely to see you there, Anne.”
This was the first time he had directed his words directly at her. Had he realised how much his last comment hurt? Was he trying to make amends? He had a right to be angry with her, but he had never been a cruel man. She didn’t know where to look. Her shoes were getting boring.
“What did you think?” Sophia asked.
“What am I supposed to say?” Fred laughed. “The composer is right here. I can hardly say anything bad. But I don’t have to lie. Her symphony is brilliant. Knowing that I’ll be conducting the world premier is a thrill like I cannot tell you. Let’s talk more later. Should we get back on our bikes? There’s a winery a couple of kilometres down the road that makes a lovely Riesling.”
They biked for another hour, stopping here and there to admire the scenery or take a drink of water, and a couple of times at one of the area’s wealth of wineries to do a tasting. Sophia bought a case of a white blend she particularly enjoyed, arranging to pick it up in the car later on, and with this example in mind, Anne added three bottles to her own meagre collection.
“Right at the next crossroads, and then it’s just another kilometre or so back to the parkway. If I’ve set my route properly, we’ll come out exactly at the park where I’ve arranged for lunch.” Sophia was always happy to organise everybody’s life, but she acted with every good intention and she was generous with both her time and her money. If she had arranged for lunch to be delivered to the park, it would be ready and it would be excellent. Of that, Anne had no doubts.
Her expectations were met. When they crossed the parkway a few minutes later and flung themselves off their bicycles, there was a van waiting with the name of one of the local catering companies emblazoned on the side. The attachment to the roof suggested the interior held a fridge, and probably a warming station, too. No mere cold picnic for Sophia and Jeremy Croft.
Within moments, two perky people hopped out of the van and began setting up one of the picnic tables under a large tree. Anne watched in awe as the wooden bench and table were transformed with soft pillows, an elegant tablecloth (secured down with weights at the corners), and a full place setting for each. Then came the food. It was simple enough fare—salads and sandwiches—but the salads were ice cold and the grilled vegetables on focaccia were hot, and the iced tea and lemonade had not been sitting out in the sun. Or in a hot backpack. Anne suspected there would be hot coffee afterwards for those who wanted.
“Did you bring enough for yourselves?” Sophia asked the caterers. “Good. You enjoy yourselves till we’re done.” Always thinking of others. Always generous. She was a good friend.
The four cyclists settled themselves onto the cushioned benches. For someone not used to being on a bike, Anne was very grateful for this bit of thoughtfulness. She would hurt for a couple of days, but it was well worth it. The ride had been a welcome break from the city and the feast before them looked spectacular, all the more so after a morning spent exercising. At Sophia’s invitation, they all helped themselves to the food and sat in silence for a few moments as they took their first bites.
Then Fred turned to Anne again. “I’ve been following your career, Annie.” He took a bite of the bean and corn salad. That he used the affectionate form of her name was not lost on her, and she wondered if he realised what he had said. “I’ve never told you how much I was blown away by your score for The Butterfly’s Kiss.” He put down his fork to grab a piece of focaccia.
“Oh. Thank you. I didn’t know you’d seen it. You were never much of a movie-goer.” Anne saw Sophia’s eyebrows shoot up towards her hairline, and Jeremy cocked his head. Uh oh. There would be questions later.
“I’m not. But when I heard it was your score, I had to go. Not a bad movie. But the music! I went out and bought the soundtrack and listened again and again, and then I went to see the movie a second time.”
Now his words came more quickly, and his eyes bored into hers.
“Anne, what you did was genius. Having distinct thematic material for each character or place is lovely, but not new. But what you did next was fantastic. Taking that thematic material and reworking it in different keys and modes to reflect the action was just inspired. Setting the lovers’ themes in counterpoint with a pentatonic scale… well, I was in awe. And to do all of this, keeping it so technically perfect, and still make it sound effortless and natural, and, well, beautiful! I hardly have words.”
