Inside, Thomas was surprised yet again. The rehearsal room was big enough for a full philharmonic orchestra.
“Impressive, right? It was designed to allow ballet companies to rehearse under performance conditions.”
The auditorium wasn’t just big—it was huge. A Bösendorfer sat resplendent in the middle of the stage. Thomas preferred Bösendorfers to Steinways because of the matchless depth of their lower octaves.
“Try it out,” the man offered.
Thomas didn’t need to be told twice. It had been three days since he’d touched a keyboard. He sat down on the bench and warmed up with Ravel’s “Jeux d’eau” before moving on to a couple of Chopin’s études—the first, in C major, followed by the twelfth, in C minor. The PR manager was clearly enjoying his personal concert.
When he was done, Thomas reluctantly stood up and thanked his guide for allowing him to play.
“Come see us again sometime. We host musicians from all over the world. Our audiences enjoy seeing new faces. We’ve even had several French artists, including Ms. Hélène Grimaud, who will be playing here at the end of the month.” Thomas’s eyes widened upon hearing the name of the esteemed pianist.
“Are you serious?” he said to the man. Though his father’s arm passed through Thomas’s as he elbowed him, Thomas could still feel it.
“If you’re interested, I’ll give you my contact information.” The PR manager held out his business card. Then he accompanied Thomas to the stage door and shook his hand.
“So?” Raymond asked. “Who was right this time? You see, I can help you out too. If that offer pans out, we’ll be even!”
On the way back to the house on Green Street, Raymond mentioned he was surprised that the “chauffeur” didn’t look like the one they’d had that morning. Even stranger, the car had changed too.
As they neared St. Patrick Church, Thomas noticed a hearse parked outside. He turned abruptly toward his father. “There are some big problems with your plan.”
“I don’t see any. It’s perfect. But if you prefer Plan B, I’m okay with that.”
“A and B both start the same way. Either way, I have to blend in with the other guests.”
“Unless you want to take the priest’s place, I see no alternative. But I still don’t see the problem.”
“I can’t be incognito now that I’ve met Manon. She’ll recognize me and wonder why I decided to crash her mother’s funeral.”
“Why did you have to introduce yourself to her?” Raymond complained.
“Probably because you sent me in alone to check the place out, remember?”
“All right, fine. So, you ran into each other. She’ll have forgotten all about you by tomorrow. Believe me, she has other things on her mind at the moment.”
“Well, we also talked . . .”
“How much did you talk, exactly?” Raymond fumed, crossing his arms.
“I don’t know. We had a short conversation.”
“I sincerely hope you didn’t flirt with Camille’s daughter.”
“You’re hardly one to talk. And, no, it was nothing like that. She surprised me while I was in the room and wanted to know what I was doing there. What was I supposed to do, run away?”
“You can’t have said anything memorable, though. It was just small talk, right? She’s probably spoken to dozens of people over the past few days. Funeral home employees, florists, caterers. I’m sure you’re worried over nothing. She won’t remember you.”
“I’m not so sure,” Thomas sighed.
“What exactly did you say? Don’t leave anything out, please, Thomas!”
“I told her not to be too worried about the funeral, that the real flood of grief comes later and lasts much longer.”
Raymond looked thoughtfully at his son.
“Was that you speaking from personal experience, or are you just saying that now to try to make up for your giant mistake?”
