Cassius positioned his hands over the keys.On a whim, he fingered the melody of the opening song.Unlike the simple upright used for rehearsals onstage, the piano in the pit was a grand piano, sleek and curved, its black surface shining with polish and care.Soon, one of the stagehands would move it to make room for additional strings and clarinets, as Ezra had not written a part for the piano in this opera.That was the way of his instrument.Sometimes, it was placed with percussion, sometimes with the strings, and for other operas, it was completely omitted.And sometimes, the piano could be its own orchestra, requiring no accompaniment whatsoever and commanding the entire stage.On those occasions, the stagehands used a hoist and ropes to lift her from the pit and into the limelight.
He’d stopped yearning for that.To be centre stage.Turning his back on the audience was far easier.Less fraught.But as the notes filled the pit, he could confess, if only to himself, that he still loved her.After all these years, after a childhood of playing like a monkey with a grinder for smug nobles, he’d never been able to let the sweet vibrations of her soul beneath his fingers go.
‘Is my opera still only adequate?’Odette’s voice flittered down, each word dropping into the empty space.
‘Yes,’ he called back.
‘Why don’t you like it?’
Cassius gritted his teeth and continued playing.
‘I want it to be perfect,’ she persisted.
‘You can’t always have what you want.’
Cassius pressed the keys firmer, making the song louder.Hopefully, that would drive her away.But instead, her feet appeared over the edge of the stage, right at the point where the pit rose.Lithe as a ballerina, she slid into the gap, then dropped the last few feet into his world.She crossed the empty space between them and stepped into the curve of the piano.There, she rested a hand on the lid, her fingers splaying over the wood, her white gloves stark against the black.
‘Karl says your prince has left town.Called home by his mother.Another has arrived, however.Two dukes and a viscount have reserved boxes.Who will it be for this performance?’
Her eyes narrowed.For a moment, he thought she was going to rise to the barb, but then she settled further into her position, almost lounging against the piano.‘You know, there isn’t oneeveryshow.’
He huffed, chasing the song through the higher keys and into the melody that would become hers.
‘There’s a rumour every show,’ she continued.‘But a rumour and a lover are not the same.Each has a different power, and a different place.Some of the men don’t even want to.I think some of them no longer can.Once I accept their gift and share a glass of champagne and a conversation with them, that alone is their reward.They brag to their friends.I don’t correct them.It all forms part of the mystique of Miss Delaney.’
‘Duke Northam gave you that bracelet for your conversational skills?’he asked with a nod at the emeralds encircling her wrist.
‘Oh no.He was a valiant lover.He tried so hard to impress, even when he lost his breath and his cheeks turned red.’Odette laughed, and he couldn’t help but join in, surprised at the crassness of her confession.She slid closer, trailing a finger across his shoulders, then sat beside him, facing away from the piano.Leaning back, she edged closer to him without touching the keys, obscuring them partially so he was forced to play by feel.‘I don’t remember you complaining when you found his lonely wife.’
Cassius fumbled a chord, then quickly corrected it.He was always so careful.How could she know?‘She was a beautiful woman.It pained me to see her neglected by her husband.’
‘I imagine she was grateful he was distracted.He could be a terrible bore.He thought because I had played Dido inDido and AeneasI wanted to hear every detail about his cavalry command.What do you do for them Zadora?Because I cannot imagine you brag to them about your cavalry.’
‘I have no idea what you are implying.The noble wives are lovers of music.They invite me for tea, and to listen to their compositions.They seek improvement.I support their enthusiasm for music.’
‘You were only drinking tea with the Countess Marais?’
‘I helped her improve her tempo,’ he replied, his fingers skipping to the higher keys, then back.
Her laughter rose above the notes.‘Is that what you call it?’
‘She loved to play, but her childhood teachers had been harsh.Her husband wanted her to perform at their gatherings, but she would shake with fear at the thought.She needed encouragement.I listened to her play, made suggestions, and told her she was good.’
‘And after her lesson?’
Cassius dared a glance.Her sly smile twisted into a knowing grin.
‘After?’he said, keeping a sombre expression and focus.‘I helped her improve her tempo.’
This laugh burst from her so loudly it almost rose over his playing, and she arched her neck to give it full voice.Cassius paused just long enough to enjoy it before picking up a lighter tune, moving on from the opera and segueing into Chopin.For a few memorised beats, nothing but notes filled the air between them, warm and liquid, oozing with lust and unspoken confessions.
‘What about the archduke?’he asked.‘The one who bought you Sobieski?’
She stiffened.‘That is my greatest rumour.My most celebrated mystery.Just as important as any role I have played.You ask too much if you expect me to share its truth with you.’Her posture remained taut, and he continued to play, hoping the notes would soften the air.She inhaled deeply.Then, wrapped in her exhalation, she whispered, ‘He was gentle.’
Once, her words would have cut him.Twisted the knife.But the feeling that blossomed from her confession was not jealousy, but relief.He’d been kind.She’d been treated not as a conquest but as a lover.And immediately, the memory of that night shifted away from her and back to him.The unease rested where it had truly belonged all these years.That night, on the closing night of Odette’s great debut show, Karl had taken him aside and encouraged him into a career of conducting.Later, when she had found him, dizzy with victory and demanding they toast to their luck, he had realised that she’d been catapulted into a stratosphere of acclaim that he would never reach again.They had taken their shot of vodka and laughed, her openly, him bitterly.Then someone had called her name.As she turned, he’d slipped away into the crowd and left her.
But he’d never stopped wondering.What would have happened if he’d stayed?Whathadhappened because he left?