Anne suddenly felt very warm. God. She was blushing. She took a bite of the bread in her hand to hide her embarrassment. “Thank you,” she mumbled into her sandwich.
“No, Annie, don’t be coy. Tell us more. I’ve always wanted to pick your brains about how you write, but never felt I should ask. Trade secrets and all, I suppose.” Sophia leaned forward, elbows on the elegant tablecloth, leaning over her glass of iced tea. “I know something about music, but I thought it would all go right over my head. But if you tell Fred, I’ll probably understand enough that it will make sense to me, without turning you into a kindergarten teacher. Please. I’m really interested.”
Jeremy also sat forward, his eyes eager. As the president of the orchestra’s board of directors, he had more than a passing knowledge of music. He was here as a friend and was one of her biggest fans already, but it could never hurt to talk to him more about her technique and ideas. Her tenure as composer-in-residence was only for three years, after all, and then she would be out looking for more commissions. She would need all the cheerleaders and contacts she could find, and she would have to get used to talking about her art. Here was as good a place to start as any.
So she poured herself another glass of lemonade and took a bite of the warm focaccia and began to talk.
By the time she had finished, the salad and sandwiches were long gone, and had been replaced by warm apple pie topped with cold ice cream. And yes, there was coffee. Fred leaned forward, nodding and murmuring his approval or agreement at various comments, and Jeremy and Sophia sat with amazed grins on their faces. Anne broke off her monologue and gaped at her friends.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t realise I had that much to say. It… it must have been a bit much. I forget, sometimes, how much I work in my own head and how my thoughts don’t always translate well into words.”
“On the contrary, dear,” Sophia licked some ice cream off her spoon, “it translated incredibly well. I had only thought of your music as interesting and pretty—”
“Which really should be enough to keep a listener happy,” Jeremy added.
“—but now I see something about how it’s constructed. It’s like a building, I suppose. We see the facade and the paint and decorations, but never think about all the stuff going on underneath that keeps the stairs in place and lets the light in. Or a painting, which is as much the science of mixing colour as it is the art of a pretty picture.”
“You should write a book, Anne.” Fred looked quite serious. “You have described some of the techniques of composition exceedingly well. Others could learn a lot from you.”
“I did.” It came out as a mumble.
“‘Scuse me?” Jeremy asked.
“I did. I did write a book. My doctoral thesis. Part of it was the composition itself, part was an analysis of my work, and part was a treatise on composition as an art form.”
Fred’s demeanour went cold again. “Right. The thesis. Of course. You must be very pleased you stayed to finish it. Well,” he rose from his cushioned bench, “I think it’s time to get back on our bikes and return to the car. We don’t want to get caught in too much traffic on the drive back to the city.”
If he had slammed the door in Anne’s face, his import could not have been clearer. Another layer of bricks went up around the damage that was Anne’s soul.
Chapter Seven
Agitato
Seven o’clock in the morning. Ugh! Why did Marie always have to call at the crack of dawn? Anne rolled over and groped for her phone.
“Mmmfphh.”
“Anne, are you awake? I need you today.”
“Do you always have to call me so early, Marie? Isn’t it school vacation already? Why are you up so early?”
“That’s why I need you. I need you to watch the boys. I’m going out.”
Anne rubbed her eyes with her free hand. It was late June, and the sun had been shining for a while, but only a thin bright line shone through the crack in her window blinds.
“Going out where? And why are you only calling me now? I might be busy.”
On the other end of the line, Marie laughed. “Oh, Anne! Be serious. You’re never busy.” Anne heard some shouting in the background. Charles yelling at the kids?
“Why are they awake so early?”
“I know, right? Every day they were at school, I had to pry them out of bed, and now that it’s summer, they’re up with the sun. I don’t know why they don’t sleep in, or at least nag their father. No one ever thinks of me. I need my sleep too, you know. But yeah, this afternoon. Charles and Fred decided to get tickets for the soccer game today. It’s not a big sport here, so it’s easy to get tickets. And I decided I wanted to go with them. They’re always having fun without me, and I like to go out too. I deserve some fun as well as them, and no one ever thinks to ask me. So when Charles went on-line to get tickets, I told him to get one for me as well. We’re going to get lunch before the game, so I’ll need you here by about eleven. That gives you plenty of time.”
