‘I do.What is your point?’
‘Nothing.’She looped her hand through the crook of his elbow again.‘Nothing at all, Zadora.’
They resumed their stroll.An old, long-suppressed memory rose, and he laughed.Odette bumped his side and raised a questioning brow.‘Once, we were in Russia,’ Cassius began.‘The Russian part of Poland, I mean.My father and I.I was always careful with my hands, tried to hide that I prefer my left.But one day, I was tired, and I put the wrong hand on the keys first.Normally people don’t notice, but not in that house.The grandmother—or perhaps she was the great-grandmother—she struck her cane against the floor and stood, pointing and shrieking.Screeching that I was cursed.She told the staff to catch me and demanded a priest.I swear, she was going to have me exorcised.But my father scooped me up, held me under his elbow like a bag of sticks, and he ran, full pelt, down the drive.Such a long drive it was, the same length as four of your precious Honeysuckle Streets.He ran so fast I thought my head would pop off my body.I don’t think he stopped until we reached the village.Then he threw me into a passing wagon like I was a sack of potatoes.Thank heavens it was heading the same direction as us.’
‘Do you remember much of it?’she asked.‘Of Poland, I mean.’
‘Parts.I was seven when we started travelling.I remember papers and checkpoints.Rivers and the people in the fields.Not long after that, the invitations to play took us further away.’
‘All I have is the memory of my babcia in the churchyard.In my mind, we are looking at my mother’s gravestone, but sometimes I think, how?We had so little money.How could she have bought a gravestone?Then we were gone, and she refused to speak of her again.’
‘Do you ever think of returning?’he asked.
‘I do not know my village or my people.Why would I?’She exhaled.‘Do you?’
The bright sun still shone above them, the breeze teased their skin, the children laughed nearby, and birds were building their nests in tall trees.And yet, the air between them grew thick with a sad understanding, filling with words neither had the courage to voice.
‘No,’ he said, although he wished with all his heart that he could sayyes.And the twin hands on the piano keys, the soft dark curls and the kindest smile in the world… all the fragments fused for the first time in decades, so vivid that the crispness of the memory almost made him trip.Even if he could retrace his childhood steps, he would find nothing there but ghosts.‘Like you, I have nothing to return to.’
They paused by the fountain.Odette told a story about a son lost during the war and showed him the plaque screwed into the stone side.The man who had built her villa had also commissioned the fountain.She talked about how spring this year had been almost as pretty as the year before, but far nicer the year before that, and described how they skated on the ice when the pond froze in winter.She waved at a couple, then explained that they were the parents of the little orchestra, which was still singing and marching its way around the park.At last, they departed the lush green surroundings and crossed the road, coming to a stop before her house once again.
Odette looked over his shoulder.‘As punctual as a prima donna,’ she said, her voice rising to just above a whisper.‘She is watching.’
Cassius dipped into the shadow beside the balustrade and threw a quick glance over his shoulder.Across the way, their illustrious patron was deep in conversation with her pastel ladies but angling her stance, unmistakably to scrutinise them.
Cassius stepped back.‘I will be the perfect gent.I shall show my respects…’ He lifted his top hat and dropped into an exaggerated bow.‘And I shall bid you good day.Thank you for a lovely afternoon, Miss Delaney.’
He expected Odette to respond with a similar display.She was a brilliant performer, after all.But instead, she fidgeted with her gloves and the bracelet again.
‘Do you make them all sing?’Odette’s words fell over one another.‘Is that why the lonely wives adore you so much?’
Cassius fumbled his hat, almost dropping it.‘No,’ he said, unable to suppress a smile.‘That was only for you.And I… I will remember that note for the rest of my days.’
Odette held his gaze for the longest four beats of his life.Then her lips twisted into a smug little grin.She turned and walked up the two flights of stairs of her villa.
And—stupid man that he was—he stood on the street and watched until she disappeared beyond the balcony.He even waited until the door snipped closed, just in case she leant over to grace him with another look, another word or, dare he hope it, an invitation.
Of course, none came.
God damn it.He’d given her his edge.
Chapter 13
Anevenlightcastits glow over the stage, the pit, and the seats—the cheapest, brightest light for the longest days.Odette knew these days as the hardest days.They were days of frustration, of tension, of sweat and chill as the theatre ran both too hot and too cold.
Ezra paced the length of carpet before the front row seats, rubbing his jaw.‘Not right.Something is not right.’
‘It will never be right,’ Cassius roared from his podium.‘That is the point.You write music.Of course you aren’t happy.The orchestra makes it work.The singers sing.The audience applauds.This is the theatre.’
Even for Cassius, it was a brittle dismissal of the composer’s concerns, and the man stared up at the stage, forlorn and lost, searching the scene for an answer as to why he wasn’t satisfied.But they were only ten days away from opening, and his constant interruptions had meant that they were yet to rehearse past the second act with the entire ensemble.If he continued to chase perfection like this, they would all see the show fail.
Ezra clenched and unclenched his hands, flinging his fingers out and back into his palm in agitated bursts.Mrs Crofts rose from her seat, hovered for a moment, then sat back down.Karl shoved his fingers between the short lengths of his grey hair to tug at them.For a moment, Odette was certain he would wrench great tufts from his scalp and throw them into the sky.
Ezra was a good composer.
He had written a good opera.
What was missing?