The line went dead. Anne groaned. She had not been sleeping well of late, and had hoped to be able to take an easy morning. Who went to a soccer game on a Tuesday afternoon, anyway? Wasn’t Charles working?
She dragged herself out of bed and stumbled to the shower. Fred. His name echoed through her head as she rubbed the shampoo through her dark hair. Fred. Was there no escape from him? She would have to work with him in the autumn, this she knew, but could she not have the summer to try to shore up her crumbling heart?
It had been a week since the awkward bike trip. It had started well. They had both enjoyed the ride, even though Fred was so much better on a bike than she was, and they had, for a while, conversed easily and comfortably. It was almost—almost—like before. Before her decision. Before he left. He understood her like no one else did. He understood her art; he breathed the same rarified air. She had seen the lights in his eyes as she had described her new symphony, and she had responded similarly to his comments about his own metier.
And then the door had slammed shut and the lights went out. They had finished their lunch almost in silence and had said not another unnecessary word to each other for the entire drive home. He was pleased to see the end of her. She didn’t need another reminder.
Oh well. She rinsed the shampoo and slathered on some conditioner, then let the fruity scent of her body-wash trickle down from her shoulders. At least she wouldn’t see him today. Even if he came to the house, she could arrange to be busy somewhere until he left. Washing dishes, tidying the boys’ toys. Something. Somewhere else.
She lathered the body-wash on one leg to shave it, then repeated her actions on the other leg. No one who cared would come close enough to tell whether she sported a sprinkle of leg stubble, but little Dylan always teased her when she was prickly, and if she couldn’t shave for her four-year-old nephew, who could she shave for? She smiled at the thought. He was a handful, but a sweet kid nonetheless, and she adored him and his brother to the moon and back.
Time now for a coffee or two, and maybe a walk around the block, before heading to the subway for the trip out to the Musgroves’ house. It was another fine day, perhaps just a tad hot, but nice enough to enjoy the short stroll between her destination subway station and her sister’s home. Maybe she could take the kids to the local park and let them run off some energy. She threw a book and her tablet into her tote bag and started on the way.
It had grown hotter as the afternoon progressed. Even sitting here under the shade of a large white oak and sipping cold water from a thermos, perspiration dampened Anne’s forehead under her sunhat. Perhaps she should have stayed at the house and let the boys play in the backyard, close to air conditioning. But the boys wanted to run and climb, and here, at the park, they might see their friends. And, to be honest, it was easier for her to be here. At home, she had to step in every two minutes to moderate some disagreement, some territorial assertion over toy trucks and hula hoops and soft balls that couldn’t damage the windows. Here at the park, there were enough climbing structures to keep the kids busy and apart.
A trickle of sweat dripped down between her shoulder blades and she took another sip of water from her insulated bottle. How the boys managed to run around in the full heat of the sun, she could not understand. But kids are kids, and beneath their sunblock and protective hats, they seemed not to have the first concern about the rising temperatures.
There were a few other families at the park. A couple of women sat chatting on the bench across the way, one or the other of them leaping up every now and then to tend to one of a group of young kids on the climbing structure. There was another woman sitting alone on the next bench, looking like a nanny rather than a parent, gabbing on her mobile phone to some distant friend. A dad stalked around the see-saw, pushing or prodding one of two similar looking children about the same ages as Anne’s nephews, and three teenagers hung out at the picnic table under another tree, each with a tall plastic cup of something that needed a straw to drink. Slurpees? Frozen coffee? Both sounded lovely to Anne right now. A bit further along, a few kids were kicking a ball back and forth and one or two people strolled by with dogs on their leashes.
